#I need to write. I need to write. I need to write.

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[nibeul]

Abraham said, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.”

[id: It's an illustration of Jesus and Isaac. Jesus, depicted with brown skin and curly brown hair, is drawn three times: once in profile, once partially turned, and once nearly facing front all the way with a smile on his face. He wears a white tunic and all three drawings of him are headshots. Isaac is drawn as a young boy with tan skin and wavy brown hair. He wears a white tunic with a red overlayer and he holds a lamb in his arms. Mount Moriah is featured in the backdrop of the piece. /end id]

[alchemistc]

ivory limbed and brown-eyed

Buck wakes with the sun streaking across his face and a finger tracing the lines around his eyes, feather light touch and a shadow across his brow like Tommy's tilted his head just to make sure he doesn't take a direct hit from the early morning rays.

"Time'sit?" He mumbles, and rolls into the warmth of Tommy's body heat. It's been raining for like three days straight, torrential downpours and extra long shifts, and they'd fallen asleep with water still pounding on the roof, too tired for more than a lazy sloppy kiss before they both passed out. He has no idea when it stopped. No idea when the clouds broke.

"Early," Tommy says, and Buck hums into his neck, considers sucking a bruise behind his ear. They don't have a shift for four days. Tommy would probably let him.

He's been indulgent, in the months since they cracked open their ribcages and had a conversation.

And then another conversation.

And then ten or twenty more.

"Where's my breakfast?" he asks, just to be a brat, because this is maybe the first time since they were fucking morning noon and night that he's woken up to Tommy still in bed with him. This is new, though. The sweep of work-roughened fingers, fat and long, shifting through his hair, catching in the barrel of a knotted curl. The stretch of a hefty leg, curled over his good knee. The ticklish twitch he's trying so hard to hide as Buck mouths at his collarbone.

He loves this man.

Tommy swats at his ass in retaliation. "I ordered bagels like forty minutes ago but someone just picked them up."

Buck pouts into the stretch of skin between his shoulder and neck. Shifts a shoulder to allow for the sweep of Tommy's hand as it starts to meander up and down his back. "Breakfast's always better when you make it."

"Too late to cancel now," he murmurs, like he wants to keep this quiet little bubble a little bit longer.

Last night had been rough, he knows. Two DOA's in a single night, nothing he could do about it, both of them long gone before he could risk life and limb flying through the rain. One of them was a kid.

Some days leaving it at the door is harder than others.

He'd been expecting the usual, when Tommy was working through something. Up at dawn to get a run in, back before the birds started looking for their worms to rifle through the fridge for breakfast. Buck had cried for a solid twenty minutes the first time Tommy confessed he'd started making breakfast for his mom the mornings after blowout fights with his dad. That breakfast was a love note he hadn't been able to write for a long time. He'd been thirteen.

So Buck never complains when the bed is cold on Tommy's side. Not now that he has his own side of the bed.

But Tommy's here, this morning, blinking at him in the soft yellow light shifting through the plantation blinds they forgot to close last night. Tommy's here, pressing the pads of two fingers to the sweep of the cheekbone below his birthmark. Tommy's here drinking in the sight of Buck like it's healing some deep hurt inside him he thought would never scab over.

Buck feels a little overwhelmed by it.

They're still navigating when they need to talk about things. When the words aren't actually necessary. They'd done a debrief, of sorts, last night. He can still taste the salt of the tears that had slid over Tommy's cheekbones as they whispered in the dark, and Buck had kissed them away. "You think we can get our driver to toss the bagels through the window? Maybe we just tell them where the spare key is and they can throw it at the bed."

The snort that shakes Tommy's chest makes Buck feel like he's won a marathon. Tommy tips his chin, glances over his shoulder, shifts his weight to grab his phone off the nightstand - ruffles Buck's hair at the plaintive whine Buck let's loose at losing chest to chest contact. "I doubt Melinda would be comfortable with that, but I left her a fat tip and begged her not to ring the doorbell when she left it at the door."

Because of course he'd want Buck to have as much sleep as he could get. Because he thinks about that kind of thing on such a regular basis it sometimes takes Buck's breath away.

Buck pulls him back before he can get more than a glance at his phone. Tugs Tommy to his chest, works his fingers into his thick mane and tucks his chin long enough to press his lips to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy's sigh is deep, reverberating, hot breath shifting through the hair Buck decided to let grow back for no particular reason at all that definitely didn't have to do with Tommy admiring Henry Cavill's insane pecs in whatever the last movie they'd watched with him in it was. "I'll make you breakfast tomorrow." Tommy sighs when Buck digs into his scalp. Groans at the pressure when Buck curls his fingers in.

"Let's see how good these bagels are. Maybe they'll be so good Melinda will put you out of a job."

He's fully expecting the fingers that dig into his ribs, but he still squirms from them when Tommy grumbles and nips at his shoulder.

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Okay, first of all, don't trash talk the dog I found covered in blood and running around in Antarctica like that. Second of all, I think I lost the dog so be on the look out for any imposters. Third of all, if that dog tries to use chat gpt I'm setting it on fire

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

[phantomrose96]

*vibrating at frequencies on dogs can hear* Danny Phantom fic idea

[blank-potato]

Something Special

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly. Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?” “A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts. The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles. “Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step. Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!” Or You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant. 

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, sex plant, sex pollen, p in v, cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, crazy thoughts from horny!reader, Bob's good intentions backfiring

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts earlier this week, and I felt compelled to write something! My Marvel obsession is so back, and I’m so in love with Bob, and consuming so much Thunderbolts fanfiction, I think I’m genuinely going crazy

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡

Bob teeters on his heels as he looks around the flower shop. He was here to get a gift for you, but he had no idea what you would like. Then, while browsing the camellias, a woman appears, half scaring the life out of him, asking him what he’s looking for, and he tells her as best he knows how.

“I’m looking for something special for someone special.”

“Special, huh?” She replies with a mischievous smile, “I have just the flower for you.”

He watches as she disappears into the recesses of the shop and wonders if he’s making the right decision. 

You were important to him, but maybe flowers were too much; perhaps you would see right through it and see the feelings he was trying (and failing) to hide. The whole team could see it. Alexei kept giving him unsolicited —and mostly unhelpful— advice about it, while John and Ava never missed a chance to tease him whenever they caught him gawking at you. And Yelena and Bucky tried their best to nudge him forward in their own ways; Yelena with blunt encouragement, Bucky with quieter, knowing looks and the occasional grunt that somehow conveyed volumes.

But Bob remained resolute, content with just admiring you from afar.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Ever since you were introduced to the team as their live-in doctor, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. You were a ray of sunshine. Exceptional at your job and had this strange but beautiful quality where you could make anyone feel at ease within seconds of meeting them. 

He felt it firsthand when he walked into the med bay in the Tower. You were sitting there, clipboard in hand, and welcomed him in with a warm smile, motioning for him to sit. He obeyed without a word, nerves already prickling beneath his skin.

“I’m just going to take some blood samples, okay?” you said gently.

His eyes darted around the room—white, sterile walls, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Tests didn’t often lead to good things in his experience, and he felt that this one would be no different. His posture stiffened, and his breath was shallow. But as if sensing his unease, you placed a hand on his arm, steady, reassuring.

“If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m right here. And if you want me to stop, you just go right ahead and tell me.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking into your eyes—your beautiful, beautiful eyes that somehow made the rest of the world fade to background noise.

“I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

You looked at him with such gentle care, and for a moment, he felt like he’d known you longer than just a minute. It felt crazy how fast he was falling for you, but it was happening all the same.

“Yeah… I can do that,” he replied, voice low.

And he had never been the same.

From that moment on, he’d been falling for you—hard. Making lovey-dovey eyes at you over morning coffee in the communal kitchen, pretending not to watch you when you laughed at someone’s joke, finding excuses to linger a little longer in any room you were in. 

He toys with his watch, waiting for the florist to come back and flinches as he hears crashes and curses. He has half a mind to go and check on her when she suddenly pops out with a crooked smile and her hair askew, presenting the flower to him. 

“Trust me, your girlfriend is going to love this one. Rarest thing in here.”

“She’s…” He stops, watching as the worker flits around the shop, putting the finishing touches on the arrangement. What use was it explaining anyway? How could he put you into words?

It was a strange flower, one he didn’t recognise. Its petals folded into each other. It was unlike any flower he’d ever seen, almost alien. But it was also beautiful, rare and special. Just like you. He buys it in a heartbeat, but the anxiety that follows is sickening. As he goes back to the tower, he thinks about turning around, getting something safer—chocolates, maybe. A coffee voucher. Literally anything else.

‘Maybe it’s not good enough, or what if she hates it?’

He plays with the loose yarn on his sweater as he nervously looks down at the plant. 

‘What if she pretends to like it but actually hates it and, in turn, hates me?’

He overthinks all the way down the street, onto the subway, up the Avengers Tower elevator, until he eventually reaches the door to your office.

Then—three knocks. His heart sinks into his stomach the second his knuckles leave the wood.

The door swings open, with you on the other side of it, a smile blooming on your face as soon as you see him.

“Bob!” You say excitedly. 

You’re clearly happy to see him and hurriedly usher him inside. The rest of the Avengers had been on a mission for the past two days and counting, so it was just you and Bob. It had been quite nice to spend time with him one-on-one. You even had a movie night the night prior, which ended with Bob falling asleep on your shoulder.

“What do you have there?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, catching sight of something he's hiding behind his back.

He hesitates for a beat, then slowly brings it forward, revealing a single, delicate flower—its petals a rich, otherworldly shade of purple, like something from a dream. It’s almost enchanting. You stare at it in awe, momentarily speechless.

“It’s a gift,” he says, placing it on your desk, voice shy but steady. “To celebrate you being here for a year. I… we really appreciate you.”

Your eyes soften at his words. You can see he’s nervous, waiting for your reaction like it might determine the course of his entire week.

But all you feel is warmth. You thought it was so sweet of him to do this for you; it was so thoughtful, so Bob. You’d felt a connection with him from the moment you met, something quiet but persistent that never quite went away.

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. “I love it. Truly.”

You’re probably smiling too much, but when it comes to Bob, you can’t help yourself. You snap out of your loving stare as something flickers in your peripheral vision.

“Is it supposed to glow?” you ask, your eyes narrowing slightly as the petals shimmer faintly, a soft pulse of light running through them like a heartbeat.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” Bob replies, frowning.

He leans in, squinting at the flower. The glow pulses again. Cautiously, he pokes it with one finger.

The flower twitches.

“It moved,” he says, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear.

“What? No way.” You step closer, trying to get a better look, equal parts sceptical and intrigued.

But then it twitches again, its petals bristling at the touch, and both of you freeze.

“…Did you buy this from a normal flower shop?” you ask slowly, eyeing him.

“I thought I did!” Bob says, his voice pitching just a little higher than usual.

You poke it again.

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly.

Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?”

“A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts.

The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles.

“Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step.

Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!”

In hindsight, the florist did seem a bit sketchy. The shop was tucked away in a dark, back alley, its dim interior lit flickering by lamps that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’70s. The air was thick with a faint smoke that he had to try not to choke on, but in his defence, Bob had just assumed it was part of the shop’s "vintage" aesthetic. 

The flower twitches again, and one of the tendrils gently brushes your desk lamp, knocking it askew.

“We should probably contain that,” you say.

“Or burn it,” Bob offers weakly.

You don’t have enough time to deliberate before they’re coming straight for you. They coordinate a joint attack and grab hold of your shirt. It has a relentless grip on it and tears it apart without a care. In the back of your mind, you have to take a second to mourn one of your favourite work shirts.

The plant, however, is far from done with you. Before you can react, one of its slippery, vine-like tendrils reaches for your wrist, its texture cold and unnervingly smooth. It’s trying to pin you down, the tendril wrapping around your forearm like a slippery snake.

“Bob!” you yell, panic rising in your voice.

Bob springs into action without hesitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you back just in time. But in the chaos, both of you tumble backwards, your feet tangling in each other’s as you fall to the floor.

You land… on top of him.

For a moment, everything stops. Your breath catches, his heart races beneath you, and there’s a stillness, an accidental closeness that makes everything feel like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Well, that was eventful,” you comment, breathless, glancing back over your shoulder at the plant—still twitching, preparing for its next move. The tendrils are growing faster now, more aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it tries to grab you again.

“Watch out,” he warns, voice sharp, as he pushes you aside with surprising strength. The moment you’re clear, he rolls to his feet, eyes fixed on the plant.

It lashes out, one of its tendrils reaching for your throat, but Bob is faster, shoving you out of harm’s way just in time.

In the seconds it took you to escape from it, the plant had doubled in size, its tentacles now oozing with a thick, viscous substance. It seemed to pulse, almost alive with an aggressive energy, like it was anticipating its next strike.

The plant gives you no time to catch your breath. Before you can react, it swipes again, this time reaching for Bob’s jeans. With surprising strength, one of the tendrils successfully yanks him to the ground, dragging him closer to its growing mass. The little tendrils begin climbing up the inside of his trousers, slithering toward his legs like they have a mind of their own.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, adrenaline flooding your veins as you rush to grab his hands, pulling with all your strength in a futile attempt to free him. Where are the Avengers when you need them?

Unfortunately, you have no super strength or any useful abilities. Bob’s still being dragged closer, inch by inch. 

But what you do have, is a pretty damn good throwing arm.

You glance around the room, your mind racing for anything you can use. Your eyes land on the lamp on your desk, your favourite one. Bob had always joked about how you wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Without a second thought, you sprint across the room, grab it in one smooth motion, and hurl it toward the plant’s centre of mass.

The lamp flies through the air, and you’re about ready to start celebrating, but just as it’s about to make contact with the plant, the tendrils shift, dodging the attack like it’s alive and aware of what’s coming.

“Crap,” you mutter. "It dodged."

This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 

Bob tries to crawl away, his muscles screaming in protest as he drags himself across the floor. His mind is a chaotic mess, every thought running a mile a minute. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to give you the gift and see that smile of yours light up your face, not get fondled by a plant monster.

The tendrils continue their relentless pursuit, now reaching the edge of his boxers, squirming and twisting, as if looking for any way to get inside. 

“Hold on, just a second!”

“Please hurry, it’s kind of ticklish,” He blurts out as he writhes on the ground, “And wet.”

They find their way inside his boxers, reaching his dick and starting to wrap their way around it, making him tremble. 

The tentacles continue to secrete that viscous liquid, slick and glistening as they slip up and around his cock, their movements still clumsy, but starting to adapt to what makes him react. Bob struggles beneath its weight, panic flashing in his eyes as the tendrils flick over his sensitive tip, starting to pulse around him.

You’re frozen for a moment, heart racing, watching him fight against the plant’s hold. The air is thick with desperation, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re going to be too late. But then your mind snaps back into focus. This can’t keep going. You need a plan and fast.

You scan the room, eyes darting from the plant to Bob and back again. The papers on your desk, the fire extinguisher near the door, the window—wait. Without wasting another second, you rush over to it, pulling it down with a swift motion. You have no idea if this’ll work, but Bob’s safety is the only thing that matters, and you’d do anything to ensure it.

“Hold on!” you shout, as you aim the nozzle at the base of the plant.

You pull the trigger.

It’s temporarily thwarted, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you see it retreat from Bob’s jeans.

“Come on!” you shout, reaching for Bob and pulling him to his feet. The moment you’ve got a solid grip on him, you both scramble toward safety, adrenaline fuelling your movements.

You rush toward the front door, but just as you reach it, the plant’s vines stretch out, blocking your escape. The thick, twisted tendrils curl around the doorframe, trapping you in. 

You turn on your heels, panic setting in as you dash to the far side of the room. There’s only one other way out, the door that leads to the lab part of your office.

You reach the door, flinging it open just in time, and drag Bob inside with you. As you slam the door shut, you quickly lock it, the sound echoing. The room is dim, but you barely notice the light as you both stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. It’s all you can both hear before you finally break the silence.

“What the fuck?” 

He’s panicking. He’s panicking hard. 

He attempted to do something nice, something to show just how much you mean to him and the rest of the team but instead he got you attacked by a plant that wanted to fuck you. 

“I screwed this up. I’m so sorry. I... I—” He stammers, his voice trembling with regret. He tries to continue, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He’s frustrated, overwhelmed by the situation and the guilt of what just happened.

You immediately notice the signs. The way he's retreating into himself, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding yours. The guilt and panic are all over his face, and for a moment, you realise how much this is affecting him. He must think you’re mad at him, but you’re not. Not in the slightest. You weren’t even sure if you could be mad at him; he was Bob. 

You take a step forward, placing yourself in his line of sight, standing in front of him. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need him to apologise again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” your voice acting as his source of stability, even though you’re both still shaking from the chaos.

But before he can respond, there’s a loud bang against the door. A deep, guttural scraping noise as the plant’s tentacles push against it, trying to force their way inside. They both jump at the sounds, and he tries to curl in on himself, his hands gripping into his hair as he shuts everything out, nothing but his own voice echoing in his head. 

‘Of course, you’d mess this up.’

“Bob, look at me, please.”

‘She probably hates you now.’

He opens his eyes slowly, and you can see it—the fear. The gold in his eyes flickers, a silent reflection of his inner turmoil. He’s been holding it all together for so long, but now, one mistake has him spiralling, and it’s all spilling out in front of you.

He hates that you can see it. The cracks in his composure, the weight of the guilt sinking into his chest. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of you, to let you see just how much he’s struggling with everything.

“I put you in danger,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the floor, shame and regret lacing his words.

You can’t let him carry this alone. You can’t let him drown in his own guilt when you know the truth: it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted to do something nice for you.

You step forward further into his space, cupping his face gently in your hands. His breath catches and you feel his warm skin under your palms, the tension in the air thick but not overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m alright, aren’t I?”

‘She doesn’t mean it.’

“I try to do one thing, and I just made things worse. I ruined everything—” 

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? I loved the fact that you got me a gift, and we’re going to get out of this.”

You pull him close, and you both embrace each other tightly, the chaos outside fading away for a brief moment as you both seek comfort in the silence of the hug.

But suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, you become acutely aware of every touch, every shift of his body against yours. The warmth of his arms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, it all feels intensified. It’s like you’re hyper-aware of the sensation of him against you, and it’s overstimulating in a way you weren’t expecting.

You subconsciously nuzzle into his touch, breathing in his scent. He smells so good, you would even describe it as intoxicating. The feeling of him holding you, so close, feels delicious. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin, mouth-watering.

You lean into him even more, a soft moan slipping out before you catch yourself. The sound barely escapes, but it’s enough to make you freeze. You jerk back from him, heart pounding in your chest.

From the look on his face, he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he’s pretending not to, but you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your body. The flush spreads down your neck, over your skin, and you can’t stop it.

“We’ll…get through this,” Bob says, agreeing with your earlier words.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, still feeling the heat spreading throughout your body. 

Then, as if his panicked brain finally catches up to the situation, Bob’s eyes flick over your form, and his eyes widen just a little when he realises you’re topless, wearing nothing but your bra. His face flushed with embarrassment, and in an instant, he looks away, his cheeks turning a shade of red at the fact that he had just hugged you in this state. Like the gentleman he is, he immediately averts his gaze, trying to give you some privacy.

“Oh. I uh, you should take my sweater.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I–”

Both of you nervously bumble until Bob starts taking off his sweater. The entire thing plays in slow motion.  His hands, a little shaky, reach for the hem. The fabric bunches up in his fingers before he slowly pulls it over his head. 

Bit by bit, his chest and torso are revealed. You can’t help but notice the definition of his muscles and appreciate them greatly. Finally, he hands the sweater to you, his expression nervous but kind. “Here…” he says softly, not looking you directly in the eyes.

Damn it. 

He’s ripped. 

You didn’t know when you woke up this morning that you’d be treated to an impromptu striptease courtesy of Bob Reynolds. You can’t believe all of that was hiding under that knitted sweater. There’s a sudden wave of arousal so strong it almost knocks you clean off your feet. Your eyes wander his sculpted form, and it’s like every part of him was made to drive you crazy. You know you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“So… how are we planning on taking back my office?” Your words come out breathy, your eyes are still very much fixed on his body, but he seems oblivious to the fact.

“Maybe we can…” He trails off, distracted by the way you were starting to sway, “Hey, are you alright?”

He had now started to become clued into the way you were staring him down like he was a full-course meal. And you’re just happy he couldn’t read your mind because you were thinking the most unhinged things, like how you wanted to lick the sweat off his abs.

“Holy fuck,” You mutter tiredly, shaking the thought away. You were a doctor, damn it, not a degenerate. Or at least not both at the same time. 

“Yeah, I’m just…” You start a sentence that you can’t finish as your body continues to heat up and your desire for him starts to hurt. You just want to be closer to him, and the overwhelming need to touch his abs comes back in full force. You try to focus on something else but just land on his arms and you wondered how’d they feel wrapped around your waist when he’d fuck you. 

“Fuck!” 

You start pacing around the room, trying to get rid of this madness that seemed to be overtaking you. And by pacing it was more of an awkward stumble as bit by bit your limbs turned to rubber and your brain to mush with horny thoughts of Bob. 

You stop moving and drop to the floor, hugging your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you cannot see the hot man, he cannot haunt you. You decide to take deep breaths because that always helps, and try to calm yourself down. You are, however, wearing Bob’s sweater, which smells like him and therefore smells like heaven. You moan, definitely loud enough for him to hear and bury your face in it. 

“Talk to me,” Bob says as he crouches down by your side, the comforting pats on your back feeling more like kisses on the neck. You just wanted to climb him like he’s a tree and live there forever. 

“Need to take this off.” 

You start kicking off your trousers as they start to stick to you, feeling more like sandpaper on your skin. Next, you peel off his sweater and hold it in your hands, resting it against your cheek, breathing it in every so often. 

“I can’t be near you right now.”

“Why?” He asks and if you had your head on straight, you’d state the obvious. Did he not see the fact that you were seconds away from grinding on him?

But you did have to think about what caused this, and there’s only one theory that makes sense. 

“I think the plant you got is a sex plant.”

Bob blinks at you.

“A what?” 

While falling down an internet rabbit hole, you had heard about plants like these with certain properties that lent themselves quite nicely to certain activities. These properties including sex pollen that seemed to only affect you and not him. At a later date, you’d love to run some tests to see why. Maybe it was something in the serum he was given that made him immune to certain things. But all logical thought was being dropkicked out the window right about now, replaced with the need to fuck yourself silly on his dick.

You explain to him the whole sex plant thing as best as you can without going feral. The need to have his hands all over your body was becoming near next to unbearable.

“Why do you know this?”

“God forbid a woman is informed,” You sigh as you fan yourself with the sleeve of his sweater, more of his scent wafting into your face, making you more hungry for him than ever.

“So, how do we fix this?” He asks, desperate to help you out.

“I can just wait it out,” you suggest, knowing full well you couldn’t “wait it out”.  Each second that passed was a second not spent bouncing on Bob’s cock which was a second wasted in your opinion. But this was Bob, your Bob, you didn’t want sex pollen induced horniness to reduce your friendship to rubble. You could see it now. Things would never be the same. No more book chat over morning coffee or late night milkshake runs and you’d be damned if you lost them. 

“You’re burning up.” He places his hand against your forehead, and you whimper at the contact, shocking you both.

“Tell me, what will fix this?” He repeats.

It’s clear that there’s no avoiding it, so you tell him. 

“...sex.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room, only accompanied by the background noise of the plant going on a rampage in your office. It was obvious, sex plant, therefore sex will alleviate the effects of said plant but saying it out loud didn't make it any easier. 

“But I won’t ask that of you. I won’t,” You say firmly. 

Did you want him? Yes, you wanted him bad. Ever since his floppy-haired, doe-eyed, cute self came in for his first check-up. But you didn’t want it under such dire circumstances, with a sex crazed plant trying to knock the door down. You wanted it to mean something. You wanted to know that he liked you as much as you like him.

You watch as Bob’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as if coming to a decision. There’s something in his gaze, something vulnerable but strong at the same time, like he’s finally deciding to take a step forward.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”

You shake your head, the words he says sinking in, but the effects of the sex pollen make it hard to respond.

“I can’t have sex with you like this. It’s not fair on you,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, almost defeated.

Bob’s face softens, his eyes flickering with understanding and something deeper. He steps closer, his tone gentler but unwavering. “It’s worth it if it helps you. You’re hot and shivering. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?”

The sincerity in his words hits you hard. You feel your throat tighten, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. You’ve always known Bob cared about you, but hearing that he was willing to do this for you was something else. 

“Bob…” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it.

He stops himself then, looking away for a moment, his own vulnerability creeping to the surface. "I care about you. I…" He trails off, a deep breath escaping him as if he's preparing himself for what’s to come. “I like you.”

You're struggling to find the words as the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear is finally said.

“You like me?”

Bob looks down, his eyes shifting nervously, afraid that he might be ruining everything.

“I like you too,” You admit. “You have no idea how much.”

Not wanting the moment to pass you by, you cup his face and kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and needy, your hands gliding over his body with such urgency. All that pent-up need and tension came out in this one kiss. You cling onto each other like kissing is the last thing you’ll ever do. 

You pull back, looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, your voice a mix of uncertainty and hope.

Instead of responding, he pulls you back in, his hands gentle but insistent, bringing you closer once more. Then, before you can say anything else, he lays you back down on the floor, his body hovering over yours.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers, before leaning back in, his lips brushing against yours once more.

You smile into the kiss and wrap your legs around his waist from beneath him. 

You shiver as his hands travel up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It’s clumsy at first, fumbling with the hooks, the fabric catching between his fingers.

“Oh yeah, this one’s a nightmare to take off,” you comment, remembering the countless times you’d try to undo the clasps before giving up and just pulling it over your head instead. You chuckle lightly at the memory, tension easing for just a second.

“I think I almost got it,” he says, determination in his voice. Finally, after a few more attempts, he gets the clasp undone, tossing it aside with a small sigh of relief.

You feel a warmth spread through you, as look up at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says softly, his lips finding their way to your neck. The way he touches you, the way his hands move, everything feels electric, like every little action is charged with more meaning than you ever expected.

His hands wander down towards your panties next, rubbing at your core through them. He can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, your desperation no laughing matter. 

He knows that because you immediately trap his hand between your thighs and start lifting your hips to rub against it.

His eyes widen as he watches you roll your hips, so completely wrecked, and you’d barely even gotten started. This was a whole new side of you that he could get used to. 

“You need to let go of my hand for me to touch you,” Bob says, and you reluctantly do, only because you know he’s gonna give you something better.

He pulls off your panties and is met with the most beautiful sight. 

“You’re so wet,” he comments spreading open your dripping pussy and flicking at your clit.

He slowly inserts his fingers and smiles at how easily they slip in. “You can take two already,” he says and almost in awe as your walls clench around him. You’re mewling and twitching with every swipe of his fingers, your wetness spilling around them. His fingers are so thick and he stretches you out so good, you wonder how your own fingers ever felt like enough. 

“So good,” You whine out, and he feels encouraged to ever stop making you feel like this. 

He curls them inside of you, brushing against your sensitive spot over and over again, making you squeal. You start to squirm, but he holds you still, his thigh and spare hand keeping you spread open for him. 

He starts reassuring you with soothing circles on your thigh, “Right there?”

You blink away the haze and nod, “Yeah, keep going.”

He repeats his actions, his fingers threatening to bring you to an orgasm so fast that you’re almost embarrassed. 

“Need you so bad,” You whisper as you thrust back against his fingers, desperate to have more of him. You’d take his whole fist if he’d give it to you. 

“I need more than just your fingers.”

He looks up at you. This was a huge step, but one you were both ready to take.

“Condom?”

“I’m on birth control,” You say, and thankfully, you were. It’s not like you had a condom on you; they were in your purse, which was in the room with the raging tentacle monster.

He pulls off his jeans and boxers and he’s left exposed in front of you. He feels vulnerable, but he knows he can trust you.

“Ready?” You ask him and he replies with a breathy, “Yeah,” before laying a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

He lines ourself up with your hole, which is actively trying to suck him in and pushes into you slowly. The relief of feeling him inside of you is so good, the sound of his moans as he bottoms out inside of you is just as good. 

He starts thrusting into you deeply, as you grip his shoulders. It felt better than anything you’ve ever done with anyone else. It was partly the sex pollen, but more than anything, it was because it was him. You were finally with him after months upon months of pining. Finally able to feel his skin beneath your fingertips, to hear his moans vibrate against your skin, to lean his forehead against yours as he ruts into you. It was slow but passionate, as you finally confirmed how you both feel about each other. 

You feel like you were on another planet, but you wanted to experience every part of this man, so you whisper in his ear, “Wanna ride you.”

You’ve never seen him move so fast, in seconds you’re sitting up right, warming his cock as his lips attacking your neck.

You’re about to start moving when he stops you. 

“Just a second.”

You sit there, desperate to feel him moving inside you, but if he says to wait, then you’ll wait. He cups one of your boobs in his hands and his tongue flicking around your areola just enough to tease you.

“Bob…” You whine out, and he smiles up at you, and it’s one of his dopey smiles that makes your heart melt. Then as if you couldn’t feel any more sensitive, he starts sucking on your nipple, his eyes closed in pure focus and concentration. You fully scream, your legs quivering and walls fluttering around his cock. His tongue was working overtime, and you felt like you could come undone with just this. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” You cry out as you pull closer by his hair.

“You’re so dramatic,” He laughs before going back to his ministrations, determined to make you lose your mind. 

“Just like that,” You cry out as you wrap your arms around his neck. You shake and tremble so much that you just have to start riding him. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own.

Bob rests his head in the crook of your neck as you work his cock up and down btweeen your folds.  “You feel so good.” His voice is shaky and needy as he’s unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure you’re giving him. His legs were shaking with how good it felt, and it was an ego boost to say one thing. 

“Wait a second,” he says before he holds your hips up and starts thrusting up into you from below, giving you everything he’s got. 

“Oh Bob…”

The feeling is so overwhelming that you start to cry, tears flowing down your cheeks, each one showing just how good he was giving it to you. But seeing your tears, he stops immediately, wiping them from your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

His eyebrows are furrowed with a concern plastered on his face, worried that he had hurt you.

You shake your head profusely, “Keep going. I’m crying because it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

With some renewed confidence, he continues thrusting into you, and it’s your turn to rest your head against his neck.

He whispers against your ear, “You feel so good.”

“Wanna turn around for me?”

“O-okay,” You stutter out, your mind half in the clouds as he spins you around and you land back on his dick, reverse cowgirl.

“Holy shit,” he says as he starts pounding into you again. You feel him so deep inside of you, you never want him to leave. 

You feel him gripping onto your ass so you imagine the view must be good. 

“Harder?”

“Yes, fuck please,” You reply immediately. The way he was thrusting up inside of you had you crying out for mercy, and if he wanted to go harder, you’d let him. He picks up the pace, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours is music to your ears. 

“So good, you’re such…” He stops for a moment, and you can hear him hesitate, but you suppose his internal thoughts won out as he finishes his sentence, “Such a good girl.”

And you’d be lying if those words, escaping his lips, in his voice, didn’t make you want to explode.

Then he slows down before pulling out of you, you’re about to whine and complain, but he intercepts that. 

“Can you hold onto me?” He asks, and you do it immediately, desperate to feel him on you again. You suddenly feel yourself being lifted into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He effortlessly lifts you over and lays you down on an examination table.

He lines himself up with your whole again and thrusts right into it, not holding back one bit. Your body is shaking and trembling with each thrust, and you’re screaming his name with each one.

“So good, so good,” he repeats like a mantra, like he can’t think of anything else but you.

He lifts your hips, tilting your pelvis and hitting your G-spot dead on, and you almost choke on your spit.  You’re not even sure what comes out of your mouth; you just know it’s not of this world. You head lolls to the side as you drool for his cock to be fed deeper into you. 

“Right there, right there, right…”, You bluster out before being cut off by your own scream. 

You weren’t going to last much longer; in fact, you’re surprised you lasted this long. You just needed one final thing to put you over the edge. 

“B-bob. Put…put your hand here,” You say guiding his hand above your stomach and bite your lip as he presses down feeling his cock inside of you.

“I’m gonna—” You sob before you’re cumming harder than you ever have, calling out for Bob all the while. Bob holds onto your bucking hips as he watches you squirt on his cock. The orgasm that hits you is blinding, your toes curl, your fists tighten, and tears fall from your eyes. 

You are gone. 

You’re only brought back to your senses by Bob saying your name and soft kisses on your face. When he sees you’re responsive, he smiles and starts brushing your hair off your face. But then you realise, he’s stopped moving and you absolutely can’t have that. You can still feel him pulsing inside of you and you needed him to cum.

“Keep going,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You sit up closer to you, your fingers gripping his back. 

“Keep going until you’re done with me.”

You needed this, you needed him. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that your pussy remembered him, you wanted him to fill you up so much that just the smell of him would bring you to your knees and that wasn’t just the sex pollen talking. 

“I think I can do this day,” Bob says and that he does. He fucks you against the wall, the window, on the floor, if he had control of his Sentry powers he probably would’ve fucked you in the air too. By the time you’re done, the sex pollen has been well and truly pounded out of your system. 

But your troubles aren’t over. 

The plant knocks down the door with an ominous thud. Menacingly slithering over to the two of you, now triple in size, each tentacle blogger that the last, and you’re ready to accept your fate. This is how you would go out. Fucked to death by a plant.

The plant starts prodding at you both a tiny bit before pulling back away from you, much to your surprise. Obviously sensing its job was done, it reverts back to its original form in a matter of seconds and sits innocently in its pot. 

You guess your troubles are over. 

“So…can I be your boyfriend?” He asks and you laugh, “What do you think?”

Bob’s face lights up with a grin, and he kisses your cheek, “I think there’s a mess waiting for us in your office.”

“Well, couples that clean together stay together.”

Snuggling into his embrace, you let out a sigh of contentment. Nothing could ruin this day, not when you’d finally made Bob your man.

But, in the distance, you hear the shuffling of footsteps as the team has arrived back from their mission. You hear a faint, “What the fuck?” seemingly from Walker seeing the havoc the plant made but you’re too content in Bob’s arms to care. You’re exactly where you want to be.

Masterlist

[hazbinbabbling4ever]

To this day I keep seeing people do this. But how would these people get their daily dose of dopamine then? They need to claim they knew all along, or that the truth was always there, hidden between the words of his works like a trail of crumbs, if only we had been as intelligent as them and had seen the clues before... Before what? Before he hurt people? Most of us weren't even born yet when he started abusing people. And do I need to, yet again, mention how incredibly fucked up is it to say that anyone who read his books "should have seen the clues"? Some of his victims were his fans. Hello victim blaming? Some of his victims were monetarily dependent on him and he made sure of that so he could abuse them with impunity: were they supposed to read his books to find these cLuEs? Or maybe an abuser abuses any convenient target and doesn't leave trails of crumbs to be found out like the evil overlord of some cheap B movie? Maybe stop feeling like the hero of this story and sit the fuck down and stop centering yourself (generic you) and your incredible deductive wits? We don't know any author we read. They're not our friends. They're the people whose books we read. Maybe they're exaggeratedly online or have a robust series of public encounters and meets and greets so they may seem like they're more accessible as a person. They're not. It's just a job for them. No one saw the nonexistent clues because no one, not even the people closer to him, could have imagined this level of depravity*. So shut the fuck up (generic you) with your superiority complex and for the love of god, show some respect for the people who actually suffered and keep the focus on holding NG accountable and don't let this story fade away.

i don't really want to see this retconning of neil gaiman's writing where people are re-analyzing stories like "look...you can see the message under the surface...showing how he was actually abusive IRL...it's all there..."

idk maybe we should just listen to people when they speak up and say they were abused and try to foster a culture of respecting victims and actually enforcing justice against perpetrators instead of doing this weird fucking da vinci code-esque picking apart of his stories. stories which everyone was fine with for decades!! because we understand that the content that people write and produce does not have a 1 to 1 correlation with their real world actions!!!

i fully support people who cannot engage with his work anymore and i do think that because he's a still-living person it's imperative to not give this guy another cent, but we cannot pretend that everyone was just "too dumb" to see the secret clues and turn this into another case of "what you write is what you endorse." plenty of dogshit people write good stories. plenty of good people write dark stories. that's all.

[cranberrymoons]

okay so what I think is SO interesting and honestly incredible about the writing and cinematography of the kitchen scene is the fact that it manages to turn buck and eddie's entire relationship on its head in both a meta sense and a story sense in the space of just a few minutes. because yes they have had other partners off and on until recently, but "husband" is the space that buck and eddie usually inhabit for each other. and I mean this in an in universe way but also in a meta way, like they are each other's confidantes and support system, yes, but they are also 100% written as the fourth married couple on the show and always have been even in the past when they had other partners. they have always been given equal weight as the other main couples on the show.

so in a meta sense, yes they've always been written with the tropes of a couple for storyline purposes etc because they're usually paired off together. but this is THE first time that they have ever been so explicitly written as spouses, and it's done in conflict. they are in their shared home with their shared grocery shopping and having a fight that has the energy of a married couple teetering on the brink of divorce. the scene feels like something out of Marriage Story dropped into the middle of an episode of network procedural television. it is lit and shot in a way that has only been used twice before on this show, both times for previous breakups that buck and eddie have separately had in that same set. and it is SO raw and intense and close, like you can feel them clinging to each other and pushing each other away at the same time.

and then also like. in a story sense it is twisting this idea as well because they're fighting about a lot of different things (grief, loss, miscommunication, desire, shared anger, longing) but the thing that is sparking the fight in the moment or at least tipping it over the edge is the fact that buck is trying so hard to be what everyone needs at once. he's trying to be there for EVERYONE and trying so hard not to leave anyone out in the cold in their grief because that's what bobby told him to do (in his mind). and while buck is doing all of this and also processing his own enormous grief, he is missing the fact that what Eddie needs right now is not the same as what everyone else needs from him. everyone else has their families and their partners and their private grief, but what Eddie needs in all of this is for buck to fill the emotional role that he usually fills, which is – for all intents and purposes – his husband. and this is sort of the first tacit acknowledgement that what they are to each other and what they need from each other is something different than what they are to the other people in their lives.

[lame2882]

and we're back with ENA posting

These are so dumb

These are supposed to kinda show off Fragment Ego AU designs of the ENAs but I may have gotten a little too silly

Fragment Ego Masterpost

[nadinfamily]

"I am Nadine… an ordinary woman in an extraordinary place. A mother, just trying to protect a small life in a world that has lost its meaning." 🌸

Hello, My name is Nadine. I am a Palestinian mother to a little girl who has become the center of my life and the reason for my strength. 💖 We live today in harsh circumstances, unlike anything we knew life to be. Our home is no longer a home… we live in displacement, fear, lack of food, absence of medicine, and a lack of safety. 😔

Yet every morning, I open my eyes to my daughter's face, and I try again. 🌞 Because she is here, I must stay strong. 💪 Because she is small, I need to create a safe world for her… even though my world is broken.

We don't have much, but we hold on to each other. 🤝

I write these words to share a moment of our reality that you may not see in the news. I’m not seeking pity, nor do I want to burden anyone… All I ask is that my words reach a heart that knows compassion, and understands that help, even in the smallest form, can make a big difference in someone's life like ours. ✨

Life here doesn’t go as it should… but it goes on. We live on hope, the kindness of strangers, words of encouragement, and hands that reach out at the right time. 🌟 Maybe you can’t change everything, but you can change one day in our lives… And one day with dignity is all we need to keep fighting. 💫

Even a kind word, sharing this post, or a sincere prayer… all of that makes a difference to us. 🙏

Thank you… from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being here, for reading, for not turning a blind eye. To everyone who passed by here and left a kind mark: You are part of our strength. 🌷 From me and my little one: All my gratitude and all my prayers. 💖

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Word Count: 1721

Summary: After pleasing you all night, it’s only fair to wake Joel up with some pleasure of his own.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Oneshot. Somnophilia (?) Oral M!receiving, ball worship, daddy kink. Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’. Unspecified age gap. 49 year old!Joel. No beta.

A/N: Very quick blurb because his lil ‘Hey, Kiddo.’ made me [redacted]. Anyway, Relax by Frankie Goes To Hollywood is purely about sucking DI—

“Atta girl,” He sputtered. “Got yourself into this mess, now you’re gonna swallow every. Fuckin’. Drop.”

Not only did Joel fuck your brains out last night, he had also fucked out his own.

While your knees buckled every time you stood, legs trembling like a newborn fawn, Joel wouldn’t even open his eyes. For a moment, you weren’t sure he was breathing before you placed a palm to his broad chest, smiling faintly at the gentle swell with each breath, you’ve never seen him so peaceful. Or, any man, at that.

Your father being out on a business trip had you scheming day one. Texting cute, flirty texts that mostly consisted of: ‘Home alone this weekend ;)’ or, after a stream of ‘OK’s and thumbs up emojis from him, there was a more desperate plea of ‘10 PM sharp, come over here and fuck me, Miller!’

You suppose that you can defend him, he was pushing fifty, and Gen X wasn’t known as the text savvy generation.

Nonetheless, Joel had arrived and plunged himself deep within you. With a proper, almost annoyingly drawn out foreplay. Over prepared would always be better than under. Joel still had PTSD from the nails on a chalkboard sensation with his first girlfriend circa ‘92.

And now, pussy-whipped and knocked out in your bed, you’d move your hand over his tummy, feeling up the fabric of his grey tee he had thrown over his sweat slicked body last night. Comparing the calm rise and fall of stomach to the huffing and puffing, asthmatic level breathing your cunt had him in last night. Fucking wrecked. The sunlight glimmering into your room from the slits between your curtains outlined every relaxed crease and wrinkle on his face. You’d gently cradle his face in your palm, thumb stroking over his bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering as his nerves picked up on the sensation before he did.

This man had the look of someone who would be out of commission for the next week. At forty-nine, while also being a man who has been working his ass off, hammering siding against classy homes while the sun boils off his skin, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that one night of good pussy sends him into comatose. Poor guy.

And without even a droplet of water this fine morning, your own mind began wandering. Fingers tickling down his clothed torso, brows pinching together in focus. You pinch your digits against the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards towards his chest— just beneath his collar, perfect.

In awe, just about, your palm glided over the soft expanse of his belly. Down… Down… Before the heel of your hand brushed against the hem of his boxers. Heat was already bubbling low in your pelvis, curling an index around the elastic edge, tugging down in a swift motion to no slap against the stomach, but a soft, gently curved cock. Still wielding the power to make your mouth water.

Joel, slowly but surely began to stir. He’d only ruin the surprise if he wakes up before your lips were on him. Couldn’t have that, now could we?

Your mouth began to press slow, wet kisses that began at his hip, paving a path down to his pelvis. Your breath fanned across the wiry, greying bush of hairs that crowned his base. Smelled like musk, cum, whatever fluids had seeped and matted into it last night— and surprisingly, the headiness of the fragrance only made you wetter. Dizzy.

One by one, your fingers would clasp around the middle of his—currently—flaccid length. Lips pressing firm kisses against the calmly flushed head. Tongue flicking out to tease his hole, soon enough, there was a twitch.

And a voice. All-too familiar.

“Kiddo…”

You felt heat rush to your face embarrassingly fast, stomach plummeting as if you had been caught wrist deep in the cookie jar. As if, you weren’t doing this with the full intent of waking him by turning him into your own personal breakfast in bed before his eyes could even flutter open to witness it.

Though, it had all been whisked away once his thick fingers began carding through your hair. Tangling in the strands to eventually lock a makeshift ponytail.

“Feel alright?” You swallowed, continuing to pepper kisses up his dick, swelling in real time. He had to stifle a moan. Forearm laying across his forehead.

“Perfect. Now, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You took zero time to reply with anything more than an unnoticeable nod of your head. Declawing yourself from his length to spit a glob of saliva into your palm, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Now, with slow, steady slides of your fist up and down his cock, he was quick to become fully erect. You’d let go, finally getting that beloved, spring-back-onto-his-belly motion you had come to enjoy. Large digits tugging at your hair, bringing you close. It wasn’t long until you had lunged your face forward, tongue lapping hungrily from the bottom to the top, soon before your pretty lips encircled his head, just barely accommodating his size, suckling greedily.

You gag when his hips rut forward involuntarily, your poor old man can’t help it. He can’t help but babble when you take him deep, either.

“Sweet fuckin’ girl. Always so needy f’me, huh?”

You’d only gargle on a slobber slicken whine, in attempt to respond.

“Don’t try’an talk, Sweet Pea. No point when daddy’s got you all choked up like this, huh?”

He grunted in tune with the bobs of your head, voice gravely and rough on account of just waking up. Daddy’s first words in a whole eight hours of sleep.

Your drool was dribbling down his shaft, long drips surrounded by little bubbles. Cheeks stuffed, lips stretching out around the sheer girth of his member. Fuck, familiar, huh? Just on the opposite end of your body.

He adjusted, very slight and very slow, just so he wasn’t flat on his back. The pillow he had borrowed from your closet last night was propped underneath his lumbar, thick thighs spreading out to gift you some more room.

You felt a deep pulse against the plain of your tongue, eyes squeezing shut every time his balls would hit your chin. You’d use the proximity to your advantage. Moving a hand up to his scrotum, thumbing down the seam making him groan.

Fuck, didn’t those look tasty?

You sheathed himself out from your mouth, lips tender and red, wet with a mix of your spit and his precum. His cock laid against the thick of his belly, glistening in the warm, yellow light of the morning sun. Sweat gathers on his forehead, upper stomach. The condensation sparkling on his skin.

He lets his teeth sink painfully sharp into his bottom lip. His fingers curled tight and taut around the edge of your duvet, his thumb stroking against the embroidered flower sewn into the fabric. He could’ve fucking sworn his eyes rolled back into his skull the moment your hot, wet tongue stroked his sac.

“Oh fuck, Pumpkin—“ His voice cracked, nostrils flaring. “Fuck. Look at’chu, lickin’ daddy’s balls like a good girl, huh? Wanna make your daddy feel good— fuckin’ slobberin’ all over them.“

“Mhm.” Was, unfortunately, all you could muster with a testicle shoved halfway past your lips. You could feel them gently give against your tongue the more pressure you let on. Softer, heavier. Fuller. He was there, almost there. Just a little fucking more.

His lips formed an ‘o’ as he breathed out, eyes shutting, squeezing, praying. He soothed a broad, hefty palm down his gut, gripping at his base once in reach to began jerking himself forward. Bringing his swollen, heavy, spit dripping length back within an inch from that pretty face. His tip poked your cheek, watching your face visibly scrunch at the touch.

“If you wanna make daddy feel real good,” He began, Adam’s apple bobbing while he drew a line with his cockhead as he languidly inched it down towards your glossy, pink lips. “Why don’t you finish him off?”

With a sudden surging—pulsating feeling deep within the walls of your cunt, your whole body had shuddered the second that the warmth of his balls was stolen from your mouth. Clit throbbing, suffering beneath the safety of your undies. With a flattened tongue, you traced the line that ran up the underside of his shaft, circling your tongue, slowly, a couple times around his deeply blushing tip.

The taste of his skin had turned into your chosen addiction— salty, bittersweet. A moan that came deep from your throat vibrated down the length of his cock, the engorged vein running down the muscle throbbed against the inside of your cheek. Bobbing your head properly now. Neatly, keeping your form, lips tingling from the stretch. When you had him so deep that you couldn’t do anything other than whine and cry on his dick, you suddenly missed being able to moan.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the full body chill run through every vein on his being. His hips snapping upwards.

“Atta girl,” He sputtered. “Got yourself into this mess, now you’re gonna swallow every. Fuckin’. Drop.”

In desperate, last minute preparations, your hands would brace on his meaty, hairy thighs. Squeezing the skin harder the tighter his fingers grasped your hair. Hips stuttering one last time, thrusting into your mouth, groaning out your name as his balls draw up— fuck. And there he was.

He was buried so deep in your mouth that thick, burning ropes of cum shot straight down your throat. Shit— your eyes glossed over, halfway beneath your heavy lids as you stared up at him. Each pump of semen had his cock beating hard, seemingly in sync with your own fucking heartbeat. His tummy twitched as he unloaded himself. Spend riding down the slope of your throat, glazing your tongue.

You tried to clean him up the best you could. Thickly, swallowing the sinfully warm load like a shot. Even keeping a straight face, not because it was unpleasant, much like alcohol, the heat and taste would be strong but the buzz was stronger— the buzz, being, how your brain suddenly turned to mush and your panties were half slidden off your pussy, purely from the amount of slick built up. Poor, sweet, plaint girl.

You can count on daddy to take care of that. You always can.

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

I saw this comment on Reddit, that just describes it perfectly:

I heard somewhere that artists/writers are so frustrated with their creations because it keeps looks like it's made like them. That post was made before AI, I'm assuming (can't find it at the moment, will edit and add it when I do!) and it mentioned how that will never happen.

And that's where I think the problem stems. People like AI because it generates or rewrites works that doesn't sound like them. And the problem is that they think that's an accomplishment, something to be proud of.

Your art will always look like you made it, your writing will always sound like you wrote it, and that's the loveliness of it. That's the brilliance of it. You are the one seeing the geometrical pattern in something and putting it down, the story can be told a million ways and it'll be changed slightly and become a new version each time, someone decides to tell it, and it'll be their version. There is nothing new in AI. It collabs the writing of artists of had their own version of you-ness and mixed it into something decidedly other.

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[ebodebo]

trouble never lies dormant…

pairing: remmick x preachers!daughter reader

word count: 1k+

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, maybe a little dubcon vibes, reader is religious on account of her dad being the town preacher and all, masturbation, multiple orgasms, religious speak & imagery, vampirism, vampire/human, somewhat of an established relationship, but like i’m using the term relationship very loosely, biting, slight pain kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of god, low-key, but kind of high-key corruption kink, porn without plot, implied virgin reader, unhealthy relationship dynamic, location change, probable historical language inaccuracies, a slight varying interpretation of the vampires in the movie, ie., they can spawn anywhere if you let them, manipulation, & no use of y/n.

author’s note: everybody cheer! everybody clap! i’m finally on my sinners writing shit. @sceletaflores’s amazing fic shed your knuckle velvet torn, on my teeth inspired me to write for sinners! that fic changed lives and altered my brain chemistry. go give her some love, she deserves it! anywho, i hope you enjoy this horny mess!

divider by @strangergraphics !

A monster lurks where the divine dwells…

Perspiration is gathering on your forehead, as your hands move quickly, willing it to fall down your cheek.

Your moans come out as small whisper as your fingers plunge in and out of your dripping cunt that is covered by a mere cotton sheet.

The cross that hangs around your neck sways with each desperate swirl, each attempting to chase a high you can feel down to your toes.

Your Bible by your side, serving as a vessel of guilt that you swallow as you feel warmth blooming in your lower stomach.

You know that eyes are watching you, not just the picture frames that hold the judging gazes of your kin, including your father, the town pastor down here in Tuscaloosa.

These are different, peering at you just beyond your window.

These were much more carnivorous.

Sinful.

They had lost their humanity, a trapped soul caught between Hell and Earth.

“Remmick…I beg of you to come in,” you beg, fingers plunging into your soaked cunt, fingers grasping at the thin sheet beneath you.

You could feel the unholy presence wash over the divinity of your room. The creaking of your wooden floor makes your eyes snap up to see him, with maroon eyes and a hung smile.

“Making a mess of yourself, aren’t ya?” he comments, eyes closing momentarily, taking in your scent. Your sweet arousal is rushing his system, sending his brain into overdrive.

“It feels incredible,” you whisper, trying to hush your enjoyment. Even with guilt clawing up your throat, your fingers coax around your clit, unwilling to stop. “I cannot stop.”

“Greed is liberating,” he adds, paying no real attention to his words. Drool leaks from the corner of his lips down his chin, watching you pleasure yourself. “Your greed is…a sweet temptation.”

Your eyes are hazy, hanging lazily as you stare at him. He is baring his teeth, sharp fangs gleaming. His tongue drags across the edges before licking away the spit on his lips.

You come with a small whimper, your arousal now leaking onto your sheets where you lie. Your body shakes with relief, chest heaving, attempting to collect more oxygen.

His eyes shut roughly, nostrils flaring as he takes in your scent, before they snap open, glowing red. “I need to taste ya,” he says, moving over to where you lay, still coming down from your high before ripping off your thin sheet and sinking to his knees to swipe his tongue across your glistening cunt.

“Dear, God…” you murmur, body twitching from sensitivity as your fingers grip the sheets tightly.

He lifts his head slightly, his glowing eyes boring into yours as his lips gleam with your arousal. “There ain't no God here, babydoll,” his lip quips. “Just me.”

Your body heaves forward, as his tongue swirls around your clit. “It’s too much,” you choke out, your hypersensitivity catching up with you.

He brings his head up. “It’s never too much, dear,” he says. Though, he does maneuver away from your cunt. His hand reaches out for your ankle, pulling it towards him.

You let out a yelp, body sitting upright, before he stands. He hovers over you ominously before his hand brushes against your cheek. “Sweet girl, you will learn to take what is given to ya,” he rasps as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm.

He beckons you to stand before he bends down, his nose moving against your neck to smell your skin. His lips press a kiss to your flesh, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips.

Without warning, his curious fingers find your cunt, easing in and out of it with ease. You grip your thigh for stability, as his lips suck on the skin of your neck.

“What would your savior have to say about this?” he mutters into your neck, fingers moving fervently. “Me suckin’ on the same very flesh he created?” he tacks on, as his other hand moves to grip the fat of your hips. “Fingers swirlin’ in this drippin’ pussy that your dear ole’ daddy has condemned,” he spits with agitation.

You grip your thigh tighter, your nails digging into the flesh. You’re rocking yourself against his fingers, mind whirling. “God…will take you…he’ll—he’ll heal you,” you mumble.

He laughs into the crook of his neck where his teeth are bared, mere inches from skimming your skin. “I’m not God’s to take.”

Your toes curl against the cold floor, and you can feel yourself edging closer to another sweet release.

His fangs hover over your neck. “Life could better for ya…for us,” he reasons softly, fingertips looming across your aching clit. “Let me take ya, sweet girl. I will let ya be whomever ya want,” he promises, his teeth prodding against your flesh.

Your teeth press into your bottom lip. “I cannot be—ah—led into temptation,” you say with a moan, though he can see the break in your resolve.

“Ya already have,” his tongue comes out to lick a stripe up your neck. “Ya ain’t like the others. I could smell your hunger through these very walls,” his finger gives your clit a slight pinch. “You’re sin wrapped up in one of them pretty bows, but I see right through ya, babydoll. No one will understand you. Not like I do,” he growls into your neck. “You’re all mine.”

“Take me! Please, take me with you!” you plead, feeling your climax overtake you.

You feel his fangs pierce your flesh, only adding to the erotic sensation. His hands move to grab and hold up your body as it slumps from exhaustion, and he feeds on your blood.

He pulls away, your blood staining his teeth, lips, and chin. “You will find this life is…simpler,” he whispers, easing you onto the bed.

You suddenly fall onto the sheets, unconscious for only a moment before you rise, feeling rejuvenated. Your eyes wander to Remmick, whose tongue darts across his lower lip to collect more of your blood, before you feel an urge to look at the framed picture frames.

You softly close your eyes, grasping the cross around your neck before whispering a silent prayer. “I am sorry, Father, for I have fallen into temptation,” you pray.

Remmick's hand reaches out, beckoning for yours. You grab his hand and walk out of the sanctity of your home to wander through the night, not bothering to bid your father goodbye.

And, although yes, your father may have lost his obedient sheep, a subservient follower, the night roared with delight, for it had captured a creature overflowing with unfulfilled desires and unpacified greed.

mini author’s note: me, personally, i would let him take me too. unfortunately, i have no shame.

[ahmadwaleed55]

This Is What’s Happening in Gaza

In the emergency room of Al-Shifa Hospital…

The Massacre…

By Dr. Ahmad Wael Qandil

The chaos was suffocating. Screams echoed from every corner. Bleeding bodies. Souls clinging to life. The scene looked more like a battlefield than a hospital.

We ran without pause, trying to bring back life to those whose hearts still held a beat.

As I moved between the wounded, my eyes fell on a small body lying motionless. A child—no more than ten years old.

His neck was drenched in blood, and his face pale, like life was slowly leaving him.

I rushed to him, dropped to my knees, and pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding.

He looked at me with wide eyes, filled with tears and pain…

But what he said next froze my soul.

He whispered, barely audible:

"Doctor… please… kill me… I don’t want to live."

I froze. A child, in the bloom of life, asking for death?

What kind of hell must he have lived through to beg for an end?

My soul collapsed before my voice did.

Damn the occupation a thousand times turned a child’s dream of living into a wish for death.

His voice still echoes in my ears… and it always will.

That child was not alone. Thousands of others are going through even worse. And every day, the pain grows deeper, and survival becomes harder. I write these words because my voice is all I have…And here in Gaza, we don’t have the luxury of waiting.

Ways you can help

Support my family directly through our GoFundMe campaign

Share this story: Every repost helps raise awareness.

Speak up: Be a voice for the children of Gaza.

Your support means everything.

With your help, we can buy food, water, medicine, and survive another day.

Please—don’t scroll past our pain.

Stand with us. Support our survival.

Vetted ! ! !

(#167 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi) (but we had to make a new gfm campaign cuz our old organizer stopped contacting us).

# dlxxv-vetted-donations

[bluukive]

This is my first time actually making a request/ ask of any kind because I feel like such a pervert 🫣 but could you possibly write how the JJk guys would react to a reader who’s a surprise squriter? -🦎

!MDNI: Surprise? - JJK

an - I actually know nothing about sqwuirting so this might be unrealistic? Ty for the ask tho <3

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

Starts crying

Like he's so dramatic about it, lower lip jutted out as he thinks 'Oh, shit. My girl's a supersoaker???', all whilst he's staring at your twitching body below him.

Tries giving you a high-five, ignoring the fact you're boneless right now. You can't really blame him, he's beyond excited. Probably just ends up slapping your thigh.

He's brought back into reality when your pussy refuses to let him go almost, gripping him like a vice.

Says he needs to see you do it again for 'scientific purposes' - he's got his phone out with the flash on, recording from all angles possible as his fingers slide in and out, curl up inside you with his face as close to your pussy as possible so that he can throw a cheeky wink at the camera.

Non-stop yapper after, like... worse than usual. He's laying on his belly in bed, legs swinging as he goes on and on about how flattered he is and how you must love him so much

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Quiet when it happens. He just stares for a while before exhaling and pulling his cock out of you. Suguru's head is tilted as he admired his still pulsing length. It as hard as ever, but the only difference now is that it's glistening with your release.

Slaps his cock against your clit, smirking when you curl in on yourself due to overstimulation. Will also whisper about how nasty of a slut you are, getting his dick wet like that

He restrains you (consensually ofc) with whatever he can. Suguru wants to see you frustrated, so he'll use anything to edge you, whether that be his tongue, fingers, toys. etc.

Dare I say when you finally orgasm and squirt again, he comes untouched too. He developed a fascination with edging just because it made that final release all the more satisfying for you both

All cuddles and praise after, but he's thinking of different ways to make you do it again

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Nearly stops completely, cursing as his hips falter. You've been folded in half when it happens, and the spurts of your release hit his aps, coating them in a glossy sheen that he's staring down at. Feels his heart thumping in his ears, Toji's that turned on

Smug as hell once he's recovered (acting like he didn't pull out and squeeze his cock slightly to prevent himself from cumming on the spot)

Runs his entire hand down both his abs and chest and makes you lick it all clean after staring at it. You swear it looked like he was rebooting, and you mentally log it in your head to tease him about it later.

Once that's all done, your knees are practically by your ears as he pushes your legs back even further (idek how that's possible, my fatass could never). Toji's swearing to wring you out like a damn towel, determined to make you do it again

You both end up overstimulated, Toji just couldn't stop himself from getting hard whenever he saw your pussy gush all over him

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

Mr. Short-circuit pt 2 yessir. Starts saying stuff like 'Did I do that to you?, 'Was that because of me?', and he knows damn well it was all him.

You squirt for the first time when he's eating you out, actually. His glasses are covered in stray drops of your orgasm, and he politely wipes them clean, all whilst taking a moment to smile privately. He's made you do that, no-one else. Nanami's face is a pretty pink throughout it all.

First makes sure you're okay. After all, your comfort is Nanami's priority above everything else. He wants verbal confirmation that you felt good, a nod isn't good enough.

Once you give him that shaky 'yes', something shifts in Nanami. He's borderline clinical with how he touches and inspects your pussy after. His glasses are off, and his eyes remain trained on your pussy whilst he's fucking into you.

A thumb stays on your clit throughout it all, and he's changing the pace of the focused digit. When Nanami feels like you're close to orgasm, he slows down. He's unintentionally edging you, but neither of you are complaining when your back arches off the bed for the nth time that night

Thanks you when you squirt, for trusting him this much

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Pretends that it's an inconvenience when you accidentally squirt on him. He's actually hiding how obsessed he is with you at that moment

Grabs your face, practically snarling when he degrades you. Sukuna's hissing out commands, talking about how you've soiled him. It's apparently now your duty to squirt again with ONLY his permission

It's become a challenge for him to make you soak his body over and over, and he's dragging his tongue all over your cunt when it happens (even if that means he has to pull his cock/s out of you)

Calls you weak multiple times. Frankly doesn't care if you're crying, he'll just lick the tears right back up. Time to recover from an orgasm is practically non-existent

Develops a need to have you ride his thigh at least once a day whilst he's on his throne. It's a way for him to humiliate you, making you buck your hips like you're in heat until he can feel the wetness coat the thick muscle.