#but like. this is pretty immediate and present death!

[impactrueno]

let's talk about shoes (stick with me here for a sec)

beetleboots beetleboots beetleboots.

what's up with the three of them wearing combat boots? they go well with each of their character designs so it's not like they look out of place with the rest of their outfits, but knowing this is tim burton and colleen atwood, these things are not mere coincidence.

(spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice below)

a common complaint i've seen people mention about Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is that "there's too many villains," but today i'm here to talk about why each of them matter in the narrative tim wanted to present here. yes the boots are related we'll get to that in a minute

delores, rory and jeremy all have one thing in common: the use of romantic betrayal in order to achieve their own selfish goals, destroying their victims in the process.

this, in turn, makes beetlejuice, lydia and astrid have another thing in common: they were the victims of these romantic betrayals.

you may think "okay but why is that necessary?"

this sequel made the interesting choice of nudging beetlejuice out of the villain role. he's now just a weird ally/deuteragonist...or perhaps even...a protagonist? but that's not enough! why should we as an audience care about him or sympathize with him?

that's where delores comes in. delores is less of a character and more of a plot device. her purpose (besides serving cunt) is to give beetlejuice backstory and be to beetlejuice what beetlejuice was to lydia, only worse. i talked a bit more about it in this post. thanks to her, we now learn that beetlejuice was a victim. not just that, she's also the looming threat beetlejuice needs to justify his marriage to lydia (he seems to be under the impression that this would help him escape delores more easily, but personally i'm not so sure, i think she's more powerful than that.) her return in combination with lydia's return to winter river is what sets his plan in motion.

rory is a pretty self-explanatory villain so i don't think we have to go into that. he wasn't out to kill lydia...but he's a golddigger, so i don't doubt he would've set something up to lead her into having a fatal accident and claim insurance benefits.

jeremy's role in the plot was to make astrid realize that she was wrong about the supernatural, as well as put her in danger in the afterlife, which is the drive lydia needs to turn to beetlejuice for help.

the role of an antagonist is to oppose or be an obstacle to the protagonist's goal. these three are the three obstacles beetlejuice needs to overcome in order to marry lydia.

first, he needs to save astrid as part of the deal with lydia. so he gets rid of jeremy to give astrid her life back. he knows exactly what it's like to be romanced into a death trap. you can tell this was satisfying for him. later, fucker.

then, he needs her fiancé rory out of the picture if he intends to marry lydia. since he knows this guy is a total piece of shit and is lying to her to lead her into the same trap he himself fell into with delores, he simply gives lydia the tools she needs to kick his ass herself. teamwork!

third comes delores. he just needs to survive delores, basically. he tries to pair her off with rory to try and kill two birds with one stone, but the stone that ends up killing them both is the sandworm that astrid summoned, which beetlejuice then guided straight to them. teamwork once again! (beetlejuice and astrid got rid of each other's problems, that's kind of cool)

these three things being taken care of means that beetlejuice can finally marry lydia.............

............except he doesn't. why? because he helped lydia. by bringing her into the afterlife to look for her daughter, he violated code 699. and he did it immediately after signing that contract. hoist by his own petard, this dumbass.

sorry i got sidetracked again. we were talking about boots, right? right right.

beetlejuice, lydia and astrid all walked in each other's shoes.

everything in this movie comes in threes. names, villains, victims, obstacles and pairs of combat boots.

[angelinthefire]

I gotta disagree with a lot of this. I don't think fans are wrong for wanting more interiority, but i think the original post is overlooking what character-centric stuff we've gotten, and is asking for things out of line with who the characters are.

Like Heimerdinger. Has always been a bit detached from the present day and from people's current suffering. It's not surprising to me at all that he's just focusing on scientific questions.

Regarding Ekko - We know that people aren't generally aware that Jinx killed Silco because Smeech was surprised to find out. We also know how he feels about how things are progressing from his conversation with his bat-guy friend.

As I'm going back through the original post, I'm seeing a number of questions that I think viewers can absolutely assume need time to develop. And also a lot of questions about how characters feel about Heimerdinger which. Isn't that important imo.

And Jayce - the dude is freaking exhausted. He's sleeping in his lab. When Viktor wakes up, Jayce has survived a rocket attack, witnessed the deaths of his colleagues, been attacked and almost killed with a chainsaw. Now his best friend is miraculously awake. A guy can only deal with so much at once, (and a scene can only deal with so much at once while still remaining coherent). Jayce ends that scene, not with rational questions about what's going on, but with an emotional outburst. He's overwhelmed. Of course he's not going to do great processing new information. That's good characterization.

And later, considering what Jayce is going through and how his mind is clearly on other things, I think him being like "sure this may as well happen" when Heimerdinger shows up both makes sense and serves to reinforce his current emotional state.

And I think the op is being really unfair regarding Vi. First, I don't think it was ever made explicit that Jinx firing on the council was an act of revenge. In context, I would call it an act of chaos and despair, actually. I'm pretty confident that we'll get Vi's opinion on an uprising when one actually happens, which it hasn't yet.

The stuff about Vi joining the enforcers because Maddie gassed her up is factually untrue. The point of that scene was primarily to let Vi know about the effort that Caitlyn went through to get her the badge, which you can tell from Vi's reactions. She doesn't show any particular friendliness towards Maddie at all. And I think it's pretty obvious that Rene's attack and Caitlyn's response to it were the prime movers to get Vi to join the enforcers. Seeing as that happened immediately before. The stakes were raised with the attack, creating the sense that something had to be done. And Vi promised Caitlyn that she wouldn't let things fall apart - she's entering caretaker mode regarding Caitlyn, the same role that she's used to playing with Powder. Very interesting characterization imo. (Also not healthy, but why should caitvi be healthy anyways? This is a drama).

Regarding Vi and Jinx in general - throughout the entire first act, Vi is convincing herself that her sister is gone. That's how she's processing all of this. She's separating Powder from Jinx. Jinx is the monster that killed her sister, Vi says that explicitly. And the random kid intervening is more than a random kid intervening, she's a reminder that Jinx is still capable of loving and being loved.

I mean, obviously fans can have criticisms, etc. Are there some things that are clumsy, or info-dump-ish? Sure. But you can't ignore nuance and then say there's no nuance.

Character writing in Arcane Season 2: Act 1

I have big issues with the quality of dialogue and characterization so far in Act 1. Characters and conversations have almost zero depth. Examples:

Heimerdinger - Does he know about the Council attack? How does he feel about it? Is he relieved he was voted out beforehand? Does he feel responsible for the attack, in that if he had taken action sooner, Zaun would not have been driven to this level of violence? Does he feel guilty for the deaths of his colleagues? Viktor was almost killed by the attack but got saved by the very Hexcore Heimerdinger hated. What's his reaction to that??

Lol who cares? Let's do goofy Disney channel hijinks by sneaking into a lab with Ekko. He meets Jayce there. Does he express his concern or relief that his former student just survived a Hextech explosion unscathed? Nope!!! Wacky humour time!!!

Ekko - Does Ekko know Jinx killed Silco? If yes, how does he feel about that? Is he shocked? Confused? If he doesn't know, what does he think happened to Silco? What do Zaunites like him make of Silco's death if Jinx got rid of his body? How does he feel about the Council attack? Does he support it or does he think Jinx went too far? Is he on the fence?

Lol who cares? We don't need to know any of this. Let Ekko have goofy scenes with Heimerdinger. Speaking of Heimer, what the fuck is Ekko's opinion on Heimerdinger's criminal negligence of the Undercity for the past two fucking centuries? Because he sure warmed up to that hairball quick. This is an issue that started in Season 1 Episode 8, but I had hopes they would address it in Season 2. I guess not.

Jayce - How does Jayce feel about seeing Heimerdinger again, when their last meeting was Jayce betraying him? We know he felt guilty about it in Season 1 so why was there no inkling of it during their meeting in the lab? Why doesn't Jayce tell Heimer that the Hexcore saved Viktor? The Hexcore having the potential to save Viktor's life was a huge point of contention for them in Season 1 and was partially the reason for Jayce's betrayal, but neither of them mention it. Lol. Viktor wakes up and tells him that Sky was killed by the Hexcore in their lab. Jayce: "Oh no! Anyway..." ?????? No questions as to how and when this happened? No questions as to where Sky's body is? You just learned your employee was fucking killed in your lab a few days ago and this is your reaction?

Vi - How does Vi feel about the fact that the tyrants who killed her parents are dead by Jinx's hand? She herself wanted to take revenge on the Council in the past, so how does she feel now that her little sister's the one who did it? When Caitlyn yaps about avenging her mother's death by killing Jinx, does Vi realize that Jinx's attack was in itself vengeance for their parents' deaths on the bridge? Which were sanctioned by the Council? Will she ever bring this up to Caitlyn? Probably not. What exactly is Vi's opinion on a Zaunite uprising against topside? Does she no longer think it's the right way to go about things?

What does she think happened to Ekko? The last time she saw him, he was fighting Jinx to the death. He could be dead for all she knows. And she doesn't even think about or mention him once. Seems like she doesn't give a shit about Little Man lol. Did the writers forget they are childhood friends?

What eventually drives her to join the enforcers? Could it be concern for her sister, that she somehow thinks the badge would allow her more say in advocating for lesser sentencing? Could it be ideology, that she genuinely believes stricter policing of the Undercity is the way to prevent more Silcos? Lol nope! She's convinced by some rando giving her an ego boost about how Kewl and Badazz she was attacking the factory of child labourers. (A+ manipulation by Caitlyn by the way. What a wholesome and healthy romance Caitvi is turning out to be!)

What causes the rift between Vi and Caitlyn? Could it be Vi's love for Jinx, because as much she tries to convince herself her sister is dead and that Jinx is a different person, deep down she knows that Jinx is still her sister and for all Vi's bluster and rage, she can't bear to see Jinx actually die when push comes to shove? Lol nope!!! She's actually totally okay with a fucking enforcer killing her fucking sister, the exact thing that orphaned them both. Vi only draws the line when a random kid intervenes, after which Caitlyn proceeds to domestically abuse Vi and leave her crying on the floor without looking back.

There is so much detail and nuance missing. This is why almost every scene and conversation feels so empty. Every conversation is comically rushed and not allowed to breathe. The characters' superficial personality traits are there for the most part, but their underlying motivations, feelings, opinions, and desires are completely neglected to fulfill whatever the plot demands them to do.

[pizzabox-box]

I needed to force myself not to write this until you posted the next DMW part lol, I love this story but I feel like it's going too fast

Blind Man's Bluff, Part Four

Theirs was the last car left in the drive-in theater. The movie was turning out extremely well, and they were on the final three scenes. Doise had thought WAR would be the most stressful scene to film, but oh boy, had Pizzascare given him anxiety. At least they were at the home stretch now.

He stared blankly at the laptop he had on the dashboard. Since Fake Peppino was out of the picture, or at least hadn't shown his face since his restaurant burned down, Doise had to put some serious thought into how this boss rush was going to play out. He sighed and looked over at Noisette. She had fallen asleep in the passenger seat about fifteen minutes before the film as it stood had ended. He knew Noise was lurking somewhere nearby, watching her like a hawk, but he hadn't felt Peddito anywhere all day. That made him nervous.

He noticed the light of the full moon dim and immediately went on edge. He barely had time to spin around before he heard a door creak open and saw a tall, skinny figure backflip onto the car. Oh boy. It was the beanpole. This might actually be trouble.

Doise shot an accusing finger at Pizzahead. "Look pal, I'm not in the mood for your games! Now get your dirty boots off my paint job before I get not so friendly with you!" The mascot giggled. "Ooh, aren't you a feisty one! It's nice to not know what to expect from someone for once. Well, you can relax now, buddy!" Doise decidedly did not relax. "What do you mean?" Pizzahead laughed and pulled out a remote control. "Well, let's see!"

Gesturing to the screen, he rewinded to the fight between the two gremlins. Doise immediately tensed up, and Pizzahead put his arm around him in a gesture of familiarity he had no right to have. "When my cameras showed me what you did to that freak's pizzeria, I admit you caught my interest! For once, I had to really do some pretty significant research to figure out what was happening." With a click of a button, the camera zoomed in on the combatants' faces as they grappled. He paused on the very frame one man got yanked backwards by a barely perceptible pink smudge, so barely present that even on film, its existence was easy to question. The dust-covered, bloody man's eyes practically glowed a vibrant red, and his expression was filled with a bewildered, abstract terror. Pizzahead whispered in the terrified Doise's ear: "You're not quite mortal, are ya?"

Doise looked into his eyes. "So now what? Are you going to tell everyone who I really am? Let me get mauled by the mob?" Pizzahead shrugged and waved one hand in a dismissive manner. "Why would I? The show's only just getting good!" He grinned wickedly and looked at Noisette, still fast asleep and dreaming sweetly. "In fact, it would be a lot more exciting if you weren't constantly chained to this doll's side, don't you think?"

Noise and Noisette twirled beautifully across the dance floor. She giggled happily as he dipped her. He danced with a passion she had never known, which was impressive given the feats they had preformed at their wedding. He stared at her with the deepest love a man could ever feel, though Noisette thought she could see a trace of sorrow in his eyes as he danced and sang.

You can dance every dance for the one who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight, you can smile every smile for the one who holds your hand in the pale moonlight, just don't forget who's taking you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be, so darling, save the last dance for me!

With that, he swooped her up and kissed her with a deep passion. As she closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, she thought she could hear the priest's voice leading the ceremony: "...in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" They came up for air, and Noise gently caressed the side of her face. "Hazel, my love, my life, I won't ever stop loving you, even after my heart stops and turns cold as stone," he told her, staring in her eyes with a love that couldn't be described, though it was tainted by heartbreak.

Noisette was suddenly filled with a sense of extreme dread. Something wasn't right. She clung close to her husband, chilled by a fear she couldn't explain. Without warning, he shoved her backwards, knocking her on her back. She sat up, incredulous - just in time to see Noise get splashed with a strange substance from overhead. It had the consistency of thin mud, and looked like blood mixed with a blue-gray plaster. Noise fell to his hands and knees, inexplicably weakened.

Noisette reached out to him - then scampered backwards as she saw the clay start wrapping itself around him, swiftly enveloping him in the otherworldly slime. He struggled against it, seemingly trying to escape, but his eyes were filled with a knowing despair. He had known this was going to happen. He stared at her mournfully.

Noisette started forward again, determined that time. "Theo!" she called, stepping forward. Noise put a hand up. "Hazel, stop. I need you to listen to me carefully," he said. She stopped. He had never sounded this serious before. "Don't get close to me. Be wary of anything I do for you. I will love you for eternity, but you can't trust me anymore. It's way too dangerous for you to be near me. And whatever happens." He almost looked like a statue now. His mouth was covered by the clay, but his scarlet eyes stared into her soul, grieving as if he was the widow rather than the deceased. His voice seemed to come from her heart.

"I'm. Not. Me."

The blue-gray figure rose to its feet and approached her, blood red cape fluttering despite the absence of wind. Blue and pink lights flashed furiously around her before fading into yellow and orange, the screaming void behind the mask seemed to be calling her name, drawing her in to her destruction -

She awoke with a scream, looking around her at the unfamiliar surroundings. A hand gently grabbed her own, and a voice attempted to soothe her. "Hey, hey, hey, what happened? Are you ok?" She turned and saw Noise in the driver's seat beside her. That's right, they were at the drive-in theater. So had it all been a dream? She sobbed her sorrows into her husband's chest as he rubbed her back. He reassured her it was all going to be ok.

Later that night, she rolled over to look at him, fast asleep in the bed beside her. She fidgeted with the new necklace he had given her, making her promise never to take it off. She felt horrible about it, but something about Noise was making her feel like something was wrong. She tried to push those thoughts aside. You mustn't think things like that! He's been so devoted to you, and anyway, it was just a dream, right?

"I'm. Not. Me."

...right?

previous part

Another part already??? 👀👀👀👀

The dream sequence was genuiely heartbreaking :( You nailed Pizzahead's character very well! Wonder what he's planning , also the necklace seems deeply suspicious .

Either way, I'm excited to see where this will go 👀 keep cooking!

Once again, thank you so much for continuing this series :D

[penguinkyun]

chapter 166 review

continued cw for discussion of canon suicide

ITS THE FINAL CHAPTER......!!!

honestly. i really really wish i could give praise and a positive review about this chapter because its the end of a manga i really truly loved and enjoyed and it makes me really sad that i can't do that

because this ending is shit. thanks akasaka!

with two chapters remaining, i knew that any fallout would be rushed and underexplored without the time it would deserve but it really does amaze me how this chapter managed to feel both rushed and excessive in its exploration of grief

just like kana last chapter, focusing so much on rubys grief here feels oddly exploitative (but everything about these last three chapters have felt exploitative and excessive so) and yet we did need to see rubys reaction so its just this contradictory mess of too much and too little at the same time

i guess it feels that way because like @aihoshiino mentioned, of this trend in the latter half of the manga of showing horrible things happening to the characters, but theres either very little or no healing and rebuilding to provide catharsis. aquas death is horrific and theres no resolution or refutation to the self hatred he has of himself and he died believing his only role while living was to be in service of others and everyone else is shown grieving in detail for a few pages before moving on because theres not enough time to give their emotions the space to breathe and not enough time to give them the space to heal and rebuild so it just feels like an endless cycle of suffering and suffering with tiny hints of healing and then its back to suffering and it is so draining to read through

its kind of sad that ruby, who is supposed to be the second main character of this series, doesn't even get to narrate the last chapter, like she narrated the beginning of the first chapter after ai's death. all her thoughts and feelings are told to us by akane instead of her- her story can't even be told by ruby herself

burning.mp3 sure is playing loud during the beginning of this chapter

ough mem's notice that shes taking a break contrasting her one million subscriber video...that sure hurts

and what hurts even more is why the fuck is taiki not at the hoshinos family grave where aqua would be buried. why is he giving a bouquet to parents he absolutely hates instead of being allowed to grieve the brother he actually loved and cared for???

WHY IS HE AT THE HIMEKAWAS GRAVE. WHY. WHY TAIKI WHY. THIS MAKES NO SENSE HE HATES THEM??? WHY WOULD HE GIVE THEM FLOWERS??? WHAT THE FUCK. WHY IS THIS THE LAST TIME WE SEE HIM???

coughs. anyway

the ending really is just "aqua died and we were all sad about it. then we moved on."

and its honestly terrible that everything is going exactly as aqua predicted. his death only boosted ruby and 15YL, and everyone else was able to get back on their feet in what feels like almost immediately. i don't want the characters to suffer more or any of them to commit suicide like half the predictions were in the weeks after 164, but the way its presented here- due to the lack of pacing and rushed ending- the narrative is retroactively justifying aqua's suicide and thats. well bad! its bad message to send! rubs forehead. seriously the messaging is all sorts of fucked up this chapter

i dont actually have all that much to say about the rest since its pretty much what i figured-- akane and kana going all in on acting and everyone getting their footing back

we really just brought in two random bkomachi members out the wazoo!

the two stars in the sky did get me a little though i wont lie

what i didn't expect though was akasaka taking the themes of the series and burying them even deeper than six feet under in the final chapter

because ruby's essentially become Ai 2.0 here, even more than she was in c.159. she's become a liar that lies constantly as being an idol, hiding her pain so she can continue to shine- the very ending that neither ai nor aqua wanted for her, the very thing she never wanted to become– how is this a happy ending? or even a bittersweet one?

hoshino ai was a greedy girl for wanting happiness as an idol and happiness for herself, so what does this chapter tell us? what's the moral of this story? that you shouldn't want happiness for yourself? hoshino aqua died without ever receiving the fulfillment and happiness he wanted, ai died because the toxic culture and misogyny around idols and idol culture prevented her from living her life in happiness, and hoshino ruby survives without any fulfilling happiness in her life? is the lesson here you shouldn't be greedy for too much happiness? that you simply need to grin and bear it? thats an absolutely terrible message to send!

this ending feels like holding dry ice because of how devoid of any warmth it feels

the last panels are so cold— ruby saying goodbye to a wall filled with the commodified versions of her mother and brother (especially their signatures what the FUCK) and one single true picture of them both and its from her childhood and going to a job she lost any sort of joy and fulfillment in and has to hide her pain everyday with lies

it'd be one thing if ruby had to lie if she still found any sort of enjoyment in being an idol but none of that is there! It's just empty.

sidenote: ruby do you not have a single picture of aqua as a teen?? even gotanda has one wtf?? what about miyako??? this is not the time for product placement!

ALSO WHY A PLUSHIE. OF ALL THINGS. WHY AN AI PLUSHIE?!

the fact she says ``towards the future [you] illuminated for me`` is so insulting to those deaths because. neither of them wanted this for her! and ai didn't die for her and as far as she knows, aqua was murdered so this line is as confusing as it is wrong

its such a bad ending for ruby because being an idol was something she wanted to do for two lifetimes and now she has everything except her family and the happiness that she used to have doing it

sighs. in the end the saitous were the only ones with their dreams fulfilled huh? they got an idol to the dome.

kana never got her dream fulfilled, akane couldn't save aqua, ruby lost all her family and lost the love and enjoyment she found in being an idol, aqua died horribly without ever seeing any of his dreams come to fruition. ai's wish has been desecrated completely. towards stars and dreams? hah. what a terrible name for this arc. what a bitter ending.

despite all this, i really do love this manga and thats why seeing this ending destroy all the themes it had of breaking the cycle, of moving forward, its sad. and heartbreaking.

its a fun ride though! and i enjoyed being here and reading this manga. honestly a little emotional now thats its officially oshi no over! i'm not done with this series though and probably will still be posting and discussing it for a long time to come! in the end, i love all these characters way too much to let go now and they have all been a pretty important part of my life, so...happy end of series everyone. i hope you all enjoyed this ride as much as i did!

see you all!

[pocketramblr]

We found. Bastard killed Youchi in a sewer. Only a hand was left. About if Yoichi was eaten by rats… well. It’s a sewer and i don’t think AFO was meticulous collecting the remains.

*squints* that doesn't look like a lot of pieces left even for the rats so I think we're safe on that account, new question, "how the hell did AfO not realize that killed his brother"

[brittlebutch]

The 'Enjoying watch you suffer' line in Broadcast has always been hard to pin down; Tim's leg getting broken is the biggest incident in Entry #35, so it's natural to want to tie the two together, but it seems to fit so indelicately into what we know about the timeline of totheark's internal relationship that it almost causes more problems than it resolves. However, even though it's very blink and miss it, Tim does actually manage to stab Alex in the arm before he gets knocked down -- we hear Alex cry out in pain, can see blood on the blade when Jay picks it up, and then in the recovered corrupted footage from that tape that Jay posts as Entry #36 Alex says "I did what I had to... he'd just stabbed me" -- and that injury being what totheark was trying to call attention to, to me, reads a lot more clear and consistent than anything else does

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater�� was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“��that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

How do you think Nanami would announce your pregnancy to Gojo and the jujutsu high cast…. Possible fic idea?

Rainbow Baby

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, TW- mentions of a previous miscarriage, (is not described, but it’s heavily referenced), grief, tooth-rotting fluff at the end, happy ending that you and nanami deserve.

An: This is def not the fic that I accidentally wrote about the wrong character for. I definitely did not write this entire fic about Satoru before rereading your request and seeing that you clearly wrote for Nanami.

Nanami is a private man — not secretive, just private. While he loves when you visit school to see him because your presence eases his weary mind, he doesn’t flaunt you around to his coworkers. It’s honestly just a known thing around the school that Kento has a very pretty wife who he doesn’t introduce to anyone.

There is only one exception to the rule: the man who isn’t afraid of anything and has no concept of social boundaries, Satoru Gojo.

Nanami watched in utter disdain as Satoru always found a way to inset himself into yours and Nanami’s conversations. He never bothered to hide how much Gojo gets on his nerves.

However, Satoru gets a pass. Nanami may shoot him death glares and give him short, irritated responses, but Nanami will never shoo him away.

Satoru gets a pass because he was the one who made sure you and Nanami didn’t drown in grief when you two lost your first little one.

Nanami hadn’t even told anyone that you were pregnant yet — it was so early on. You two were still enjoying keeping it a small secret between you two. However, Gojo picked up on it immediately after seeing you. You weren’t showing, but he could see the small bundle of yellow and orange energy radiating from your tummy with his six eyes.

To Nanami’s surprise, Satoru didn’t make a huge deal out of it. He shook Nanami’s hand while whispering a quiet congratulations into his ear. Nanami laughed as he realized that Satoru knew, and he pulled the white haired male into a hug.

Satoru immediately knew something was wrong when Nanami didn’t show up for work the next week. Deciding to check up on his friend, he stopped by yours and Nanami’s house.

Nanami looked like a wreck compared to his normally put together self when he answered the door. His skin was pale, dark bags under his puffy red eyes from crying. He was wearing a shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked even worse…

Satoru didn’t need an explanation whenever the small bundle of energy was no longer present in your tummy.

If it wasn’t for Satoru, Nanami was sure that the grief was going to consume both of you. You were… you were understandably a wreck, and Nanami was so heartbroken himself that he struggled to hold you together. He was the man of the relationship, but he lost a child too. He had to witness his wife go through the worst pain imaginable, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Satoru checked up on you two often. He never mentioned what he knew, which was comforting. He was just always there with a kind smile and food plus desserts. Even though you and Nanami barely would eat anything, Satoru would come over anyways.

He was the only thing constant and stable in yours and Nanami’s lives. He was the only one who knew, and he helped you two out with a level of empathy and care that Nanami didn’t know he was capable of. The house would get cleaned. Food would be served. Different bills and other miscellaneous items ended up being paid.

Soon, the grief became easier to deal with. You and Nanami learned how to cope with the loss and start living again. The grief books lie by the way. You never truly get over the loss of a baby. You just learn how to live with the subtle ache in your heart.

It sneaks up on you sometimes. You see a small baby on tv, and you’re in shambles. Nanami watches Kusakabe announce his wife’s pregnancy, and he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a breather.

Satoru spent father’s and mother’s day with you and Nanami. It’s not like he had any family to celebrate with anyways. He brought you two gifts - making sure to remind you two that you are still parents. Your little one just isn’t on this earth.

So when you see those two pink lines on a test a year later, you feel your heart stop. You can’t take another heartbreak. You’re so scared; you don’t even want to tell Nanami. You two weren’t exactly trying for another baby, but you weren’t preventing one either.

You and Nanami celebrated, cried, laughed, rejoiced, mourned, grieved, every emotion hit you two like a truck when you revealed your pregnancy to him.

You don’t stop by the school for a little while. You and Nanami are both not ready for Satoru to find out… especially not during the first trimester when it’s possible that miscarriage can happen again…

Once you hit 20 weeks and know the baby’s gender, you finally think it’s time to let Satoru know. Nanami reluctantly agrees — also because Satoru has been hounding Nanami for weeks about where you’ve been. Satoru misses the cookies you’d always bake for him.

“Do you have plans for dinner tonight?” Nanami asks the white haired male at work that evening. Satoru immediately perks up, knowing this is basically an invitation to come over.

“Nah, I was thinking about getting hot pot. Why?” Satoru asks, trying not to sound overly excited, but it’s a rarity when Nanami formally invites him over. He also hasn’t seen you in so long. He wants to spill all the new tea to you since you like that sort of thing, unlike Nanami.

“My wife baked those cookies you love so much. You should stop by tonight.” Oh, and Satoru was getting sweets? Hell yeah.

Though, the cookies wasn’t the biggest treat of the night. When Satoru enters your home behind Nanami, he walks to the kitchen where you’re standing over freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Your tummy is rounded, and there’s a strong accumulation of golden energy residing in you.

“You’re-!?” Satoru’s eyes widen and he flicks his head quickly between you and Nanami. Your husband playfully rolls his eyes, but his smile tells you everything you need to know. He’s proud to be announcing your pregnancy.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.” He answers with a laugh, and Gojo pulls him in for a tight hug. Even if Satoru lacks some social skills, he’s able to read people like a book. He knows that this is all you and Nanami have ever wanted — a little family to call your own.

Now, imagine his big blue eyes welling with tears when he sees the cookies have writing on them.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Toru!”

Now, imagine how fucking ecstatic Nanami is when he finally gets the privilege to announce your pregnancy to the rest of the school. He’s private with his life, but after everything you two have been through, he happily announces your pregnancy to anyone — everyone.

Oh, and your baby girl, Satori, was born happy and healthy. Besides you and Nanami, Satoru was the first one to meet your sweet baby. Yes, he cried like he was the baby when he found out about her name.

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[smutoperator]

Under Her Skirt

Choi Yewon (Arin) x Male Reader

Tags: A2M, acrobatic 69, anal, ass eating, ass-to-pussy, balcony sex, carry fucking, cheeky, choking, cute but slutty, daddy kink, dirty talk, (lots of) facefucking, face slapping, facial, miniskirt, objectification, rough sex, schoolgirl, socks, spanking, specs, spitting, squirting

Word count: 5143

For the last couple years, you and Arin seemed frozen in time. Ever since Oh My Girl renewed their contracts and moved towards sporadic activities, you have had very few chances to see Arin in person. All your opportunities would come from festivals where they would always play the same songs, and all you could do was watch Arin jiggling her cheeks on stage from afar.

After you saw Arin perform in a schoolgirl outfit, wearing specs and looking cuter than ever, but also sexier than ever, you knew this drought had to end. You had to get Arin at all costs. It had become a matter of life or death for you. As you managed to dribble their managers and snuck into backstage, you found the beautiful, cute Arin right there, her heartwarming smile in full display when she saw you.

"It's been a while since we last met," Arin said. "I still remember when you used to warm me up backstage before Music Bank," she continued. "Can we do this again, even if just for today?" you asked. "Sure, meet me at home; I'll be waiting for you," she said.

Arin sent you a few pictures of her schoolgirl outfit before she even published them on Instagram. Truth be told, she missed you too and had been craving it for a long time; that backstage smile wasn't for nothing at all.

Arin greeted you with her stage outfit still on. Her glow-up since you two last met was quite amazing. The more you looked at her, the more your lust for her grew. Flashbacks of her riding you with her cheeky butt already popped into your mind, of you carrying her and spanking her ass while going nonstop inside her holes. It was long overdue to bring it back.

It turns out Arin wanted it just as much as you did. As you sat on the chair around her house's table, she took a different route, sitting on top of the table itself with her round cheeks and advancing towards you, giving you sexy kisses where you could feel how much she missed you.

"You want this, baby?" Arin asked you. You didn't reply, but the expressions on your face already made your answer clear to her. And your next move, even more so, as you jumped from the chair and grabbed Arin by her neck, immediately answering back her torrid kisses. You took your coat off as Arin's sexy mouth quickly heated you up. "You're still the same whore from the last time we met," you told her, giving her face a little slap. "But I'm a lot more experienced now," Arin pushed back.

"Then let's cheek it; I mean, check it," you said as you reached under her skirt. God, you really missed those cheeks. The moment you grabbed them, you already wanted to explode. Memories of you clapping it and spanking it hard flashed into your eyes. You placed Arin's body on top of the table and already took her panties off. Her lifted skirt stays on, just like her socks and specs. You are very much enamored by this look on Arin, like you never were before, and ready to show it to her.

You duck your head under Arin's skirt and start eating her pretty pussy. That cute schoolgirl facade is only present in her outfit. Everywhere else, Arin is just the moaning slut you always knew her for, as she closes her wonderful thighs around your head the more you stimulate her sweaty pussy. Soon, your fingers replace your hands as you kiss Arin and let her taste her hole while your hands make her even wetter. Arin just falls back onto the table and enjoys the finger-fucking session.

"Yes, please, please," Arin begs right before you kiss her. But you've got different plans. Carrying this petite doll was always one of your favorite things, and you do it again as Arin clings to your mouth and keeps kissing you.

"Turn around," you say as you drop Arin to the floor after a little while. As you give her skirt a little lift, the thing she's most known for is already on full display. You waste no time ducking between her fat cheeks, circling your tongue around both her holes. But this time, her asshole gets the most attention, as you already tongue it deep and soon remind yourself how much better it tastes when sweaty. Arin just moans and spreads her legs.

Arin starts jiggling her ass as you eat her out and grabs your head to dunk it deeper between her cheeks. Her reaction makes you go even crazier, as you suddenly get up and give Arin an order: "Let's get this off," you tell her, as she tries to take her top and tie off while you choke her and finger her pussy at the same time.

"Ohhhh, I missed that touch so much," Arin says. "Of course you did; you're an insatiable whore, always jiggling those cheeks on stage," you punch back, yanking her top off. "It looks like you enjoyed that jiggling, didn't you?" Arin said. "Look at how hard you are; I've been noticing it the moment you entered my house," Arin replied, touching your pants right where your erection lied.

"Then get on your knees and worship it, bitch," you tell her, unbuttoning your pants. Arin quickly wraps her hands around it and licks your shaft from top to bottom multiple times before she sloppily sucks it. "Open that mouth, bitch," you tell her as you grab her hair and start fucking her beautiful face, your balls slapping nonstop against her chin. As you stop with your cock impaling her throat, Arin moves it even further, testing herself and getting ready to gag hard on that shaft.

"Spit on my mouth, please," Arin says, opening it even further as soon as she gags on your meat. You give her what she wants and kiss her once again shortly after, quickly moving to keep the facefucking going. You had forgotten how messy she gets when her pretty face gets pounded, going from a cute, classy maknae straight into a slutty cocksleeve.

"You like to fuck that cute little face, don't you, baby?" Arin asks as she goes back to blowing that pipe off. "But you like it better when I turn into this cock-sucking slut, right?" she says as she finishes her aggressive blowjob, taking all your shaft in, including giving a lot of love to your balls.

"You're going to detention today, you slutty schoolgirl," you poke at her, aggressively taking Arin's bra off and exposing her perky tits. More kissing ensues while you rub Arin's cute boobs before slapping them. "Tell me who's daddy's whore?" you ask her. "I am!" Arin laughs.

"Get in there," you say as Arin places her small head between your legs. You feel really dominant watching her face get fucked in that position, giving you the perfect view of your manhood bulging under her throat while your balls hit the glasses in her specs.

"AHHHHHHHHH. AHHHHHHHH." Arin screams from the top of her lungs once you pull out of her mouth. "Shut up, bitch," you tell her, covering her mouth with your hands as soon as she screams. Instead, Arin licks your fingers nonstop. "My pussy tastes really good," she says once she finishes it.

You take your shoes off, making a stomping noise on the woody floor of Arin's house. Clearly, she hasn't learned the lesson. Now you fuck her face with your fingers, going deep into her pussy. "How does that taste, cunt?" Arin tries to say some words, but your cock mutes them. "Louder, I can't hear it," you tell her.

Arin coughs all over your cock, but little does she know you're about to get even spicier. You grab her by the waist and flip her upside down. "Don't let those specs fall down," you say to her. "YESSSS!" Arin gets excited and licks your cock as you grab her lower body and eat her pussy while she's upside down. Down low, she maniacally licks your shaft.

"Who told you to do this?" you ask her, spanking her ass and thrusting your prick right back into her face. Arin gets punished hard as her cheeks slowly turn into your favorite color: red. Upside down, a cock deep in her throat, a tongue deep in her cunt—it's incredible that Arin still manages to keep those specs on and still finds strength to bob her head on your dick as soon as you stop fucking her face, which leads to yet another punishment spank from you.

You flip Arin back and kiss her. "Yes, baby, it looks like you enjoyed that 69, didn't you?" you rhetorically ask. "But we are just starting," you say as you grab her neck once again. "Bend over," you order right after, placing your hands in her cheeks as you go back to rubbing her cunt.

"Time to get punished, bitch," you tell Arin, sliding your cock in her pussy. "Oh fuck," Arin gets caught by surprise with a monster suddenly inside her cunt, but instinctively bends over from long years of experience. "YES, YES, YES, FUCK IT!" Arin yells as you are already clapping her massive cheeks, giving her no room to breathe and attacking hard from the start. "Please destroy my pussy, AHHHHH," she begs as you pick up the pace.

"Fuck me just like that, hit me deeper," Arin keeps demanding as you pump her pussy nonstop, spreading her cheeks and moaning while you grab her arms behind her back. You push her body towards yours and give her a crazy pounding in standing doggy, treating her pussy like a fleshlight and making her cheeks let out loud noises each time you thrust deep inside her.

Arin has to cling back onto the table not to get obliterated, as you stop a bit to admire her meaty cheeks. "Get down," you tell her, taking advantage of a submissive Arin is bending over to eat her desirable butthole as she jiggles her ass and lets her cheeks hit your face. You put a finger up her asshole, but it's so warm you can't resist but to shove your whole cock inside it shortly after.

"Use my asshole; I know that's what you want the mo... AHHHH," Arin says. "Don't worry, bitch, I'll use it like my personal toy," you tell her, fucking her ass and spanking her cheeks nonstop. "Please, shove that cock deep in my ass," Arin continues to say. You love how her facial expressions change with each pumping and spanking you give her. "Oh my God, you fuck me so hard," Arin says. Even for a slut like her, it's hard to take such a big cock at such a fast speed in her butthole.

"USE ME. USE ME. USE ME. DESTROY MY TINY LITTLE ASSHOLE, FUCK!" Arin keeps screaming. The more she talks, the harder you fuck her ass, and the louder her cheeks clap. Not even five minutes in, but she can barely stand up, getting fucked like an animal as you go raw on her.

"I love how you fuck me," Arin says as soon as you finish ramming her. You slap her face as soon as you hear those words, which she loves. "Are you going to fuck me like your dirty little bitch?" Arin asks, clearly wanting more. You let your actions do the talking, grabbing her and leading Arin towards the balcony, pinning her against the glass door. Arin can barely hold onto the glass as you manhandle her ass, her moaning mouth, and her sliding hands, leaving an imprint on the glass on this foggy, cold day. 

"OH. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK," she screams, her little tits now hitting the glass nonstop as she has no control over her body, getting plowed like a slutty fuckdoll that she is. Arin gets grabbed from behind, and your primal urge to destroy her only grows as her whole body gets suffocated between that glass and your dominating self, forcing her to cling as hard as possible to any support, holding the door with all her might just to survive your rough anal rampage.

"Lick that glass, you dirty whore," you say, spitting on it right after you stop pounding Arin, who follows. "I want you to fuck me so bad," she says once she finishes. "What did you say?" you ask her, grabbing Arin back inside the room. Arin laughs. "Then shut up and show me," you say, lifting her leg against the door. "Ready to put it back in?" she demands, giving you a lustful stare. "Give me that ass," you say; indeed, you can't say no to it.

You fuck and spank Arin's ass like crazy. "Keep going, daddy," she says, masturbating herself at each thrust and even using different languages: "Follame el culo," she demands, in Spanish, as you grab her cheeks, but a different one in this case, those in her cute slutty face. Arin gets her face slapped multiple times, but she also retaliates and spanks yours as well, showing she's truly an untamed slut. All that while getting fucked hard in the ass.

"Make me fucking take it," Arin says as your anal addiction to her only grows. "I want you to treat me like the biggest whore you've ever met," she continues. You switch to a standing doggy once again; never stop fucking her butt. "Sí papi, así, así, así," she says once again in Spanish. "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder," she then says.

You indeed fuck Arin harder, making her hold against the door not to get destroyed. Her entire body jiggles, even her little tits. "Make me fucking take it, daddy," she continues. And you make her, gabbing Arin from behind. "GOD, I'M GONNA CUM," she says right after. As you just seem to have endless energy and never stop, her butt keeps getting spanked, her body used like a fleshlight. Her neck choked in such a way that it clenched her entire throat. If Arin really wants to be treated like a sex object, you sure won't object.

Arin gets on her knees to suck your cock. Despite the rampage she just endured, she seems just fine and ready for more, savoring her asshole like a dinner meal and making loud noises with her mouth as she gets very sloppy. Soon you're treating her face just like her asshole, fucking it hard as she nods with your cock deep in her throat, ready to choke on it. You spit on her face as soon as you finish it. "Give it back," she asks for more as you fuck her face with her still jerking your cock off.

"Come in." You grab Arin's hair as she crawls inside on all fours like a dirty puppy. You slam her body into the table and start eating her pussy. "Yes, daddy, make me fucking cum, ahhh," Arin moans as she moves her hips to meet your mouth inside her cunt. Soon, your mouth is replaced by that huge cock, sensing that Arin wants it back inside, begging and moaning as you pump her pussy in a hot missionary position before shoving your whole hand inside her mouth to shut her up.

Arin bites your hand as she chokes all over it, trying to let her moan out as you put the heat in her pussy. As you free Arin's mouth, you give her no time to collect herself, switching straight back to her asshole. The spanking continued, as this time you targeted her milky thighs. "Yes, that's what I want; spank me, spank me," Arin said as you kept hitting her.

You make things even harder for Arin as you shove your hand inside her pussy to add to the pumps you were already giving her asshole. She's on the edge of the table, having to be careful not to fall down. "FUCK. MAKE. ME. CUM," she says, each word becoming more and more of a struggle to come out of her mouth. "Fuck, I'm cumming," she says right after, her nipples fully erected and her body overwhelmed by the anal and vaginal stimulation you give her simultaneously.

Hearing those words makes you increase your speed a lot more, pounding Arin's ass until she squirts and cums all over your hands. You pull out and set your sights on fingering her wet cunt as Arin slides her legs out of the table. "Slap my fucking cunt, yesss," she begs as juices come out of it, and she wants the slapping session to extend into her entire body.

Arin romantically kisses you as she finishes her orgasm. You then turn her body around and place her head, falling out of the table, to fuck her face. "Give me all that cock," she begs as you plow her throat balls deep, and she savors your shaft, letting out loud moans that you can't hear an audible word of. Arin coughs deeper on your cock once you stop your pounding motion, engulfing it with ease. You two spend a couple minutes on this routine, with Arin lasting longer each time you shove your prick deep in her throat, coating your dick full of her spit and creating strings of saliva coming out of your throbbing shaft.

"Fuck that face up," Arin demands as you treat her mouth like a human onahole, reaching under her needy pussy to finger it while your pole is buried deep in her throat. "Yes, gag on that dick, you fucking whore," you tell her. "Fuck yeah!" she answers back.

With Arin still recovering, you grab her body and carry her. She answers immediately by bouncing on your cock while up in the air, showing why it's one of her favorite positions. Her moans are music to your ears as Arin impales herself on your big dick, and you enjoy how easy it is to spank her cheeks. Soon, Arin is kissing you while getting pounded and spanked mid-air.

But you want to pump her harder, dropping to the floor and without pulling out, hammering her pussy upwards as Arin has to hold herself to the edge of the table, getting pounded nonstop down low in her cunt. Your balls slapped onto her cheeks multiple times, turning both of you on even further. "Make those fucking cheeks clap," Arin orders as the pounding continues, only stopping for a couple seconds for you to switch holes and do the same thing but to her already sore ass.

You let Arin twerk on your dick as she made it disappear under her big cheeky butt. You love how she energetically jumps on that dick like an insatiable slut, spanking her cheeks and telling her to go fast, which Arin follows to the degree that your cock slips out of her butthole. Rather than complaining, you just take advantage of it to slide it back in her cunt and be the alpha man, obliterating it once more as your balls go all the way up into hitting her anal entrance with the speed you pump Arin's pussy.

"Let me fucking ride it; I need your fucking cock right now," Arin says as you pause a bit, letting her take control of the ride and impale herself all the way into her cervix. You kiss her and give her already red cheeks a little tap to praise her before she stops, and you two have a clingy and romantic moment filled with kisses, but always with your cock deep inside her.

You push Arin to the top of the table, lying on it while doing so, letting her enjoy a ride while standing tall. "There you go," you say as Arin spreads her legs and settles them on the table, giving long bounces on your dick, going all the way up your tip and then pushing all the way down your balls. "You want to feel this warm, needy pussy?" she asks. "Yes, just like that," you reply. Arin's moans get sexier as she shows her love for riding big dicks. "All the way deep in my pussy," she says while her bounce continues, and you get a perfect view of her hole getting stretched out every time she takes your cock in and out of it.

Arin's moans get louder as she spreads her cheeks. "Look at me taking all this fucking cock all the way in," she brags. "Time for you to use that fucking pussy again," she commands, as you push up it and Arin gets her sex manhandled while mid-air, the loud noise of her clapping cheeks filling the room once more. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK," is all she can say, defenseless as your cock stabs her cunt like nothing, making her skirt wave at each thrust.

"FUCK. FUCK, I WANT ALL OF IT," Arin screams, still mid-air. "Nonstop, nonstop, nonstop, nonstop, nonstop," she starts singing one of her group's hits while giving you an order at the same time. "YEAH. YEAH. YEAH. FUCK. I'M CUMMING." Arin gets destroyed as you show no mercy for her cunt; the more her cheeks clap, the harder you pound her. As soon as you run out of stamina, Arin grinds her pussy on your cock sideways, coating it with her juices, and kisses you to show gratitude for fucking her like a whore.

Arin flips to the opposite side, diving to taste your cock full of her juices from both holes. You get up a bit to watch her marvelous mouth work all the way down your shaft as Arin deepthroats it in full force and makes even louder noises as she keeps coughing on that dick. More deepthroating ensues as you duck her head into your crotch until she gags.

"Is that what you want? To fuck me hard like a dirty little slut?" Arin asks as you choke her, and she fingers herself. "Put it back in my ass, please," she says, lying on the edge of the table as you penetrate her already gaped butthole. "Give me more; destroy my tiny little asshole," she continues as she moans, and you spank her little. "Use that fucking asshole, yeah," she keeps saying. "Choke me," Arin demands as you oblige, while placing your thumb in her mouth.

"Back and forth, switch between my holes," Arin keeps demanding as you take turns between her anus and cunt and tease her before settling for another hard ass-fucking that she loves. "Yes, please, stretch my ass like that. I love it. I love it in my fucking ass. Stuff me up, stuff me up," she tells you. The anal pounding continues, but you surprise her with another switch to her pussy, enjoying the whole back and forth hole-stretching, but truth be told, Arin has a favorite one.

"Please put it back in my fucking ass; I want you to use it," she begs. You go back into her asshole just as she wants, turning her cheeks even redder. "My ass is so fucking wet for you," she keeps talking dirty and praising the wonder of her tiny little stretched anus. 

You clap Arin's cheeks against the table as you increase the speed of your anal fucking. "KEEP FUCKING ME, PLEASE!" Arin screams as her asshole gets destroyed. "Harder, harder, yesss!" She pushes you to the edge, demanding the best effort you can bring to fuck that ass, yelling nonstop even as you choke her. Your thobbing cock tingles, and you almost cum at the spot as her clenching butthole smashes it, but you respond, fucking her even harder as she tells you she's ready to cum again.

"FUCK YEAH. USING MY FUCKING HOLE!" Arin gets even louder as she squirts after a long and rough round of anal. You aid her into releasing those juices as you massage her clit, letting a geyser come out of her cunt as Arin gets into a fetal position for you to slap her cheeks once again, her body sliding over the slippery table as you dive to eat both her holes out and then spit on her slutty face.

"Keep going down my fucking clit, daddy," Arin says as you continue to eat her pussy, her skirt fully lifted as you dive under it. More passionate kisses ensue between both of you as Arin puts her long legs over her head, letting you take her in a mating press up her asshole.

"Drop that fucking cock deep inside me; drop it in my ass," Arin tells you as you push it back in her anus. "All the way deep in my fucking asshole, please," she continues, sticking her tongue out. "Shut up, little cunt." You have enough of her slutty antics and shove your fist down her throat, fully topping Arin as she lies over the table.

You go slow and deep, taking a more passionate approach this time. "Keep going, right in my fucking ass," she says as soon as you free her mouth to speak. However, that makes you flip a switch as you start giving her a rough mating press deep in her butt, making her cheeks clap once again. Arin screams as her swollen butthole keeps taking pounding after pounding.

You move sideways, anally pounding Arin in spooning this time, your balls hitting her cunt while she fingers her clit. "Oh God, fuck," she moans as you grab her right thigh and stretch her asshole. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," she repeats. "I told you to shut up," you say, placing your left hand over her mouth.

Arin is so overwhelmed she starts mixing up languages: "Me encanta the way you fuck my culo, papí," she says right after you go back to choking her. Your balls hit perfectly into her cheeks, making her moan softly. "Ram that fucking ass," she begs, but you have different plans, going back to her pussy as soon as she says those words.

Arin gets softer. "You treat me so well, Daddy," she says as you stretch her pussy out, her eyes flowing with tears of joy. "I love how you use both my fucking holes, Daddy," she continues. You two grow more passionate as you kiss Arin's mouth and neck while never stopping fucking her tight sex. "Keep going, daddy; put that cock deep in my fucking holes," Arin says.

"Slap my fucking titties," Arin demands, wanting to get used like a toy. You follow, hitting her boobs right at her throbbing nipples. Arin laughs as you duck under to suck her tits while still pounding her cunt nonstop, before surprising her and putting her back under a mating press that makes her body slide onde again.

"Fuck, it's so deep inside me," Arin moans as you keep attacking her pussy while up in the air, submitting her to a deep pounding that makes her cheeks jiggle on top of the table as your hips clash hard against them. "AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! FUCKKKKK! FUCKKKKK! FUCKKKKK!" Arin yells as her pussy clenches all over your cock. You could breed her at the spot, but you hold that urge, pulling her out so Arin can taste her wet juices.

"Fuck my little dirty mouth," Arin begs as your cock approaches her face, pounding her as if you had never left her pussy. "Ahhh, yes, use my face like that," Arin says as you finish, getting number after over 30 minutes of animalesque pounding. And you keep using her face, placing it on the edge of the table, and plowing her throat while lifting her skirt to get the perfect view of her amazing ass. 

At this point, Arin just wants to be a fleshlight. "AHHHH YESSS!" she gleefully screams once you shove your balls deep in her mouth. You push her to the other side of the table, taking a peek under her skirt to finger her pussy while fucking her face, amazed that her specs still haven't fallen off even with her head upside down. Arin bobs her head to meet your thursts as you slow down a bit to massage her cunt. "Holy fuck," you say as she shakes her head all over that meat despite facing down the floor, letting her face fuck your cock instead of fucking her face yourself.

"I want to sit on that cock, daddy," Arin demands. You pick one of the chairs around the table and sit on it, letting Arin slide your cock in her sore asshole, this time in reverse cowgirl, with one of her legs in the chair and another on the floor, giving you an amazing ride. "Daddy still likes to fuck me in the ass like that?" she asks.

Arin puts both legs on your thighs and gives you an amazing anal ride. The more you stretch her out, the more she wants. "Look at this cock so deep in my fucking asshole," Arin brags about her skills, fully impaling her sore anus into that big cock. "Do you like the way it feels in my ass, Daddy?" Arin asks as she keeps talking dirty. "Look how I sit on this cock all the way down in my ass," she continues.

Arin spreads her legs and lets her cheeks clap as she rides your cock, fingerging herself as she increases the pace of her ride. You grab her by the neck, and her butthole clenches even further. "I want to cum with your cock deep in my asshole," Arin says as she continues to bounce, reaching her orgasm shortly after. "Oh, I fucking love it," she says as she stops, giving you free reign to finger her clit and make it squirt nonstop as her legs close and she climaxes.

"Please cum on my face; drop that jizz all over my little, slutty face. I want to feel your warm and hot jizz in my face,  Daddy." Arin rests on the table, recovering from her final orgasm. You jerk your cock off on top of her, and soon she gets what she wants as you coat her specs full of sperm before filling the cheeks in her face with your white paint. Arin stays there, admiring your work of art in her now cum-filled face, sticking her tongue out in pleasure.

"You drained your fucking balls so well all over me," Arin says.

"Oh thanks. I have to go; it was nice fucking, I mean, meeting you again," you reply, as you notice it's already past midnight and you still haven't got back from the concert.

"It's fine," Arin says, with one final condition. "As long as you come back tomorrow to fuck my ass again,"

Damn, she's an insatiable anal queen, isn't she?

[verdantlights]

Round 7 Final thoughts/Analysis

First of all, Blink Gone is a banger but we knew that already.

Second,

Till is and also is not dead. Till was used as a pawn for the segyein for entertainment. Keep in mind this is Season 50. 50 seasons of Alien Stage, and you think they wouldn't go off without a hitch? Till was used to lure Hyuna and Mizi back. Hyuna is worth a lot and Mizi escaped live on stage. Think of the Quarter Quells in The Hunger Games. Do you really think... they wouldn't make Season 50 special? Especially since Luka won S49. It was always rigged in Luka's favor. Or is it? (hey, vsauce here-)

Now. Till was EXTREMELY drugged up. He may have had his fighting spirit back, but he was definitely 'roided up by the aliens for the plan. The Finals were rigged in Luka's favor, it was all rigged in Luka's favor. Those drugs in Tills system, for all we know, can be keeping him alive. There is a good chance they don't want Till dead and that they're only faking his death for the sake of the... "special guests."

It might have been rigged in Luka's favor, but there's a good chance he might not be getting out of this safe, sane, or even alive. He may have captured the hearts of the segyein in Season 49, but he is still a human pet. He is still expendable for the sake of entertainment. None of us character stans, Luka stans, are off the hook. ALNST is not over.

EDIT: I would also like to point out that Luka was probably also on drugs. He was in hysterics pretty much the whole time. Luka is trapped in this cycle and is a pet, just like Till.

As for those "special guests," Mizi and Hyuna: there can be multiple ways this plays out, either Mizi goes against Hyuna, or Hyuna goes against Luka. We already had Mizi v Luka, so they wouldn't do that again.

As for the song itself, I picked up a few lyrics:

Luka: "Before this piercing, radiant moment fades away"

"Piercing, radiant moment" referring to Till and/or Hyuna being injured.

Luka: "Neither today nor tomorrow, exist for me"

"Exist for me" is a reference to Ivan's thought process in why he chose to die in round 6

Till (i think): "Blink and gone, relish the present"

"Relish the present" as in Till needs to live in the moment to survive, rather than to win. He is on adrenaline, drugs, and survival instinct.

Till: "Clear your mind, leave the burdens behind"

A reference to himself that he... basically needs to lock in.

Luka: "The dark crimson air embraces us, lifting our spirits"

Ivan reference, specifically Luka imitating Ivan

Till: "And the fiery thrill blazes out to the sky"

Ivantill meteor shower reference

Now as for the meaning of the song itself, that could be multiple things:

Till realizing too late about Ivan's feelings and that he was wrong about his image of Ivan, "And in a blink, gone."

Till's life, "And in a blink, gone." (which is why i say he's dead and also not dead. He very well could be dead and just be brought back to life like the Sualive and Alivan theories)

Luka's ability to mimic others

Hyunamizi also realizing too late that they might have been set up

I think the flashbacks to round 6 are pretty obvious in what they mean and what was intended for it to mean/symbolize, so I'll spare it.

OH YEAH and speaking of the alivan and sualive theories, those are a LOT MORE LIKELY after this. Because what was the point of Till's death... after round 6? Would they (Vivinos, not the aliens) kill Till off after what happened in round 6? Death is too easy. Death is mercy. Yes I wish mercy upon Till, but there are better ways to show him mercy with what we have without him dying. That being said, if he is actually dead. Like dead, dead, (i will kms) then at least he died where Mizi was the last thing he saw.

Mizi was the last thing he saw.

We might have been wrong about Till only loving the "image" of Mizi, but then again, maybe not. Again, Till immediately lit up at the sight of Mizi, recognizing her instantly. It gave him the motivation to continue, he didn't notice of care how different, traumatized, and worn down she looked. He only saw her. Maybe it wasn't her image he was fond of. Maybe he really did love her. But maybe he was also grasping at straws to survive and continue on. Maybe he thought he had a chance. Cause Mizi was also grasping at straws. As we saw in the flashback with Mizitill, they were definitely friends. Mizi might only see Till as a friend, but now both would only have each other left, plus Hyuna and the resistance. Mizi might not give Till a romantic chance, but they can be there for each other because they both understand what the other went through.

Also Issac and Dewey better pull through I swear to fucking god. WHY WERE THEY NOT THERE. If you saw my bingo card, I marked off Dewssac appearance, I thought I saw them, but I was seeing shit so ignore that.

Personal note: I was really. REALLY overwhelmed leading up to this. I lost a lot of sleep over the past 48 hours due to anxiety over this and I'm glad that it finally happened. I'm a lot better now that my anxiety and nausea is gone and even if I'm extremely... scared... for Till... I'm still hopeful that he's alive, and that sualive and alivan are real. Maybe I am delusional, but I mean, I enjoy the Actor AU a bit too much... so...

That's all, I think. I might have more later after I stew on this a bit more.

@pwippy @starry-skiez @bluemoonscape @ivanttakethis @tsukacchako @shakingparadigm @rosedeleca @crustyfloor @k9punkout @junebluues god i cant think straight im sorry if youre not tagged and wanted to be im like gen tweaking tbh

[nosyrobin]

I saw this was in your list of things to write but nobody's sent you an ask yet (I think) sooo...

How would an Omegaverse Batfam react if M!Sibling!reader presented as an Alpha/Beta/Omega? Would they be more protective if reader was an Omega? More like a sibling rivalry situation if they're an Alpha?

||OMEGAVERSE AU!BATFAM X BATBRO!READER||

A/N: thanks for requesting! Here’s your order. <33

ALPHA

If batbro was ever an alpha, which I hc that if the batfam was in omegaverse that all the boys would either be betas or alphas. If batbro was an alpha, there would definitely be some kind of rivalry between the boys and batbro. But never too serious. It would line wolves playfully roughhousing until one says “ima be the main alpha when blah blah blah dies.” Then it gets a little serious.

But other than that, it’s probably nothing much rather than the batfam making sure you don’t crash out and act crazy around omegas. Dick probably tries to make you do dates because he already found himself one from a hook up. You can deny all you want but really your older brother just wants you to be happy with your omega.

Jason probably warns you about real dangerous omegas he heard around when patrol as red hood, he probably puts a tracker on you.

Tim, he doesn’t care much since you are an alpha like the rest of the family. He’s a beta, he’s smart enough to know you can take care of yourself. But at the same time there are dangerous omegas that will try and drug his brother he cares for since he is a Wayne. So he puts a tracker onto you as well.

Damian tries hard to not care for you. He glares at you, he basically growls at you. Trying to put on a hard shell, but he can’t help but stand by you everytime. He’s an alpha, and to another alpha to another. The pack must protect each other.

BETA

If batbro was a beta, I feel like the family would be very normal about it. Not disappointed that their brother is not an alpha, but at least he’s a beta.

The family is so glad their brother is a beta since beta’s are practically human beings in the omegaverse. No rut/heat, no aggressive or submissive behavior that can lead to tragedies. Just pure normal behavior.

Though that doesn’t mean your alpha and beta brothers won’t be protective of you. Of course they’re protective of you! You’re the one that puts the brothers and family together like glue like Alfred. You’re sane, you’re calm, and you’re a beta. You’re the package they need to relax after a terrible patrol.

Neither the less, it’s pretty chill for batbro who’s a beta.

OMEGA

Oh boy..if batbro was ever an omega….the batfamily is so protective over their omega family member. Always making sure the omega male has suppressants on during heat season. If batbro was ever around an alphas that wasn’t any of the batfamily members, Jason and dick are immediately behind the omega trying to see if the alpha has any bad intentions. Alphas know another alpha. Especially Jason since he knows how alphas can get around omegas.

Damian wouldn’t hesitate to chop off any alpha’s head for his brother. And Tim, Tim doesn’t mind doxing and scaring a few alphas away from his brother.

Bruce, ooooh boy. Bruce would definitely go Batman mode if an alpha even dares to try and be aggressive to his poor omega of a son. Jason would even give the alpha a little red hood visit with a gun loaded in his hand. These two don’t play.

They always keep tabs on you, because in omegaverse being an omega is basically a death wish. But being in Gotham is even worse than a death wish itself. They don’t care if you trained to fight as well and can kick mean ass. There can still be people that can always beat batbro up so they just track him 24/7.

[reshinless]

Been seeing alot of spiderman Kinich content on the clock app and this gave me an idea

Reader gets gwen stacy'd and kinich fails to save them lol then he wakes up and then they bang

──── through the phone mask

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. before he goes, how about a peck, yeah through his mask!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. spiderman!kinich x gn!afab!reader (this will end up in smut, so !!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!) angst + comfort (in a way?? death mention but no actual death happens! just a bad dream)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. oooo i could not stop thinking about this during class!!

"mwa!" you cheer- briefly backing away as you admire you boyfriend, kinich, that puts his mask on. you pray that this spiderman stuff didn't pressure him at all.

"mmm... one more?" as he turned around to face you again. you chuckled as you tilted your head, stepping closer to the window sill he crouched on. "one more? i think you've had enough for today." a teasing tone present in you sonorously.

he gave you a pleading look in hopes to earn accolade (in which this case is a kiss. or two. or three.) you could giggle, feeling the way he still tried to kiss you through the mask he wore, concealing his identity to all, except you of course.

"mmmwa!" you brush your lips against the fabric that kept all of this a secret. you were so pretty when you smiled. he likes that little dimple that appears on your cheek when you grinned- or maybe the mole on your neck right there. mmmaybe he should count them soon.

but when there's a moment where kinich saves everyone but you, he'd never forgive himself. when there's a moment where kinich can catch everyone when they're falling but you. when there are gonna be moments that only star him, and missing you. like how a seed would long for a soil bed, or how the moonlight doesn't shine without its sun.

he was terrified of losing someone as precious as you were. for as long as you both lived, he wanted to spend as much time with you. his love language was all about spending time with you, and doing things for you, he knew you could handle yourself, but he loves knowing you rely on him for a few things (even if they're simple). so losing you would be losing a huge part of himself.

in all the years you both got to spend together, you spent it along side your best wingwoman; mualani. growing up by both of your sides, he never felt alone, or unneeded. he felt everything was finally coming together.

so when he saw the scene before him- it was you. being stabbed in the stomach by a spike below the now-broken bridge. even in death you were so pretty. your head was laid down on his lap, barely opening your eyes, just enough to let a few tears trickle down the softness of your cheeks.

"i'm.. sorry i couldn't do enough for you." were the words you whispered, holding his cheek before finally passing on to the next world.

no he couldn't handle the scene at all. and only now is when he realizes- he should spend more time. he'll make sure you won't feel like that when he meets you again. he knows he'll recognize you. he'd know you from anywhere, anytime, any appearance, anywho.

kinich wakes up in tears, clear tear stains on the place he rest his face into. your pjs have small marks, drops of tears where they'd landed off his face. your eyes flutter open a few seconds later, realizing he's no longer in your arms.

"kin? wh.. what's wrong? why are you crying?" you immediately got up to wipe the small sobs off his cheeks. "..you're still here.. thank god, you're still here." he suddenly hugs you, fitting his head into your nape. his hold was tight, and affectionate. enough to know that he's happy that you're still present.

"yeah, i'd never leave. was.. was it a dream?" you asked, massaging his scalp to soothe his stress. he could only hum in response, he felt a little pathetic to admit that he was, but it was the first step to accepting it.

"do.. you ever feel like i'm mistreating you?" his head popped up from the spot it was previously. "what? no you're not. in fact, i feel like i'm not doing enough for you, baby." you chuckle, shifting your head to front him a little better.

"you've done more than you think for me." his hand held a soft grasp on your palm, you could feel a few scars on his hand. "really? i find it hard to believe." you let out a giggle, certainly a superhero who does things to make sure the city is a safe place for all, feels like you do more? that was in your point of view anyway.

"may.. i show you how much i can repay you then? i want to show you.. i want you to feel how thankful i am that you're here."

whatever it was in that dream of his definitely helped yours come true. "mmm, someone's ahhn- enjoying, ngh themselves.." he grunted out, hitting you from behind so good, you can't do anything but sit there and take it.

you could feel every little ridge on his dick, the sweat emitting from your body, combined with the drops spouting from the pores of his palms. damn you couldn't even hold your own moans back in courtesy for the people in the next dorm. "mmmffffuckkk.. s'good kin.." you whined, you shut your eyes in ectasy

he throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your plush ass barely swallowing his shaft each time. every shlick only made you even wetter. you could feel his length twitching inside you, each time he hit your very core.

your folds felt so insanely good, wrapping around the base of his dick so well, even inside you it felt so warm. the way you were basically getting stretched out, it reached even further into you, in his observation seeing how your eyebrows knitted- he assumed you liked it like that, kissing your insides!

he slowed the pace of his sloppy thrusts briefly to reach over for the phone on the nightstand. "you mind if we take a photo, pretty? love the way you look right now, 'd hate to miss such a face."

he'd be too busy admiring your face to realize how long he'd been grinding against your precious spot. he knew exactly how to make you use the expressions he wanted.

kissing your neck hungrily, making sure you face the camera as it recorded, letting it see all of you.

watching how your body reacted to his so well, he couldn't help but coo into your ear about how good you were doing.

"such a pretty kitty, mmm? and they're all mine aren't they? he continued, on the edge of the bed- making sure you see yourself in the mirror in front of you.

"this is what i admire everyday. hnnn.. s'tight, fffuck.." he groaned into you, letting you sit on his dick, riding it while watching his reaction through the mirror.

you couldn't help but piston your hips repeatedly, you were already so wet, might as well put it to use!

he held your hand throughout everything, squeezing it every now and then to indirectly ask if you're doing okay. kissing down from your nape to your shoulder blades, you were perfect from the ground till your ears.

for what seemed like the umpteenth time, he cums inside you. warm seed shoots up into your body, creaming on his cock at the same time.

kinich who holds you by the waist, feeling his cock slowly soften inside you. still trying to catch his breath- but still makes an effort to kiss your cheek.

still makes an effort to carry your trembling body to the bathroom. still makes an effort to clean you up. still makes an effort to eat you out slowly afterwards.

he who already misses you while you were still in the room. he couldn't help but cuddle with you for a bit before going out again. it was sunday already anyway, and he spent the moments where the sun rose elsewhere (eating you out/giving bj)

kinich who loved the idea of making out with you right after, still having to go out since you both spent the whole night.. intimately. half of his mask is still on but all you do is lift it up a little, enough for his lips to be visible enough for you to peck.

he makes sure you're sound asleep before he goes, he'll be back before you know it anyway.

[jazzyoranges]

Recognizeable

Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader

Summary: based on this ask!

Words: 1.4k

A/n: this kinda doesn’t have a plot 😭 whoopsies

Warnings: blood, wounds, i swear it’s not angsty R just takes a small tumble lol

“Did it hurt?”

“What, when I fell from heaven?” You crack a smile at your very hilarious joke, but Wednesday does her version of a huff and an eye-roll

“Apologies, I should have elaborated better.” You wince a little in pain as Wednesday disinfects the open wound on your knee and the smaller cuts around your body

The Addams girl was taking Thing and her pet bird, aka you, for a walk outside Nevermore in the forest that surrounded the academy as she watched you loop around in circles. She’d assume you were training for some competition if she didn’t know your personality enough, but Wednesday ultimately came to the conclusion you just had the bird equivalent of zoomies

You squawked at other birds as you passed them by in their trees, and Wednesday made a mental note to ask you if you could actually talk and understand them. Her hypothesis was that you couldn’t and you were just making animal noises for your own amusement

Either her hypothesis was true and you had no idea what you said, or you knowingly called a bird a slur. The previous was probably true due to the horrified expression on your face as a murder of crows you were “talking” to started chasing you down. You must’ve squawked something real bad for all of them to come after you.

You miss the smirk Wednesday has on her face.

The crows must’ve overwhelmed you pretty bad, because next thing she knew you were hitting every single branch of a tree in human form. Was that intentional? She’d have to ask you about it later. After she made sure you weren’t dead, of course

Wednesday arrived just in time for you to almost slam straight into her head, but a simple side step caused you to eat shit instead. There was a very noticeable and loud thump when your head hit a tree root. Wednesday would’ve been more concerned if you didn’t immediately curl into the fetal position, mumbling about how you’d take a nap right then and there

Either shapeshifters were gods, or you just had a really fucking thick skull. Wednesday internally smiled at the thought.

The Addams girl was well aware of the smelling salts in her backpack for times like these, but she looked at Thing for what he wanted to do to get you up. You could wait… probably.

After some inspection, Thing decided it was best to call Enid to carry you back to their dorm. The wound on your knee would only make you limp and cause more pain.

Wednesday made sure to keep you alive, though. She poked you with a stick here and there and gave you reassurance, which she saw you smile at.

You were prone to accidents. Both of the Addams knew you were fine. Truly, it was just another Tuesday. Wake up, go to class, take girlfriend and Thing on a walk, you break a bone, it was all a part of the schedule

It wasn’t even a shapeshifter thing either, you just refused to die. Which the Addams was ultimately grateful for, but your ability to visit death like a close friend had Wednesday just a little jealous

A groan of pain from the back of your throat brings the shorter girl back to the present

“Why did you turn human in the middle of the sky?”

“Whenever I shift I have to really concentrate on it the entire time, so I guess those crows just really fucked me up and messed with my focus” You sigh

“Is it hard? To keep concentration, I mean.” Wednesday starts to wrap the bigger wound on your knee with a bandage wrap

“I’ve been doing it forever, so it’s kinda easy. Not when you’re getting jumped by crows, though…”

“Could you not just shift a pair of wings for yourself?”

“I was already focusing on having the thick skull of a ram.” You knock on your head for effect. “How do you think I haven’t died yet?”

Oh so it was a shapeshifter thing. She was right about your thick skull, though

“Perhaps you should tell Enid that,” Wednesday gets up from her kneeling position in front of you. “She almost fainted carrying you on the way here and I have reason to believe it isn’t because you’re heavy.”

“Maybe I should get her something as compensation…” You mumble to yourself as Wednesday helps you out of the bathroom, using her as a crutch so you can flop onto her bed

The Addams girl sits beside you, your face buried in her sheets. Both of you fall into a comfortable silence as Wednesday continues to stare at you, her mind coming up with endless questions about your abilities.

If concentration was a constant concern, was Wednesday not giving you not enough credit? To focus on multiple tasks at once, surely it was hard for someone as air-headed as you. But then again, you have been doing this for your entire life. Did your concentration come as easy as breathing? Was it so natural you barely noticed it?

And surely the process hurt, right? Your molecules were repositioning themselves to fit the look of an entirely different being. What was there a difference between you and Weems?

What were your limitations? Wednesday would like to test them. Maybe if she’d ask kindly enough you’d-

“Ask your questions, Wens” You mumble into her soft bedsheets, your voice snapping Wednesday out of her thoughts

“Pardon?”

“We’re girlfriends. You can read my mind as much as I can read yours”

“And your logical explanation for that, is..?”

“Girlfriend magic.” You hold up your hands while shaking them, and Wednesday immediately recognizes the jazz hands you had quite an addiction to

“Another day, it’s best you rest.”

This makes you turn your head to look at Wednesday, a smile threatening to take over your face

“I don’t understand why people don’t believe me when I say you’re the romantic one” You gush

“Unless you want me to bombard you with questions until morning rises, I’d suggest you stay quiet.”

“Yes ma’am” You pull down Wednesday on her bed, shoving your face into the shorter girls collar.

From that day forward Wednesday asks you one question a day about your abilities, and you make sure to answer them as best as you can. It was something Wednesday appreciated about you.

Answers would span from 15 minutes to almost 2 hours long. There were some days you had to pull out the whiteboard that was collecting dust in the bee shed, writing and drawing out key information

At first it was casual, it really was. But a month later it was almost like class with how the Addams had a book and a half filled with information about you. A class Wednesday could actually get behind.

She’s learned every shapeshifter is different. Some turn into people, some turn into animals, and others can turn into both. So the book and a half was really just information about you, which Wednesday wasn’t exactly opposed to

Meditation seemed to be a pretty big thing to you. Whenever Wednesday was writing, you’d be meditating. At first the Addams questioned if you were compatible being in a room with her loud typewriter, but you insisted the noise was necessary for you to tune out

Another thing Wednesday learned is that you couldn’t exceed four limbs. Which, you made sure to voice your opinion on. The dreams of being a four-legged and two-winged western dragon was impossible, so unfortunately you’d have to make your peace with being a wyvern instead

Small snores came from you curled around Wednesday under a tree as a tiger. She could only focus on how you always somehow resembled your human face

Turning to a new page of her journal, the Addams girl starts to sketch the face of your tiger next to the one of your lion. No matter what form you’d take, Wednesday would be able to recognize it.

[writers-potion]

Hi! I would like to ask if you could possibly give any tips on how to properly manage to introduce characters ?

Techniques for Character Introduction

There are many things you can consider for an impactful character introduction:

The Point of View of your novel

Whether your character is a POV character or not

The tone of your novel

What your character is like

In-Medias-Res

Immediately show the character in the middle of action.

Character(s) come into the scene running, fighting, laughing - whatever it is.

Good for leaving an impression

Could be an in-medias-res hook in the very opening of your novel, to introduce the main character.

Choose an action that "defines" the character. Perhaps it's something they do repeatedly (going to the gym at 5am every morning) or that shows a key part of their personality (digging through a large pile of laundry because they cannot keep their room clean)

Dialogue - Voice First

The character makes a voice entrance before we "see" them physically appear.

It helps the readers define the relationship between the character being introduced and the character that we've been following.

From Dan Brown's <Digital Fortress>:

"David?" "It's Strathmore," the voice replied. Susan slumped. "Oh," She was unable to hide her disappointment. "Good afternoon, Commander." "Hoping for a younger man?" The voice chuckled. "No, sir," Susan said.

In these few lines, we already know (1) Strathmore is Susan's boss, (2) quite high-ranking in some military/governmental/secret agency (commander??) (3) is male (4) has a sense of humor (5) seems to be quite friendly with his employees, etc.

By using phone conversations, you can also show how the POV/main character truly feels about the character on the phone - there's no need to make appearances. Perhaps they frown, or attempt to throw their phone on the wall in frustration while the other talks.

Via Another Character

This is where characters in the story talk about the characters even before they are introduced.

Often used with villains/characters with popularity in the story world.

Example: "You've heard of Joe, of course."/ "I'm sorry, who?" /"The president of Book Club? Red hair, freckles?"

Simple Intro with direct characterization

Sometimes, just writing a brief description about the character can be effective, especially if you have some backstory that really, really need to be there before the readers start following the character.

Here's a passage from Leigh Bardugo's <The Familiar>:

"Dona Valentina had been raised by two cold, distracted parents who felt little towards her beyond a vague sense of disappointment in her tepid beauty and the unlikelihood that she would make a good match. She hadn't. Don Marius Ordono possessed a dwindling fortune..."

The key here: provide interesting detail. There's no fun in saying, "Dona Valentina wasn't too pretty, so she had to marry Don Marius Ordono with little wealth." An image of a girl neglected by her parents and bartered for wealth is much more captivating.

Slow & Mysterious Setup

This one is harder to execute than the others on this list, but when done properly, it can produce a beautiful effect where the readers know who you're talking about without you ever having to name them.

An excellent example of this is how Marcus Zusak introduces Death (with capital D, who's the narrator of the story):

"I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables."

"Your soul will be in my arms." "I will carry you gently away."

Death continues to talk about his "job" like the above until it becomes enough for the reader to catch on.

Drop enough hints for your readers to recognize the character

Works best with an archetypal character - devil, vampire, demon, angels...some figure with distinct features that even when described mysteriously, will be noticeable.

Showing Attitude - For POV characters

Present a peculiar line of thought or show some attitude that makes the character immediately interesting.

This works wonderfully with POV characters - by giving the reader a crucial piece of the POV character's mindset to set the overall tone of the novel.

From Rick Riordan's <Percy Jackson and the Lightening Thief>:

"Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advise is: close this book right now."

Percy (the POV character) goes on a bit like this before we get his name, etc. in the subsequent section.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[haine-kleine]

after sitting with my thoughts about the epilogue for some time, I think the thing that broke the story had started right after Dabi's dance. said thing is LOV' utterly out of character treatment of each other and Shigaraki specifically.

them just standing there and passively observing the scene makes absolutely zero sense, if you use anything from their previously established relationships within the organisation for reference. especially with All for One's creepy comments. Spinner even points out shortly before this chapter that AFO!Shigaraki seems nothing like his normal self and this person is not the one he had chosen to follow.

and yes, Spinner does approach screaming Shigaraki and tries to help him, and his concern later leads him to seeing Shigaraki's mutated form in the cave, and on its own this development for Spinner is in line with his character and all around fine. pretty reminiscent of Toga and Twice, too.

(except Spinner is not allowed to really help Shigaraki in any way, unlike Toga was allowed to help Twice, and this entire thing between Shigaraki and Spinner only ends with Spinner's regrets and survivor's guilt instead of anything good or meaningful that isn't meaningless angst porn)

it isn't Spinner approaching Shigaraki that is the issue, it's the other's complete lack of action or even reaction besides appearing mildly disturbed. this is simply out of character for all of them, just judging by Twice's example who had similar breakdowns and wasn't plainly ignored by the others until his fit stops. this reaction makes even less sense, when you take into account the current state of the League. Twice had just been murdered by Hawks, the double agent who had infiltrated the League via Dabi, and Mister Compress had just sacrificed himself to give the League a chance for escape, and was sent to Tartarus immediately after his condition was no longer life threatening. Kurogiri is also being held captive by the heroes. there are only four of them left, with two dead and two captured. and none of them even mention the dead or the captured outside of the context of Kurogiri and his quirk.

this straight out makes no sense if you look back to the Overhaul arc and remember how far Shigaraki and the rest of them were willing to go to avenge Magne's death and Mr Compress' destroyed arm. this was important.

the event had motivated Shigaraki to be a better leader, because he had realized these people depend on him, and he won't let them be hurt under his protection. it had started the seed of self-doubt in Jin which would eventually grow to the desperation that allowed him to overcome the mental block against his quirk in the MVA arc, because he wanted to do everything he possibly could to help the League. it allowed him to make his clones despite the crippling trauma, because he saw Toga's hurt, bleeding body, and he didn't want her to die.

even fucking Giran, a broker whose very profession requires him to care about himself and his own well-being first and foremost, had sacrificed all of his fingers to prevent Redestro from getting his hands on the League. because he wants to protect them, to save them. and then we never actually see his mutilated hands or hear anything from him ever again.

and when Twice actually dies? all we get in response to that are two upset faces from Dabi and Toga's fury. that's it.

i really want to stress how out of character this barely-present reaction is, because Magne's example is right there and when Overhaul had killed her, the League knew each other for no longer than a month. this League has been together for at least half a year, had been through thick and thin together, had spent months on the run, homeless, having no one but each other to rely on, has defeated the Meta Liberation Army, quite literally, with the power of their friendship. they all cared enough about each other and Shigaraki specifically to stay with him during those months they had to fight Gigantomachia with barely any breaks for rest, still homeless, barely scraping by. it was imperative that they all survive through this together, especially for Shigaraki, who had went on this quest of getting stronger at least partly so that he would become a more reliable protector for the League. and when Twice falls victim to the hero who had murdered him in cold blood, because no one except for Dabi was there to save him, Shigaraki doesn't even get to react to Twice's death, and possibly never even learns about the fact.

on topic of Dabi, his reaction being exactly two frames of sad expressions and including the footage of Twice's murder into his broadcast, and ending immediately after that, also makes no sense. Dabi is someone who holds himself accountable and despite his declarations, cares about the League, it's the very reason he was keeping Hawks from the League and sprinted to Twice as soon as he realized Hawks' intentions with him, to protect him. Dabi's unsuccessful attempt to save Twice is another iteration of Overhaul, a combination of Shigaraki and Twice's roles in the tragedy. but unlike Shigaraki, who had steeled himself into taking care of his subordinates and becoming a responsible and strong leader, or Twice who had never forgotten about his role in the incident, Dabi just somehow forgets about the entire thing as soon as the first war is over. Toga is the one whom the narrative allows to actively react to Twice's death and express her grief. it makes sense that her reaction would be the strongest, as she was the closest with Twice, but why are two LOV members no longer allowed to care about the same incident at the same time? why aren't they allowed to protect each other anymore, when Giran, who is not even in the League, had made that sacrifice for them?

These are pretty small things, but it's these instances of Toga and Dabi preventing Machia from being injected with the sedative, protecting the League that are sorely missing in the second war.

and the biggest act of devotion and protection to the League, which was the last time we saw anything like this for them, Mister Compress' last moments with the League.

Mutilating his own body just to buy them five seconds to possibly escape. Because he loved the League, because he wanted all of them to be happy and achieve their dreams, to be free, and to live.

and in return for the favour, not only do they not come back for him like they did for Kurogiri (because his quirk is important for the plot, while Compress' isn't), but none of them mention Compress ever again. same with Twice (with the exception of Toga), same with Magne. from this point onwards, none of them are allowed by the plot to even care about the League of Villains. the interpersonal relationships between two individuals still shine through, occasionally, like Spinner's devotion to Shigaraki (and him alone), Dabi and Toga's pyromaniac trauma lane visit to her house and him giving her Twice's blood, Kurogiri reaching out to Shigaraki in the very end. but what about the League? ahd what about the dead members of the League, or Mister Compress?

somehow, at the point of the final war it boils down to the generalized conflict of heroes vs villains and the morality gymnastics involved in the concept. on its own, this would have been an okay development, if the examples the story was using to prove its point weren't people who had become very close friends and who had lost four people to this war against the heroes.

if the individual conflicts, like Toga's desperation to be acknowledged as human being deserving of affection, Dabi's familial abuse trauma and Shigaraki's lifelong manipulation by All for One not giving him any chance to be saved at all, were the finishing line of the villains' story development, why join them within the League at all? LOV is a separate concept functioning as a collective uniting all these villains, giving them a place to belong and people who give a fuck whether they live or die. except not anymore, because for some reason after the first war this concept is scratched completely.

so why not make them mere acquaintances who sometimes collaborate to bother the heroes together, if the bond between them got in the way of the story and wasn't the point of the story? why prove the depth of their bond with the Overhaul and My Villain Academia arcs? why make Shigaraki develop relationships and a sense of responsibility for these people at all, if in the very end his desire to save these people is denied by the author himself?

the previous arcs have spent a great deal of effort establishing that the villains are human too. they have human feelings, human desires and human relationships. so why is it that in the final arc their ability to experience human emotions towards each other is turned on and off manually by the author? at the very end even the author stops pretending like anything happening to the villains is evaluated on the scale of human experiences (unlike the heroes, whose injuries and deaths are talked about and mourned in great detail) and Kurogiri and Shigaraki are wiped out like plot inconveniences rather than important and well written characters.

honestly? it's ironically meta that the story ended up proving the very point it has spent 400 chapters arguing against.