#if you wonder why do we read the short version

[sadlynotthevoid]

So, for my English class we had to read the great gatsby (the short version, anyways).

I had no idea what the book was about beyond that it was very gay for some reason.

Ngl, the moment Gatsby started talking about the army and told him that Jordan was going to tell him about something, I thought it was going to be about spies. I thought he was a spy and he was recruiting Nick.

Anyways— that's it.

[websterss]

AT THE SAKE OF YOU (1) CLIFF SIDE – AZRIEL

SUMMARY: When a text from his Captain has him going back into work for a search and rescue, he wasn't expecting the personnel in distress to be you and your kid.

WARNING(S): angst, extraction from a car, mentions of car rolling off a cliff, unlabeled relationship lol, and fluff at the end.

WORD COUNT: 4,117

PAIRING: S&R Officer!Azriel x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed. So I watched Twisters on a shitty cam version, then watched San Andreas and this was the result of it! Lmfao.

MASTERLIST

Azriel had dazed off, tuning out Cassian’s rant about another successful rescue. A family of four was trapped in a house fire. What were the odds of that happening?

Seeing Cassian wave a hand in his face, Azriel snapped back to reality. “What?” He asked, his tone bored.

“Did you even hear a word I was saying?” Cassian asked, rolling his eyes. “Or was your mind elsewhere again?”

“Leave him Cas. It’s his brooding time before heading back into work.” Rhysand lifted his glass up to his lips.

Azriel shot Rhysand a glare. “I don’t brood.” He said with a scowl, sipping his glass of water.

Cassian snickered. “Oh, you definitely brood. You brood more than any of us. It’s like a specialty of yours.”

Azriel grumbled under his breath. “Remind me why I still bother to come out to lunch with you two?”

“Because you love us.” Cassian said, wrapping his arm around Rhysand’s shoulder. “And we always have your back.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Maybe they were right… Maybe he did brood a bit.

Before he could say anything else, his phone went off. He picked it up and read over the text his captain sent him. His smile was long gone as he looked over his the short message.

Sensing the shift in Azriel’s demeanor, Rhysand and Cassidy exchange glances. “What’s up?” Rhysand asked.

Azriel pursed his lips, still staring at the phone in his hands. “Another extraction….” He said, frowning. “Car went off a cliff. A mom and a kid.” He cleared his throat as he downed his water and started getting up to leave.

Cassian and Rhysand both winced at the news. “How bad….” Cassian mumbled.

Azriels grinned in the slightest bit. He shook his head. “I won’t know till I get there Cas. Besides Caps orders were…brief.” He furrowed his brows. He looked down at the text again making sure he was reading it right. Call in immediately. “It’s probably not that bad.” Azriel said, more to himself than to Rhysand and Cassian. He tucked his phone away and glanced at the two of them. “I have to head out.”

“Be careful yeah.” Rhysand warned, his eyes filled with concern. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“That’s all Cassian!” Azriel beams as he grabs his helmet from where it sits on the table.

Cassian rolled his eyes, but a smirk crept onto his lips. “Dick.” He quipped.

Azriel chuckled. "But you love me and always have my back." He said, mocking Cassian's words before donning his helmet and heading towards the door.

It wasn’t long before he mounted his bike and rode off to work. Wondering what the hell he was going into. His mind raced with possibilities of what could have happened to the mother and child. Maybe a tire blew out. Maybe a brake malfunction. The list was endless, each scenario more grim than the last.

-

"Cap..." Azriel nodded as he met him in his office for a debrief before he was to take off. "How bad is it? It sounded serious in the text."

"If it wasn't personal kid, I would have sent in Tarquin in your place, but because it is and because you are my damn best officer in the field to get the job done in and out. It has to be you."

Azriel felt a pang of trepidation. Personal and dangerous, a deadly combination. "Give it to me." Azriel urged, his voice firm but edged with a hint of unease.

His captain sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Car went off a damn cliff. We get a lot of calls from time to time about one, they’re common." His voice was grave.

"Tell me."

"Gwyn answered a 911 call over at the center..." He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "She answered to Hazel. It's Hazel and Y/n."

Azriel's blood ran cold through his veins, suddenly feeling like he'd been doused with ice water.

No, no, no. His mind screamed but his body moved and his voice spoke on its own. “If Hazel called-” He trailed off.

"Hazel called after the car rolled to a stop. Said the car got caught on the side… She was coherent, crying, in a panic. The call was a little spotty but…she's alive. Gwyn tried keep her on the line but the call went dead. They’re alive Azriel, And so is Y/N, but from what Gwyn got out of her. Y/n is in and out of consciousness…"

Azriel's heart clenched. Hazel and you. Both trapped. Both hurt. He pushed down the panic building within him, his mind focused on the goal - to get you both out of there as quickly as possible.

"We're wasting time then…if Hazel said that the cars stuck on the side…who knows how long it'll hold before it gives."

His captain nodded in agreement. "I'm sending Eris with you. Only one you won't bite his head off." A hearty chuckle rumbled through him. As much as he was trying to lighten up the mood, he knew it wasn't gonna change the situation. "I wouldn't want anyone else if it were my girls. It’s just another Wednesday, Azriel!"

“But it’s not…” Azriel nodded curtly in response. He pushed away his personal feelings and focused on the mission at hand. His captain was right. Hazel and you needed him, and he wasn't going to let anything happen to either of you. But…it was hard. So damn hard.

He turned away and walked out of his office. He saw Eris making his way to him down the hallway, his face set in a serious expression. "Ready to go? What are we dealing with? Cap wouldn't tell me anything?"

Azriel clenched his jaw as he tossed a duffle to him. He'd give him the rundown on the helicopter. They were wasting time still being at the base. "It's Hazel and Y/n." It was all he gave Eris, yet it was enough to have him get his shit straight and resolved. He didn't need to know much of anything else in that moment. It was serious. It was a personal matter at hand and you and Hazel were at the sake of it.

The journey from the base to the accident site was a test of nerves. The helicopter ride was jarring, but Azriel and Eris were focused on the task at hand. His mind raced with thoughts of what he would find when they finally reached you both.

As the helicopter hovered the area the car toppled over, Azriel's gaze fell upon your grey Honda. His heart clenched. The car was precariously positioned on the side of the hill, stuck halfway down the embankment, hanging on by what appeared to be some branches and rocks.

Your car was battered and scratched and had indents all around it. It looked something straight from his book of nightmares - bent metal and shattered glass mingling with the rugged terrain of the hilly landscape.

"Holy shit..." Eris muttered, echoing Azriel's own thoughts. The sight was nothing short of a disaster.

Azriel's hands clenched as he looked at the carnage. He wanted nothing more than to rush out and descend from his line to you.

"Talk to me Azriel."

"We need to stabilize the car. Secure a line to it so it doesn't slide. That car goes…they go.” He shuddered. “We'll extract them one at a time. Hazel first..." He swallowed. "Then Y/n..."

"Who gets who?"

"Get Hazel out...She knows what's expected of her in the event of an accident..." Eris cocked a brow at him in disbelief.

"And she's how old-"

"She's six Eris. Six, okay! Y/n thought we should teach her simple things she could manage like calling 911 and giving directions or making out what she can to help her out...And it paid off, now I'm here, trying to save the two people who I can't live without...It paid off, we're here to help them, so you get Hazel after you stabilize the car." Azriel said curtly as he began descending to where you both were.

Eris nodded once in understanding. His heart clenched at Azriel's words, feeling the weight of the situation. He could hear the worry and fear in Azriel's voice, a stark contrast to his usual stoic broody and calm demeanor. He knew this was personal and it was more than just a routine rescue.

"On it." He affirmed and began descending himself, heading towards the bottom of the car to attach a line, securing a stable base to the car.

As Azriel and Eris lowered themselves to the car, their movements measured and cautious. They could hear soft cries coming from inside the car.

A voice so small, pleading, calling out.

Azriel's heart ached at the sound. It was a mix of Hazel crying and yelling out, he couldn’t quite distinguish until he lowered down closer. He wanted to hurry, but he knew he had to be patient and take it slowly to not cause the car to go with you both still in it. He called out to you both, his voice steady but gentle. “Hazel? Y/n? Can you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence before Hazel's wobbly voice called out. "Here!" Her voice was small, and he could tell by the way she called out to him that she was scared. "Azriel?" Hazel's eyes widened in relief when his face appeared in front of where she remained situated. He immediately took notice that she was out of her seat. Sitting idly on top of the passenger seat.

She must’ve unbuckled herself and climbed to reach your phone.

"Hi, bug..." Azriel breathed out giving her a once-over for physical signs of injuries. He could only make out the cuts on her little face. "Does anything hurt? Do you have trouble moving your arms, or legs? Maybe your neck, or back?"

"No...I-I called 911 like you and Mommy taught me!" She exclaims. “I couldn’t hear the nice lady anymore...” He remembers Cap saying how the line cut off.

Azriel felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound of Hazel's excitement though. He couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face at her words. "You did, bug. I'm so proud of you for being so brave and remembering what to do." He could see that she was visibly shaking, no doubt a combination of fear and adrenaline. Azriel's gaze then shifted towards your unconscious form, his heart clenching once more at the sight of you strapped into your seat, unmoving.

Hazel had looked over at you as well. "Is mommy gonna die?"

Azriel's heart squeezed painfully at Hazel's question. "No, bug, mommy's not gonna die," He said, his voice quiet and steady. He hoped to all the Gods he could keep that promise. "She's just unconscious right now, okay? She's gonna be okay…You guys are gonna be okay." He said, his voice shaking only a little. "You were so brave, bug. So, so brave, without you we would have never known where you and mommy were." Azriel reassured her, his voice gentle and calm. "I'm here now. We're going to get you and mommy out of here." He then gestured to Eris. "This here is my friend Eris, okay. I need you to go with him, he's gonna get you out of here and safely onto the loud helicopter."

Hazel looked at Eris, her eyes wide with trepidation. Eris lowered down so that he was at eye level with her and gave her a warm smile. "Hey there, Hazel," He said, his voice soft. "I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? It's gonna be loud and a little scary at first, but I promise you'll be fine."

"Why can't I go with you?" Her gaze shifted to Azriel.

Azriel’s heart clenched at Hazel’s question. He wanted nothing more than to take her with him, to keep her safe with him. But he knew that it would only endanger both of them. He looked at Hazel, his gaze gentle yet firm. "Because I need to make sure mommy is okay, bug." He explained gently. He knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation, and it tore him apart. "I can only carry one of you at a time. My arms are not big enough to carry you both. That's why I need you to trust me...If you go with Eris then I can get mommy, and get her out safely, okay?"

Hazel's bottom lip quivered as she considered Azriel's words. She looked over at you, lying unconscious in your seat, and then back at Azriel. She was terrified, but she trusted Azriel, and she knew that he was trying to keep both of you safe. She looked back at Eris, a small pout on her face. "Okay…"

Azriel let out a small sigh of relief, grateful that Hazel was willing to trust him. He reached over and stroked her hair gently. “That's my brave girl. I’m so proud of you.” He said, his voice thick with emotion, ruffling her hair softly. He then gestured for Eris to take her, and with a nod, Eris lifted Hazel into his arms. She clung to him tightly, her little arms wrapping around his neck.

Eris offered Hazel a reassuring smile. "What a brave girl you are kiddo." He said, holding her to him tightly and securely. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Your mommy is in good hands." Hazel bit her lip again, still looking unsure, but one look over at Azriel was enough to know he'd get you out. He quickly reached over and pressed a kiss to her head.

Azriel watched as Eris began to make his way up towards the helicopter. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next. With Hazel safe with Eris, he turned his attention to you. He slowly rounded the car steadying himself as he reached the side of your door, trying to assess the damage and figure out how to extract you safely without destabilizing the car further.

He could see that your airbag had deployed which was a good sign. It meant that you were somewhat protected from the initial impact. But you were still unconscious and tangled within the seatbelt, and the car was balanced on a angle, making it even more challenging to move you.

Azriel's heart clenched with worry, but he pushed his emotions aside and focused on his training. He needed to stay calm and move carefully. He reached through the shattered window and gently touched your neck, checking for your pulse.

He let out a small sigh of relief as he felt your pulse, weak but steady. He then began trying to unbuckle the seatbelt, making sure to support your head as he worked. With each movement, he felt the car shift slightly, causing his heart to skip a beat. "Y/n baby can you hear me?"

For a few agonizing moments, there had been no response. But then, suddenly, he heard a soft moan coming from your lips. It fared any worry he had. "Y/n? Baby?"

Your eyes fluttered open, your vision blurry and hazy. Azriel's face swam into view, his expression a mixture of worry and relief. You tried to speak, but the sound came out as a soft croak instead.

Azriel let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "That's it, baby. You're doing so well. Just hang in there for a little longer, okay?" He spoke gently, trying to keep his voice steady. He had to get you out quickly, but he couldn't risk moving you too fast, or the car might give way.

You could feel the pain now, your whole body ached and was screaming at you to stop, but you tried to focus on Azriel's voice. You knew that he was here, he was rescuing you. "A-Azriel.." You managed to rasp out, your voice hoarse and weak.

Despite being disoriented and groggy, you had recognized his voice immediately and it brought some comfort. You tried to push yourself up, but Azriel steadied you with a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder. "No, no. You need to stay still. We're going to get you out of here, baby. Just stay still for me, okay? Squeeze my hand if you need to."

You tried to nod your head, but even that simple movement sent pain shooting through your body. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to make Azriel more worried than he already was. He could see the pain etched on your face and it tore at his heart, but he knew he had to stay focused.

The sound of the helicopter hovering above seemed to stir you a bit more. You groaned softly, struggling to make sense of the situation. “Where..." You managed to croak out. "H-Hazel?"

Azriel's heart ached at the sound of your soft groans and the fear in your voice. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "Hazel's safe. We got her out. She's okay, baby, now we just need to get you out. Can you unbuckle yourself? Can you reach the release?”

Your heart raced with relief at the news that Hazel was safe, but your body was still in so much pain that it was hard to move. You attempted to unbuckle the seatbelt, but it wouldn't budge. You let out a soft whimper, tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes, when you pressed down on the release again, it finally gave. You cry out in relief, slumping into your chair.

Azriel reached in through the shattered window, his touch gentle and tender as he cradled your head. "That's it, baby. Just take a second to breathe. We're almost there," he reassured you, his voice soft yet commanding. The car shifted slightly again, and Azriel's pulse quickened. The thought of losing you now was unbearable. "I'm gonna reach my hands in. I want you to try and wrap your arms around my neck as best you can. Baby, I know you're in pain and you're scared but I need you with me, okay?" He instructed, cupping your face gently with his gloves. You mustered a small nod for him.

Azriel took a deep breath as he extended his arms inside the car, steadying himself and maneuvering you as carefully as possible. He watched your expressions closely, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. He could see that the pain was intense - your face creased with it, the sweat on your forehead. "You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more." He whispered, his voice steady but his heart on the verge of breaking.

Your body felt heavy and weak, but you forced yourself to trust Azriel completely. You steeled yourself and braced for what came next. You took a deep breath and lifted your arms, reaching out cautiously for his neck. Azriel felt you gripping onto him, and he held your trembling form as delicately yet securely as he could, taking care not to jostle your body too much.

As soon as he felt he had a good hold on you and your waist, the car began sliding. He didn't hesitate to pull you out from the driver's window.

Azriel clenched his jaw as he watched the car slide beneath you both. Falling further into the abyss. The car smashed into the ground causing his stomach to stir knowing that if he'd been a second late you would have gone with it. He held you close as you both swung, your body pressed against his chest. He could feel your heart racing, beating against his own. "Shhh, baby. You're safe now. I got you." He whispered, trying to calm down your cries with pressed kisses against your head. "I got you now."

"Az!" Eris poked his head out the chopper, having heard the car give before he saw it fall. Azriel looked up. Tapping his helmet twice, then shooting him a thumbs up.

"We're good! All good! Bring us up!" Eris looked over to a frightened Hazel, his shoulders relaxing. He felt like he couldn't breathe the whole ride here. Now he could.

"Did he get her...?" Hazel tugged the blanket Eris wrapped around her closer.

"Yeah...he got her kiddo." He offered her a lopsided grin before he got to work reeling them back up.

Azriel held you firmly as the winch began to pull you up. The sound of the helicopter blades thudding in the air, cut through the silence. The wind whipped your hair around your face, but Azriel shielded you as best he could. His body curled around you while his hold on you stayed strong and steady. One hand holding onto the line. He could feel your body shivering against his, the shock settling in.

When you reached the edge. Eris was there offering his hand to you, hauling you safely into the carrier. "Mommy!" Hazel rushed to you. You choked back a sob as she cradled her arms around your neck. You hold back a wince knowing you are still in need of a proper examination.

Azriel climbed up with Eris's help and slumped against the floor, his eyes never leaving you and Hazel. He wanted to wrap both of you in his arms and never let go. But his eyes noticed the blood on your face, a cut on your forehead, and the way you were sitting stiffly, your body trembling. He knew you were hiding the pain. He knew you were trying to be strong for Hazel. Eris smirked patting his chest.

"Alright?"

"Y-Yeah..." Azriel huffed.

"You sure?"

“Uh huh.”

"Yeah?" Eris teased.

"Yeah." Azriel swallowed as he sat up and scooted over to you both. His hands pressed against the sides of your head before he pulled you both into his embrace. A kiss followed his affection. "My babies..." He muttered as you melted in his arms. Your body slumping against him, in defeat. The tension and fear that had gripped you slowly ebbed away as Azriel's touch washed over you.

Eris awed silently to himself in his seat at the sight. He secretly wished and wanted for his family of his own. Knowing how Azriel found you two along the way and stayed, warmed his heart.

"Ten minutes. Good work!" He praised. A shit-eating grin on his face to help lighten the mood.

Azriel chuckled. "Shut up." His voice was tight and hoarse. He held both Hazel and you close to him, his arms surrounding you in a protective and loving embrace. He could feel the relief and comfort flowing through him as his muscles relaxed and he let out a shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"No seriously. I think it's a new record-" Eris chimed.

Azriel huffed as he shot Eris a glare, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smirk. "Shut up." He muttered, closing his eyes.

"We got to get you on one of those Worlds Guinness record books. I know a guy who could set it up-"

Azriel let out a soft huff of laughter. "Thanks, Eris." He muttered. Despite Eris's cocky attitude, Azriel was grateful for his help. Azriel rolled his eyes, but he grew amused at Eris's comments. He shook his head, burying his face in your hair and squeezing you both tighter.

Eris laughed, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Hey, someone's gotta bring the humor to these tense situations. You know cause you got that whole brooding dark prince thing going on, it isn't really your best look by the way."

"Cassian?" Azriel presumed with a hum.

"Called me right before you got to base."

Fucker, Azriel thought. "Of course he did..."

You couldn't help but smile at Azriel's banter and roll your eyes at Eris' comments. Even through the fear and pain, his presence was such a comforting force for you. You leaned into Azriel's embrace, feeling his chest rise and fall against your body. It wasn't long for your gaze to meet Eris. A tired smile marks your features. You mouthed a 'thank you' in return. For everything he'd done to help rescue you both. Eris tipped his chin in understanding. Azriel pressed his lips to your head once more before reassuring you it was okay to rest now. That they got you both out. That nothing would hurt you two anymore. So you did, you allowed yourself to succumb to your tired state, and closed your eyes.

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part III

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second. 

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud. 

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you. 

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this. 

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it. 

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words. 

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you. 

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him. 

-

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal. 

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was. 

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting. 

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief. 

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his. 

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

-

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop. 

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry. 

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time. 

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside. 

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this. 

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him. 

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper. 

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you. 

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you. 

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple. 

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.” 

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears. 

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck. 

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging. 

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy. 

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers. 

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured,  fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep. 

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected. 

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead. 

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so. 

-

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has. 

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you. 

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him. 

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment. 

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his. 

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly. 

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history. 

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt. 

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly. 

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth. 

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large. 

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous. 

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other. 

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure. 

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit. 

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face. 

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever. 

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it. 

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

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A good excuse to kiss

Enzo and Blaise

In order to keep your best friend’s relationship a secret you have to distract a certain slytherin.

Warning: none, just little make out

Today’s little cameo is Aria ( @justdizzie ). She’s your Gryffindor best friend and has a secret relationship with Draco. It’s a rather silly scenario, but I hope you like your little cameo.

More silly short soft stories today, but now I just need to finish one last little date thingy and then I can finally start on all those requests. Five Six in total, so excited to start writing those! Per usual: if you spot an error and let me know you get a free kiss and most importantly happy readings!

I added the requested Theo and Mattheo version. Read it here.

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Damn it, Aria, where are you? It was lunch time and you still hadn’t seen your friend. You were seriously getting worried, which brought you to the door of Draco’s room. You were pleased to find the Slytherin common room empty, since Aria and Draco’s relationship was top secret you really couldn’t bring her up around his friends.

“I think we should get up.” Draco whispers softly as his hand strokes Aria’s soft hair. With sleepy brown eyes she looks up at him. “But I’m so comfy.” Draco smiles and gives her a soft kiss on top of her head, before wrapping his arms around her.

Your fist hits the door hard. “Malfoy!” You yell and immediately you take a step back hearing a lot of noise and loud whispers. “What do we do? Quick hide.” “Where?” You roll your eyes. “It’s me!” You yell and Aria on the other side of the door relaxes her shoulders. “It’s (y/n). Thank Godric." Draco relaxes as well and can’t help but smile. “We’ve got to stop doing this.” He sighs and Aria frowns at his words. “I mean the secrecy, not the dating!” Draco immediately explains. “Idiot. Like I would ever let you go.” He mutters, before kissing his girlfriend so she can’t complain about his little insult.

The door opens and you see Aria’s messy black hair and apologetic brown eyes. “We overslept. Keep guard for a moment, I’ll be there in sec.” You nod, but as soon as the door closes you shake your head. Being the only friend that knows of their secret relationship was an honor, but also a full time job. Luckily for you, everyone was at lunch so no one would come looking for them, except…

Enzo

“Draco!” You hear someone yell and instantly jump. Your heart races as you see Enzo enter the common room, scanning the room. When he spots you in front of Draco’s door you awkwardly wave. “Hey.” He frowns utterly confused by your sudden weirdness. “Hello.” There’s an unsettling silence and he points at you before opening and then closing his mouth again, ignoring whatever thought popped up in his head. “Have you seen Draco?” You pretend to think for a moment and then shake your head. “Nope.” Again there’s a humiliating silence as you stand there looking for anything to say to get him out of there before Aria casually walks out of Draco’s room.

“Why are you here?” Enzo asks a bit forced by the bizarre question. When you don’t immediately respond he tilts his head studying you. “Uhm-”Think of something! Anything! “I’m here for you.” You blur out and after a second decide to fully go with it. You take a few steps towards him and he looks surprised, but also intrigued. “Really?” You nod, while walking away from the door, so that Enzo would be faced away from Draco’s room. “I thought we should talk.” You make up on the spot, making the slytherin frown at you. It’s only when you take a few steps towards him that he seems to ignore all the bizarreness in favor of having you close. “About?” He questions getting curious and maybe a bit excited at the idea that you might have a thing for him. “Homework.” You say, confident that you’ve found the perfect excuse.

“Oh.” Enzo’s voice has a hint of disappointment, that makes you wonder what he expected you to say. However, there’s no time for thinking, because suddenly Aria swings open the door and you have to be quick, because Enzo’s already turning to look. You grab his face and kiss him like you’ve always wanted to but never dared to. Enzo wastes no time and wraps his arms around your waist, while Aria quickly ducks behind a nearby couch. You let go of Enzo’s face. “Homework?” He questions with a gleeful smirk and only now you realize his arms are around you. He didn’t mind? “I- I’m-” Your face heats up and you don’t know what to do with yourself. “No need to get shy, you’re the one that kissed me.” Enzo tucks a strand of hair away in an attempt to reassure you. How is he so casual about this?

Out of the corner of your eyes you spot Aria signaling something to you and before you know it she quickly gets up to move to the other side of the room. You realize you have to distract Enzo one last time for her to escape the room, so once again you crash your lips onto Enzo’s. Surprised by the suddenness he stumbles, but not before pulling you against him, so you fall on top of him on the couch. Now you’re both laying on the sofa and he seems more than pleased with the situation, while you are getting more flustered with each second on top of him. His hands roam your back and you look over his happy face. “Uhm, I should-uhm.” You try to get up, but he keeps you close. “You can’t just kiss a guy and then leave him dreaming of more.” Enzo jokes as he softly squeezes your sides.

You drown in his eyes as he licks his lips, filled with anticipation. You had dreamed of a millions scenarios of how your first kiss with Enzo was going to happen, but this was unexpected to say the least. Losing his patience Enzo brushes his lips over yours trying to steal another kiss. You no longer resist and allow yourself to lean in and enjoy the sweet kiss. “I don’t know what exactly has gotten into you, but I’m not gonna lie, I quite enjoy it.” Enzo says before bringing his lips back to yours for a tender kiss. “Yeah, not really how I planned my day either, but I’m not gonna complain.” Your answer confuses Enzo since you were the one that kissed him, but in Enzo’s book you were simply too pretty to waste time with questions.

When Draco leaves his room several minutes later, he snorts passing the both of you making out on the sofa. “Seriously, you two? Get a room.” You look up blushing, but narrow your eyes at his smug smirking face. It’s your secret relationship that got me in this situation. How dare you be smug about this. When you look back at Enzo, he’s wiggling eyebrows. “Maybe we should, you know, go to my room?”

Blaise

You hear someone enter the common room and your eyes go wide. Blaise spots you and instead of saying something or at least moving, you just stand there. “(Y/n)?” Blaise questions as he approaches you slightly worried. You force a smile and start fiddling with your fingers as you search for something to say. “Hey.” You finally manage to utter and Blaise can’t help but chuckle at your adorable weirdness. His soft laugh brings you to reality and gives you confidence to say something. “What brings you here?” Blaise frowns at your question, it was the slytherin common room so it really wasn’t weird for him to be here. “Looking for Draco, haven’t seen him all day.” Blaise explains and you nod, pretending to be very surprised that he hadn’t seen Draco.

You move a little closer and then around Blaise, making him turn around and look confused at you. You relax a bit knowing that Blaise is now looking away from Draco’s room. He notices your nervous fingers playing and meets your eyes. “You alright, (y/n)? You look a bit stressed.” You let out a nervous laugh. “Me? Stressed? Never.” Even the person in the painting not far from you is embarrassed for you and your horrible acting skills. But just as you think things can’t get worse Aria swings Draco’s door open drawing Blaise’s attention. In a desperate attempt to keep your friend’s relationship a secret you wrap your arms around Blaise and place your lips on his. Instinctively he reaches for your hips to hold you against him. Aria ducks behind a nearby couch and you break the kiss.

Blaise chuckles and you let go of him. “Not that I mind you kissing me, but are you sure you’re feeling alright? You’re normally not the girl that kisses guys at random.” You bite your lip, before giving him an apologetic smile. “Yeah, I’m sorry I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Your voice is sheepish and Blaise takes a step closer to you gently squeezing your arm in a comforting way. “No need to apologize, you’re a good kisser.” You look up at him and relax at the sight of his loving smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, Zabini.” A soft laugh escapes you and for a moment you forget about the bizarre situation you had gotten yourself in.

However, just as Aria wants to move, Blaise turns his head, making you yelp and jump in his arms. You kiss him like your life depends on it, while your hands move to his shoulders and head. To your surprise Blaise kisses you back with equal intensity and you wrap your legs around him. After a while you’re forced to break the kiss for air. “Oops, did it again.” You whisper sheepishly and bite your lip. Blaise chuckles and tightens his grip on your waist as he starts walking. “As much as I enjoy this, I’m getting you to Madame Pomfrey.” You panic at his words. “No, why?” Blaise smiles at you. “Because I’m seriously worried that you’ve been drugged or something and I don’t want to take advantage of you.” You watch his concerned eyes and can’t help but fall more in love with this gentle man. “Blaise Zabini, you seriously think I’m drugged because.. what.. I kissed a handsome and sweet guy. That’s not that suspicious, you know.” Now it was Blaise’s turn to get flustered. You wrap your legs around him a little tighter and lean in, making Blaise drown in your eyes as your lips softly land on his.

“Awh.” You hear Aria coo from somewhere in the room and you and Blaise break the kiss to look at her. “What-” Blaise utters, but just then Draco enters the common room, coming to his girlfriend’s aid. “What Blaise? You think you’re the only one with a girlfriend around here.” Draco snaps and snatches Aria’s hand. Blaise looks utterly confused, but as soon as your lips are on his again he forgets and kisses back.

[missmarveledsblog]

A kind of sex education part 2 (platonic cas x winchesters x reader)

Summary : after the whole porn ordeal , castiel finds tumblr and the world of fanfiction has him asking more curious questions  which the residents of the bunker are not so happy to answer . 

warnings : mentions of smutty fics , cas being the curious baby in a trench coat we love .

After the whole angel porn ordeal , they were more careful with what cas was watching not wanting  history to repeat itself . Like monitoring a toddler on an iPad. Especially given that y/n wouldn't come out of her room for days not wanting to look any of them bar sam in the eyes .  Dean even limited his teasing when it came to the subject . Today he was luckily out while cas was on laptop , Sam and Y/N were looking over some incoming cases seeing which needed to be handled first .

" interesting this is very interesting " the angel spoke making them look over both slightly relieved not see or hear an explicit image on the laptop. 

" I've been on a interesting site that led me to many other over the last couple of days " he  spoke up .

" what was that buddy" she smiled over. Their joy short lived when he uttered the next few sentences out of his mouth .

" tumblr that led me to all these other sites , did you know there is fanfiction of us like the play we seen except it's classed as what they call smut " he looked up at the two .

" why didn't  I go on the supply run ,  why am I here when he finds this shit " she cursed up at the ceiling .

" could be nothing " sam offered a weak smile .

" did you know most popular is Dean x y/n fiction seems as though you are most shipped although there are some of Dean and sam with you too " he mused .

" but I could be wrong" sam winced taking the laptop off of cas completely .

" how do you find these things " he asked looking through the tabs .

" I'm very pop culture savvy now " cas said proudly . 

" what the hell man why are you reading all these " sam groaned wanting burning his eyes out seeing an explicitly  wrong image of Dean and himself (no to wincest) .  " you are actually popular with them Y/n " sam mused .

" that's after  that stupid ghost hunting  website and chuck " she grumbled  wondering where she was going to start her new life.

" hey there's even some with you and cas " he chuckled. 

" Alaska or maybe Australia would be better it further Away " she mused .

" wow these are extremely detailed " sam continued .

" would you call Dean daddy , the stories seem to think you would " cas asked .

" what the hell did I walk into " the man in question walked into the room .

" my resignation  " she mumbled hiding her head in her arms. 

" destiel  is another popular one " sam chuckled. 

" cas found smutty fanfictions " she looked up to see the clueless expression on Dean's face.

" they suggest that Y/n is a sub and you are a Dom " the angel stated.

" wanna see if they're right sweetheart " Dean winked .

" wanna kill me cause I can't be dealing with this" she countered wondering if she could also legally change her name.

" why are they so descriptive on the parts , have they seen them" cas sat looking between the three .

" the way Dean sleeps around they probably seen his " she reasoned.

" they also suggest you like..." .

" do not even finish that one" she growled .

"so many kinks cas did you google all these" sam asked eyes widening at the search history. 

" i was looking at chucks book and comments said to check out the tumblr versions " he said looking confused to what he did wrong. " they forgot to add that birthmark just below your tits " he added matter of factly .

" when did you see her ... what he got to see i didn't" dean turned to Y/n , who honestly rather be stuck with Crowley for eternity than this .

" he walked in while i was getting dressed and it not a birthmark it's a scar from a battle with an old favourite bra "she could feel her cheeks redder than they've been so far . "i'm going to my room to pack for my new life in australia" she stormed out her room .

" she's kidding right?" dean asked looking to the mean .

" you should dom her  and make her stay , they said she responds to good girl" cas explained .

" i wonder if she would let me come with her " sam mused walking out after her.  

another awkward dinner bobby was almost afraid to ask. Although dean was smiling more than the others.

" cas read fanfiction , pornographic fan fiction " dean explained .

" i've also read some theories too, like bobby is Y/N Dad and not her uncle" cas smiled making bobby choke on his water.

"  their theories cas they're not right ... right? " she laughed but stopped when she notice bobby expression or how he would barel look at her.

" i mean it's a possibility " he mused truthfully making her jaw drop

" great more daddy issue not like the place is drowning in them with these two " she pinched the bridge of her nose and point at sam and dean.

" so the theories of dean being her soulmate are true " cas asked.

" probably " dean shrugged winking at her .

" why did i ever come here, sam wanna move to australia with me " she ignored the other three men .

" look me and your mom had a brief thing , your dad well your dad agreed while he..." . 

" australia sound nice " sam agreed cutting bobby short .

" hey stop denying our love even nerds on internet think we'd be hot together"dean spoke up .

" cas from now on stop the curiosity or so help me i will make you eat the computer  " she  groaned learning too much information for the day .

"we need to do dna test " she turned to bobby .

" you can pick me up at 7 " she turned to dean before walking out leaving the men speechless . 

" i got punished" cas pouted .

" i got a kid  kinda " bobby gulped .

" i got a date " dean smirked .

" and i got a rock ... It's a thing on tiktok ... what cass isn't the only pop culture savvy one around here " sam shrugged .

part three

[kimberleyjean]

The Ineffable Detective Agency Presents: What Happened in Before the Beginning?

Hello Good Omens clue hunters and detectives! I’m super excited to share what we’ve discovered in Before the Beginning. Read on if you want to see what no one else has spotted yet!

To put a long story short, something is “up” about Good Omens - Season 2 in particular. While the eagle-eyed have documented a number of odd things in Season 2 already (summarised here), I’ve never seen anyone call into question what was presented during the Before the Beginning scene. Let’s take a closer look shall we?

Remember this scroll to start the nebula? Well, guess what - it changes!

Here’s the first scroll we see on screen, I’m going to call this the “new” scroll. Note the straight edges and completely pristine look, like brand new paper:

Then suddenly, here’s what it looks like as they start up the nebula:

Whoa, that’s looking pretty old and ragged! It’s got rips, a bit of discolouration, several wavy bends running through it. That’s a significantly more worn scroll than we were just shown. Let’s show that in close up just to be sure:

Yup, that’s certainly not meant to be the same scroll!

During this scene, the old scroll is seen again during the close up of Aziraphale holding it. However, once Crowley instructs him to put it down, it’s the new scroll again. (And then at this point it disappears into hammerspace like in a cartoon, or drifts off into space, never to be seen again).

So... there's TWO scrolls?

Well, yes, but also, no. If you're wondering, “Are they both real scrolls? Are you telling me they had two on set?” the short answer is no, this was done with VFX. To explain why we know this, I’m going to hand over to our resident Art Director, @noneorother:

Hi all, @noneorother here. Sure. So it's mostly to do with the shadow inside the scroll curls and under the right hand side curl. You can see when it's the real scroll that the shadows are all orange or brown, because of sub-surface scattering:

It happens when light partially passes through a thin porous object like skin or paper. So when the scroll is new, it's real. Where they've added "scroll is old now" VFX on top of the shots, it's very well tracked, but there's no more sub-surface scattering because it's VFX, not filmed. So the shadows are now base-black inside the curl and to the right hand side of the image. This is the VFX scroll here:

They already perfectly tracked the astronomy animation into the center of the scroll, so they had all that tracking info just sitting around. It wouldn't have been very expensive to add the "old scroll" the way they did it (the cheap and dirty way).

Thanks @noneorother! So there we have it folks, the Good Omens team have intentionally designed some shots with the old-looking VFX scroll and some without. They had the assets created for the old scroll and the tracking to place it correctly, so how could they possibly make the “mistake” of adding it sometimes but not others? This wasn’t a budget thing. If it were budget related, they wouldn’t have created the old scroll VFX in the first place.

Personally, I think this discontinuity was to tell us, the dedicated rewatchers, that what we initially saw in S2 was not the whole story. There is something else at play during S2. Something that, depending on what we find, may make S3 even more enjoyable.

So, why do this? Is this scene being conveyed from different perspectives? Are we viewing different characters’ memories of the same event? If so, why would that be important? Is someone tampering with past events? Did “Before the Beginning” happen multiple times and we’ve seen a spliced together version? What do you think?

One More Question...

The other question worth asking here (which Aziraphale helpfully asks for us) is “which way up” does the scroll go? Look closely at the central rings.

Is it the top version (small rings to the right)?

Or the lower version (small rings to the left)?

... and what happens if you create a nebula upside down, I wonder? Here I’m reminded of the Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square lyrics:

The moon that lingered over London Town Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown How could he know we two were so in love The whole darn world seemed upside down

In a season where something is going "Down in the Up", and the answer to Gabriel’s mystery is achieved by turning the delivery box upside down, this is yet another up-down reversal we can add to the list!

..................................................................................

If you’ve been following our Good Omens posts up until now, you’ll be aware that this is not the only time scenes have been inconsistent or discontinuous. If this is new to you, please check out my summary post on Season 2 discontinuity here. For more of our posts, plus a collection of Clues and metas from all over the fandom, see here.

However, there is still more to come, so watch out for future updates. If you’re not currently puzzling over Good Omens and would like to join in, please do! We’d love to hear what you find - you can use the tag #ineffable mystery.

Special thanks to @noneorother, @embracing-the-ineffable, and to all the other lovely people at @ineffable-detective-agency (@theastrophysicistnextdoor, @ghstptats, @somehow-a-human, @lookingatacupoftea, @dunkthebiscuit @havemyheartaziraphale, @komorezuki, @251-dmr, @maufungi).

[itskattkm]

With the power of an Addams

Based on a request

Summary: your in baby fever and Wednesday a bit overwhelmed

Warnings: slight fluff, bad grammar?

A/N: I wanted to give the person the awaited request. It’s short. And you probably imagined it different. I hope you can still enjoy:) I’ll defiantly try better again. I took a note and will work on it. It’s my first Wednesday fic I love her but I find it hard to write her, cause her character is next level shit and I love it.

Wednesday was watching y/n and furrowed her brows at the high pitched tone that came out of you when you saw a little child walking past you two while waiting for lurch to pick you up for the planed family dinner with Wednesdays family.

„You cute… tiny little thing you“ said y/n wit a high voice looking with a wide smile after the kid that tried to hold the hand of her mother. Wednesday rolled her eyes. First it started with videos of cute animal baby’s on y/n phone. But with every passing week it became more and more and suddenly y/n began to see baby’s everywhere… or children. And since Wednesday was always with you it meant she also saw all those baby’s or puppy’s… or videos of small cats falling with their whole face into their food.

Y/n turned around to meet Wednesdays dark cold eyes „Wednesday she looked like you! With those cute braids wearing all black“ said y/n excited hoping Wednesday would understand why she reacted like that.

„They were probably at the funeral of her father…“ said Wednesday monotone. I widened my eyes and Wednesday stayed cool „what? I didn’t see a man on the side if that exhausted woman“ she said before turning and walking towards the gate to have a better look on lurch if he would arrive.

Y/n was still a bit speechless and looked after the little child and mother. Thinking about Wednesdays words. She then approached Wednesdays side quite and said with a soft tone „funeral or not… she looked like you and that was cute…“

The fact that y/n saying that she liked the kid because it looked like a younger version of herself made her heart race faster. Now y/n looked nervously at Wednesdays side profile not sure how to tell her about her thoughts.

„Wednesday…“ y/n began when suddenly lurch appeared in the Addams car.

„Let’s get that torture evening behind us“ said Wednesday monotone and greeted lurch before getting in the car. Y/n smiled weak and greeted lurch while he put the suitcases of both girls into the car.

Y/N sat down beside Wednesday in the car and looked out of the window. Watching the raindrops falling down the window.

It was a quite drive to the Addams mansion and after a few minutes smiled y/n and said shyly „when I was a kid I watched the raindrops and made a race between them…“

Wednesday looked with furrowed brows at y/n saying „why would you do that?“ you laughed slight and shrugged your shoulders „it was fun… and car rides can be long“

Wednesday huffed in a not impressed way while looking straight forward to the road saying „I was rather reading perfume by Patrick Süßkind…“

U looked at her softly „sure you did“

While you were looking out of the window again you said „I wonder what a child version of us would be like…“

Wednesday looked at you emotionless „this doesn’t make any sense… we were child’s once“. Y/n smiled shyly and said „not us… I meant… of us… a baby… our baby… I wonder what kind of human we would create“

Caught off guard Wednesday looked with wide eyes at the floor of the car. Her heart beating fast and mind racing like crazy.

Wednesday didn’t said anything to Y/n. She kept staring down a bit traumatized.

„Lurch… can you imagine what your child would be like if you have one someday?“ y/n asked with a smile.

Lurch huffed. Not saying much as always and that made y/n chuckle. Meanwhile the car drive was silent again. Wednesday catched a glimpse of y/n phone while she was scrolling through her socials and exploring cute baby bedrooms or baby pictures.

After twenty minutes they arrived. When lurch got out of the car and wanted to open y/n the door Wednesday said „leave us for a second alone lurch“ y/n looked confused at Wednesday and lurch left them alone in the car.

Wednesday kept looking down with a hard stare „I have to admit that I recognized some changes…“

Y/n looked now a bit worried at Wednesday and kept listening.

„You talk way to much about your childhood and asked me pretty much things about mine the last few months. Your Uncontrollable affectionate feelings also increased and you react to anything that has to do with children or baby’s. Your obsession with baby animal videos started to irritate me. Beside that your stopping at the baby sections every time we go out…“

Wednesday looked up at you with her dark eyes and gave you a softer look, reaching out for your hand to hold it. Her cold hand wrapping yours while saying „I assume your pregnant?“

Y/n saw the love and softness in Wednesdays eyes but she also saw the fear in them. Something that was rare for Wednesday. You chuckled slight and shook your head holding tight her hand „no I’m not…“

Wednesday looked down and felt suddenly a hint of sadness a quite „oh…“ leaving her.

You looked at her with a tilted head, surprised about her reaction „wait… did… did you… want me to… to be pregnant?“ I asked nervous.

Your eyes met Wednesdays dark ones when she adjusted her posture „I tried to understand why you were acting all that weird the last months and today you asked so many questions… I tried to find a answer to that the whole drive. While doing that I was getting fine with the thought of you being pregnant… with our child“

Y/n eyes softened and she found herself falling more and more for the raven haired girl. She held tighter Wednesday hands and kissed them „I have to admit that I was… in sort of a baby fever… and I wasn’t sure how you think about having kids, so I tried to find out and… and I didn’t knew how to talk to you“

Wednesday looked with a hard stare into y/n eyes and said „I think our child would have my head and your looks. Your ability to care and protect your loved ones and my knowledge of probably anything beside the great powers of being an Addams. A little devil. Looking like a daydream but could kill you. To answer your question“

You smiled wide and leaned in to kiss her softly „So you can imagine having a family with me?“. And then Wednesday gifted me with one of her rare smiles. A mix of pure evilness and love „I married you with a reason…“

I blushed slight and kissed her again. This time deeper.

[inlovewithpandora]

ᥫ᭡ — Cut The Cameras

Artists — Hobie Brown x fem!influencer!reader

Lyrics — While you're filming a video for your YouTube channel Hobie walks in your studio and sees you in some revealing attire. When he sees your ass spilling out your shorts all he wants to do is bend you over and fill you up.

Genre — Oneshot

Music Advisory — lighty Halloween themed, subtle fluff, smut, porn w/ plot, afab!reader, p in v (unprotected), overstimulation, mention of creaming/squirting, implied handcuff usage, imagined as black!reader but you can always imagine reader differently

Duration — 1.1k words

Words from Artist — This is my first Hobie smut post so I’m excited to share it with y’all! I wrote this around October but I didn’t post it due to my hiatus so I’m posting it now. Always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — main m.list・atsv taglist・navigation

You stand in front of the mirror making sure your outfit, makeup, and hair are up to your standards before turning on your camera. The intro card begins to play and once it finishes, a smile spreads across your lips and you say your opening line. “Hey, guys! Today, I’m finally doing a Halloween costume haul since a lot of you requested it. I ordered ten costumes from Fashion Nova and I’ll link everything in the description so you can purchase them. Now let’s get into the video!”

—

You’ve been filming for almost thirty minutes and have shown four different costumes. Once you change into something new you turn the camera back on. “This is the next one.” You turn in a circle, showing off your costume that’s the scandalous version of inmate attire. “I really like this costume, I think it’s snug in all the right places and I love how the color orange looks on me.” As you continue talking to the camera about the costume, showing them the silver handcuffs that came as an accessory, you hear the door to your video room open, making you turn your head to see who is coming in, even though you have a feeling who it is.

Hobie walks in with a confused expression, wondering why you were standing in front of the camera wearing clothing that accentuated parts of your body he didn’t want the world to see. “Hey, baby!” You come over, grab his hand and pull him into the camera’s view. “I’m glad you’re here because I’m making a video for Halloween costumes and I want your opinion.”

You spin around so he can get a full view and just from that small moment, he can see the slight jiggle of your ass that’s spilling out your shorts and your breast moving upward before resting in their normal position. “It looks amazin’.” He walks right behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You look so sexy in this.” He mumbles before starting to nibble on your earlobe.

You can feel him flush against you, pressing his growing bulge into the swell of your ass. By the huskiness of his tone and by his actions you can tell what is on his mind. “Hobie, I can’t right now. I have to finish this video.” You tell him while grabbing his arms, trying to free yourself from his hold. You’re determined to get this video finished today because you want to have it edited and uploaded by the end of the week, especially since you haven’t been posting lately due to your busy schedule.

Hobie grumbles at your words and tightens his grip on your waist so you don’t have the ability to escape his firm hold. “We can make a video of our own if you like.” You can practically hear the smirk on his lips as he hints to creating a porno. His hands begin to travel to his favorite part of your body, your beautiful cunt. By gliding his hand down your stomach, he finally reaches your pussy and once he does he cups it, rubbing his fingers across the clothed area. “C’mon, love, I know you want this too. Let me give it to you.” Hobie knows that you weren’t going to give in, that’s why he’s resorting to one of your weaknesses. He turns his head a little and begins to plant kisses on your neck, swirling the tip of his wet tongue on your skin while lightly sucking, creating the first of many hickeys.

“I-Okay, Hobie, y-you win.” Your voice is soft and quiet with a hint of a quiver, feeling your heart pounding inside your chest from the sensation of Hobie’s current attack on your neck. You know that his advances would only increase and that he isn’t afraid to strip you and bend you over with the camera rolling, so you decide to give in and let him have his way. You reach out in front of you and click the power button and once you see it completely shut off, you turn to Hobie with a small smile across your lips. “I’m all yours.” Your voice holds much enthusiasm and lust as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, and before you know it your legs are wrapped around his waist as he carries you to your shared bedroom.

—

“Hobie, s-slow down! It's too much!” You cry out, feeling his mushroom tip pounding against your cervix while keeping his hand tight on your hips. Hobie is brutally attacking your cunt, slamming his pelvis against your ass, making sure you are receiving every inch of his lengthy dick. Everything is becoming too much since you have come multiple times before this round, so your pussy is far past overstimulated.

Hobie knows that he’s pushing you past your limits, but he has faith that his baby can take it. “I know, baby, but this is the last one. You can cum one more time for me, can’t you?” He coos as he runs his hand down your spine, pushing your back into a deeper arch which allows him to hit new angles of your g-spot. Now, since you’re in a new position, he is hitting the spongy part of your walls, causing your legs to tremble underneath him, a sign that you are close to achieving your next orgasm. “Atta, girl, I knew you could do it f’me. Cream on this dick.” Hobie encourages you with a hard smack on your ass, making your body shudder from the impact.

“Oh, shit!” Your next sentences are jumbled together as your brain short-circuits so the best words you can vocalize are profanities besides your boyfriend's name that all come out in moans. Your cunt begins to clench around his shaft and soon after you come, your cream begins to coat his dick, and your juices squirt onto his abdomen. Hearing the lewd noises coming from your lips, and the squelching sounds coming from your wetness cause Hobie to release his warm seed into your empty womb.

Hobie gives you a few more long thrusts, making sure his semen has reached your uterus before he pulls out. When he withdraws his length from your warmth and lets go of your hips, your body goes limp and falls onto the bed, not having enough strength to do anything else but relax. Hobie can’t help but chuckle at how fucked out you are, but in his defense, he just couldn’t hold back, not when you looked so sexy and desirable in your Halloween costume.

When you finally can muster up some energy, you turn over and are met with Hobie's brown eyes staring down at you with a smirk on his lips, already thinking about fucking you again even though he promised this was the last time. “One more round, baby and this time we’re using the handcuffs.”

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Editor — @justmemyselfandthemoon

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[blahblahblees]

hey!!! i was thinking about fem!reader x cole water, something like an enemies/rivals to lovers. they’re both very competitive in class and in sports. but, when cole gets injured, he stops caring about school. now, i don’t know how to continue, maybe reader goes to his house to ask him after he fails or smth and they have a fight that ends with him confessing? idk do your thing!! lots of love

ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀─── swim ミ cole walter

✎ ·˚ ༘ ─── two headstrong rivals who’ve always been competitive in everything they do suddenly stop and when push comes to shove, maybe they’ll fall in love.

wc: 1,125

cole walter x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns & use of y/l (your last name))

tw: kissing/making out (?)

a/n: shit description from me i’m sorry 🙏. but i wanna say before reading, this prompt leans more towards the book version of cole so that’s what was in my head when writing :)

THERE WAS something about Cole Walter that irritated and intrigued her all at the same time. The way he had this “don’t care” attitude, but had been well off to have at least a “B” in all of his classes. He was Cole Walter and he had been the one people eyed in the hallways. The one guy people wanted to be with and couldn’t have unless he looked your way.

And before his injury, the two of you were always neck and neck. It didn’t matter what the topic or subject was, the two of you just had to be better than the other. If you wanted a “A” in math, he would do his best to make an “A+” just to irk you. If he wanted to run laps around the track, you’d join in and out run him by a mile.

But that was before the injury. Before he came an even bigger asshole, which you didn’t think was possible. Something had shifted after the incident and he’d simply changed. He stopped caring about the sports, the academics, the feelings, almost stopped caring about himself it seemed.

And he just pushed people away, he wanted nothing to do with some people, and maybe that’s why the “Cole Effect” had worked so well. You’d be considered lucky if Cole Walter wanted something to do with you, even if it meant for one night.

But things seemed to never go right for Cole. He started failing and if he continued on this path he would repeating his junior year.

And his teachers assigned him to a tutor for every class and she just so happened to be one of them.

She would tutor Cole for science, but none of it seemed to stick. No matter how often they met for the tutoring session, Cole would only come back to her with “D’s” and “F’s” which she didn’t understand. She was a star student herself, so she didn’t quite understand how or why Cole was failing. It looked bad on the both of them and it seemed as if Cole just didn’t care.

So, one night, she decide that she would take matters into her own hands and simply as him why.

She knocked on the door of the Walter’s and on the other side stood Jackie Howard, a small smile on her face as she looked over at the girl.

“Hey.” Jackie smiled.

“Hey.” She replied. “Is Cole home?”

Jackie nodded, opening the door to allow her inside. “He’s upstairs. His room his the first door you see when you’re up there.”

She thanked Jackie and made her way upstairs and gently knocked on the door.

There was shuffling on the other side, but the door opened and Cole stood on the other side, his shirt absent and his shorts hanging absolutely too low, but he was in his room alone, so she couldn’t quite complain.

“What are you doing here, Y/L?”

“Can we talk?”

Cole rested his hands on the doorknob, his body pressed against the frame of the door. “About?”

She sighed deeply. “You keep failing and your grades are reflecting on my tutoring. So I was just wondering-“

“I appreciate you tutoring me.” Cole said, cutting her off. “I really do, but it’s clearly not working. So maybe we should just-“

“It’s wasn’t like this before.” She said. “You’re smart, Cole. I know you. You’ve gotten better grades than I have out of spite. All I’m asking you to do is to try and… study, listen to me when I’m tutoring you-“

“And if I don’t?”

She looked up at him. She was growing angry. Why was he cutting her short? Why wasn’t he trying?

“What’s your problem?” She asked. “Have I done something to you?”

“Not at all, Y/L.” He said calmly. “But it’s getting late, so maybe you should head back home.”

With that, Cole shut his door and she stood on the other side of it, looking at the wooden piece with her brows furrowed.

It was 8:30.

So, she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her as she stood in Cole and Danny’s room. The other twin absent.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“What’s wrong you?” She asked. “All semester you’ve been failing every class, haven’t joined any extra curriculars, and have done nothing to fix that. I’m trying my best to be nice and tutor you. I’ve been nothing but nice to you and you’ve been nothing but an asshole since-“

“Since what, Y/L?” He asked, his hands pressed against the desk, his muscles flexing as he did so. “Since the accident?” He chuckled. “I had a scholarship. I had football. I don’t have any of that now, so what’s the point?”

“The point is to keep trying.”

Cole shrugged. “I still don’t see the point.”

Her expression softened as she looked at him. "The point is, you're worth more than that. You have potential, Cole. You just need to find your purpose, something that drives you."

"I don't know anymore," Cole said, his tone defeated. "Everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I wanted, it's all gone."

“You don’t need to figure all of that out right now.”

Cole looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. He heavily sighed as he began to think. Why was she the first person to actually talk some sense into him? Out of everyone, it’d been her to make him almost feel seen.

So, he stepped forward, cupping his hands onto her cheeks and gently pressed his lips against hers. It was a soft, tender kiss at first, as though he was testing the waters to see if she would respond.

Cole pulled back, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’m not going to be one of your girls, Cole.” She muttered.

“You’re not.” He said. “I’m sorry… I- I’ll try. I’ll start trying. I just one chance.”

She followed his eyes, trying to see if he’d been lying or that it was some sort of false hope.

But she couldn’t see it, no matter how hard she looked, nothing but a chance had been there.

So, she nodded and pressed forward, gently pressing her lips against his.

This time, the kiss was more passionate, their lips moving together with more urgency. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as his hands ran through her soft hair.

She let out a soft moan as the kiss deepened, her own hands running over his muscular chest as she pressed herself against him.

They pulled away for a moment, panting and grinning at each other.

“We’ll just take things slow for now, okay?” She said.

Cole nodded. “I can do that.”

— lucy has something to say !!

the book and movie are simply not the same

but anyway, i feel like this is kind of all over the place especially towards the end but its down so that’s all that matters.

my request are opened!

you can check out my rules and such before requesting and checking masterlist to see who i write for, for more!

[rpgchoices]

Misdirection (Astarion romance route)

BG3 spoilers

I am obsessed with the misdirection in Astarion's romance. I said it before, I was absolutely tricked too. When you read a text or consume media every line is put there for a reason, it is a waste otherwise. By the party scene you kind of have a certain idea of what Astarion is. You know that he dislikes helping others, you know that he lies, he flirts a lot, he is vain, he is a killer, and he wants power (from the conversations about the tadpoles and Raphael).

At this point, if you chose him as a romance, it could also be that you enjoyed the idea of him being a vampire and all the tropes that come with it.

So when, after the first night together, you can ask him "It felt like you weren't fully there" there had to be a reason. From a writing pov, why was that line added?

As a player, you have to wonder. And by this point in the story it seems like a warning there is little that might convince you that what he answers with is not the truth, mainly because it falls right into the classic stereotypes of this kind of romance. Of course he is a danger, he did not want to lose control, be careful in the future - this is how it would sound to me if I romanced him without spoilers. I know because when I got his sex scene, I reloaded and romanced someone else because this kind of aggressive seduction vampire fantasy was not my thing.

If I had read this line, I would have been sure it was a small hint that romancing Astarion could end up very badly. Another small misdirection that could easily end up as a clue is in their second pre-sex scene together. Astarion is making sure the MC will stay with him, and he is very seductive. The funny thing is that if you choose the "yes" (1st option in the pictures just below) you don't get any other information or clue, but just flirting. You actually get even more of the fantasy, he talks about how he cannot stop thinking about you, he even presses on the word "dangerous", and his mannerism is all business

If instead you ask him to be better he goes on and on about his lines, he directly tells the player that these are all fake, basically. You can even ask him if these lines work on Cazador's targets, and he says "well, they worked on YOU".

So at this point as players we know that the player is being manipulated and teased up till a point. I definitely fell for it by immediately cutting the romance short, and never thinking about it again until I got the strenght potion scene. I got that scene as a friendship one, which has different options.

It is a bit different than the romance, he is much more direct in my opinion. He talks about his body as one of the few assets he has, and he is much more confused about why he was being "too precious" about the potion, he is actually surprised by himself.

And as I said, it is much more direct when he says that he never had a choice before (and he is specifically talking about sex). In the friendship version you can also convince him that he needs to use all of this that he has because he might, to protect himself and get advantage, which at least gives credit to our MC if we do romance him.

(TW!! for SA) In the romance scene instead you never get these options, you CANNOT convince him to keep using his body, and if you try to do so he will break up with you, as he should, he is much more confident.

And regarding the whole misdirection if you have not maximized his approval, you won't get his confession but you will find out the whole of his story after the drow potion scene. That is the scene where he thanks you for respecting his consent. I feel like it is such a monumental and surprising one, definitely not one I expected.

And the options are SO SO TELLING. The one sex option you get in this dialogue is the WRONG one. The game directly tells you that by choosing it you assaulted him and disregarded his consent.

There are instead 5 good options. I checked and they all seem to have the same amount of approval.

They are:

1. Showing him that your feelings are real so he can trust them. 2. Showing him intimacy without sex (hug). 3. Confirming that you want to be with him even with his burdens (he often mentions them in other dialogues, especially when you choose between him and Gale). 4. Saying you can be together without sex. And my favourite: 5. ASKING him what he wants, CARING about what he wants.

So yeah, I admit I absolutely fell for it, I was convinced this would take such a wildly different road. Glad to see it did not.

[sherryrowen]

Here! Have a Brick!! (Brick belongs to @popatochisssp )

Here’s that character reference sheet I was talking about in my other post. I kinda… overdid it with this one (*laughs nervously). I just did this for fun, and to practice doing reference sheets.

If you’ve read Tangles you’d know most of these are from scenes in the fic, if you haven’t read it you’re probably not going to understand the context of these, so you should probably go read it, it’s on AO3!! Moving on, the only one of these that is technically not really in the fic is the one the bottom left corner, with him working on the blanket, but I mean, I can’t be the only who pictured him working on it? Right??

Now that we are talking about the blanket, funny thing is, since English is not my first language, when I read the part about the colors of the blanket I got a little confused and first thought it just talked about just the color Sedona, so ended up making a this version of the blanket with different shades of Sedona.

After closer inspection I thought that it didn’t look “butt-ugly” so I went back to the fic to double check, and then I realized I read over the part were it mentions the others colors in the blanket (oops). I went back and fixed it then, and sure enough that color combination is “butt-ugly”! I also made another mistake, in the upper right corner, I drew a store shelf, but in the story they’re reaching out to a basket, sorry!! I’ve been working on this one for a couple of days, so I just called it done and left it like it is, anyways there’s something called artistic liberties, so guess it’ll be fine.

Also, if you’re wondering who’s the girl, since this is a character x reader kind of fic, I just based her off the typical Shoujo protagonist, you’d be surprised to see how many shoujo protagonists are short haired brunette girls. Years ago I remember realizing this and I thought that since brown hair is very common, that the authors did that because it would be easier for young girls to project onto those protagonists and Immerse themselves in the story.

About the Mechanism that helps him open and close his jaw, I’m no engineer or anything like it, I just thought it would be fun to see a design of the mechanism that could work. Realistically speaking, it probably wouldn’t work but it was fun to design it either way.

That’s all! Oh! Here’s a bonus!!

A sketch of Brick pre-surface (idk why he has an axe, I think saw a fanart of Horror sans with one so I decided to draw it)

Also this little animation inspired by this fanart of Horrorfell sans by @caycanteven

[silent-stories]

𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Waking up with Eddie.

Warnings: fluff

When you woke up you were curled up in the blankets, warm, next to Eddie.

For a moment you wondered why you weren't at your house, then you remembered that the night before you fell asleep on Eddie's bed.

You noticed that the first lights of the day were filtering through the window, illuminating his bedroom with different shades of red and orange, so it must have been early morning.

Resting at the foot of the bed was Eddie's guitar that he'd kept in his lap all night before, occasionally running his fingers over the strings until you playfully said you were jealous and took its place.

You felt Eddie, next to you, starting to move when you tried to get out of the bed.

"What's happening?" He asked with a husky and sleepy voice, raising his head slightly and rubbing one eye with his hand.

His hair was unkempt and his dark curls went in all directions.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked again.

"Because you're cute." You said. "But I gotta go. My mom must be wondering where I am. I didn't tell her I wasn't coming home yesterday."

You were about to get up and get out of bed but he wrapped his arm around your waist and you fell back on the mattress.

"Eddie, c'mon." You laughed.

"You're not going anywhere." He said as he pushed you against his body and your legs got entangled.

Instinctively, you rested your head on his chest, even though you knew you should have gotten out of bed. He slowly ran his warm hand up and down your back.

"Eddie." You said again.

"Stay, it's too early." He muttered as he left a kiss in your hair. "Please."

That "please" almost convinced you, he soundend just like a little kid.

"I'm so sorry Eds, but my mom needs to know that I'm still alive. I have to go." You said as his arm still held you against his body.

"What about me?" He answered moving a lock of hair that had fallen on your face and placing it behind your ear. "I need you too."

Eddie's morning version was absolutely one of your favorites.

"Eddie." You muttered as you left a short but tender kiss on his lips. "If you keep acting like that, I'll never leave this room."

"That was the idea." He chuckled as he slowly wrapped the blanket better around your shoulders.

You sighed, enjoying the feeling of Eddie's arms around your waist for a few seconds, listening to his heartbeat.

"I really should go." You murmured.

"Or you can call your mom and tell her you're spending all Sunday in bed with your amazing boyfriend." He replied, his hand still running up and down your back. "Specify only cuddling"

"Eddie..." You tried to convince him, even though the exact opposite was happening.

"Don't go," he whispered "please."

"I-" You tried to say, but he continued.

"I'll give you one of my t-shirts because they look better on you than on me and then we can order a pizza, listen to some music and I can read you The Hobbit. Or even better, I can teach you how to play D&D." He said.

It sounded nice, you had to admit it.

"What do you think about it, mh?" He asked, you could hear the hope in his voice.

You knew you should go, that your mom was probably worried and you also had to do your physics homework by Monday. But you just couldn't say no to Eddie.

"I think I'll stay." You muttered as a smile formed on Eddie's lips and he left a kiss on your forehead.

"Good." He said simply as a satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

You wrapped your arms around his torso.

"Good." You whispered back, placing your head better on his chest that you were still using as a pillow.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

My Morph primer

Since X-Men 97 is drawing in a lot of new fans with varied levels of experience with the original animated series or the comics, I figured I could give a write-up of who Morph is, where they come from, and why you don’t see them in any of the movies or other media.  This is also an excuse for me to write about an obsessive fave, seriously, they are all over my blog. I'm not necessarily an "authority," but I've watched TAS and read the comics, which are the basis for this write-up.

Who is Morph?

"Wolverine! Fall back!"

Morph is a shapeshifting mutant who was added to the X-Men team in the original X-Men: The Animated Series as a redshirt/sacrificial lamb, to be killed off For Real in order to show that the stakes are really high.  Originally it was actually going to be Thunderbird, a short-lived X-Man who died in the comics just a few issues after he was introduced, and has remained dead for decades.  But creators realized that killing off the only Native American character on a mostly white team was a bad look, and went with Morph instead.  Morph proved surprisingly popular with (mostly child) viewers, and was brought back in the 2nd season as a result.  Morph in TAS was originally presented as male using male pronouns, but I’m gonna use they/them for the character since they are nonbinary in X-Men 97.

(Btw, even Morph's TAS costume shows their redshirt nature, as they are basically wearing a variant of the standard X-Men uniform that different groups have worn, with the Original Five (Angel, Jean, Cyclops, Beast and Iceman) and the New Mutants all wearing something similar. There was a time in the 90's when all the X-Men were wearing this uniform to try to give them a team look, but thankfully that didn't last, the individualized looks are much better. Morph's amazing disappearing reappearing jacket are the only personalized touch in their uniform, and I hope X-Men 97 gives them a costume upgrade after everyone gets used to the new look.)

Morph doesn’t appear in many episodes of TAS, but here are the definitive ones:

Season 1:

Night of the Sentinels Parts 1 and 2: Morph seems to be an established part of the team, a wise-cracking shapeshifter who is so naively overconfident about their mission that they’ve practically got a target painted on their back.  When the mission goes wrong, Morph pushes Wolverine out of the way of Sentinel lasers, and gets blasted all to hell.  Morph’s supposed death (which was meant at the time to be a real death) is sensed by both Jean and Xavier.  Cyclops orders a retreat because the team is getting their asses kicked, abandoning both the (dead) Morph and (alive but injured) Beast, who spends the rest of the season in jail.  Morph is quickly forgotten as a character, BUT the impact of their death is felt throughout the season.  We get Wolverine yelling “This one’s for you, Morph!” while slicing up a Sentinel, and Cyclops in the finale insisting, “I’m not leaving anyone behind!  Not this time!” 

Season 2:

Till Death Do Us Part, Parts 1 and 2: Morph returns as a villain, but a sympathetic, brainwashed villain under the control of season Big Bad Mr. Sinister.  Sinister is an evil scientist who likes to fuck around with mutant genetics and is especially obsessed with getting Scott and Jean to fuck, because their child will supposedly be an extremely genetically superior mutant.  After Morph’s “death,” they were taken by Sinister, who revived them and implanted a control device into Morph’s brain that he uses to literally torture Morph into compliance.  Morph seems to have a kind of split personality, which Sinister exacerbates and encourages, shifting between a haggard-looking Evil Morph who wants revenge on the X-Men for abandoning them and cracks jokes while attacking the team, and a normal-looking Good Morph, who doesn’t want to hurt their friends, and is generally scared and confused and having a Bad Time.  If you are wondering about Morph turning into that version of themselves with dark circles around their eyes in X-Men 97 “Fire Made Flesh,” it was a reference back to this:

Evil Morph lookin' reeeeeaal creepy.

Morph uses their shape-shifting trickery to fake marry Scott and Jean (as the priest), impersonate Xavier and turn the team against each other, until Wolverine identifies them by scent.  The team then chases Morph to Sinister’s lair, where he’s captured a honey-mooning Scott and Jean.  Morph has been struggling with the brainwashing the entire time, and breaks free long enough to attack Sinister, then runs off away from everyone. 

Whatever It Takes: Wolverine, who has declared the Morph is “the only one who could ever make him laugh,” chases Morph down to Brazil in an attempt to drag them back to the team.  Morph, still fighting their dark side and flipping back and forth between the two personalities, taunts Wolverine in Jean’s form, fights him, and eventually gains enough control to tell Logan to back off. (“I have to get through this by myself!”) 

Fighting your friend in an abandoned mine shaft, a totally normal thing to do.

Wolverine reluctantly lets them go.  This the B-plot, the main plot of the episode features Storm and Rogue confronting the Shadow King in Africa, and is also really good.

Reunion Parts 1 and 2: Morph leaves a message for Wolverine stating that he wants to return to the team, in what seems like an obvious set-up for a trap.  Wolverine, Jean and Cyclops go to retrieve them, and find that yes, it is a trap.  Morph attmpts to warn the group to leave, but they are jumped by Sinister and the Nasty Boys, and the fight ends with Jean being taken, and Morph (still struggling against Sinister’s control), going semi-willingly.  The whole team winds up at Sinister’s base in the Savage Land and there are a lot of good character moments, like Gambit telling Rogue he loves her.  Morph spends the whole time still fighting against the brainwashing, but throws it off completely at the end (with Xavier’s help) and turns on Sinister, helping Scott and Jean defeat him.  Morph is then Put on a Bus to Muir Island so that the writers wouldn’t have to deal with the character but could hold them in reserve to use later.  Xavier comments that he can remove Sinister’s mind-control chip from Morph’s brain, but that “removing the psychic damage will take longer.”  So the answer to “Where’s Morph?” in later seasons will always be “Recovering on Muir Island, probably hanging out with Moira and Banshee.”

If you are a Morph fan, Season 2 is THE Morph season, they get a great character arc that fleshes them out, and establishes their close relationship with Wolverine.  I’m glad they didn’t toss out Morph in X-Men 97, both because I like the character, and because Morph’s entire arc in Season 2 was about their struggle to come back to the team, and constantly reaffirms that Morph is one of them, and that they belong with the X-Men.  Also, I know Tumblr love an angsty, suffering blorbo, and good God does Morph suffer in Season 2. 

(Someone is having a Bad Time).

Season 4:

Courage:  After getting only a couple of non-speaking background cameos in Season 3, this is Morph’s comeback episode in Season 4.  Morph believes that they are fully recovered and ready to rejoin the X-Men, while both Moira and Xavier seem to think they are not ready, and warn them to slow down a little.  Morph tries to jump back into their old role, makes jokes, and goes on a mission with Wolverine, but is clearly still dealing with PTSD and completely freezes up when Sentinels attack the mansion and kidnap Xavier.  Morph is left at the mansion while the X-Men go to rescue Xavier, but follows them anyway, and manages to play an instrumental role in stopping the Sentinels and saving Xavier.  Despite this, Morph decides that they are not ready to return and cannot be relied upon in battle (because the writers didn’t want to deal with using the character on the team), and goes back to Muir Island.  It’s a standard “character fucks up at the start of the episode but saves the day in the end” superhero cartoon story, and I was a little disappointed that the episode focused entirely on Morph’s “near death trauma” from the Sentinels and not the much worse “brainwashed and tortured by Sinister to the point of developing a second personality” issue.  The closest we get to addressing that is Morph pointedly walking up to Cyclops with “Scott…been a long time….” which sounds like a way of saying “We’re cool now, bro, I promise I won’t try to kill you.”  Still, we get some great Morph and Wolverine moments, and Morph kicks a lot of ass at the end.  After Morph spends most of the series either dead or suffering, I don’t mind an episode where they get to kick ass. This episode also establishes that Morph was suffering from serious nightmares for awhile, so consider that a canon excuse to put that in your angsty fanfic.

(Morph also gets a non-speaking cameo in Beyond Good and Evil Part 1, sitting next to Jubilee at Scott and Jean’s second wedding.  I think it’s sweet that they were invited, but can also imagine Scott putting them in the front row just to ensure that there are no more “fake priest” shenanigans.  “Let’s put Morph where I can see him….just in case.”)

Season 5:

Graduation Day: After Xavier is attacked, Morph returns to help calm mutants world-wide by impersonating Xavier and making a public call for peace.  Morph doesn’t do much in the episode, but they get an individualized goodbye from Xavier while he is addressing the team one by one, and it is clear at the end that Morph is officially back with the team.  In other words, the writers could give Morph a happy ending of coming back since the show was ending and they didn’t have to deal with it going forward.  Thankfully, the X-Men 97 writers were happy to pick up that ball and continue running with it, and I love what they’ve done with Morph so far!

Were there shippy vibes between Morph and Wolverine in the original series?

I dunno friend, watch “Whatever it Takes,” and “Courage,” and you tell me.  Morph shifting into Jean to taunt Wolverine definitely gives me vibes of “There’s something going on there.”

Is Morph in the comics?

(Note – I’m using he/him for all comics versions of Morph because those versions all apparently ID as male.)

The answer is yes, sort of.

Changeling:

Morph was loosely based on an obscure, long dead shape-shifting mutant from the X-Men’s original 60’s run.  Changeling was a villain with a tacky costume who acted very much like a standard 60’s comic book villain, associated with a terrorist group called Factor Three. Look at this fucking dude:

  At the end of the Factor Three arc, it turns out that Factor Three’s leader, Mutant Master, is an alien who wants to destroy ALL life on Earth to make way for his own people, and the mutants in the group turn on him and help the X-Men. Changeling is the first one to question Mutant Master’s motives, and that’s probably the only interesting thing he does in the whole story.  Several issues later, Xavier supposedly dies while helping defeat a villain named Grotesk and save the world.  This story is retconned near the end of the run, when Xavier is revealed to be alive, and explains that the dead “Xavier” was actually Changeling.  Changeling had discovered that he was terminally ill, and came to Xavier seeking redemption.  Xavier asked Changeling to temporarily take his place as Xavier while he shut himself up in the basement to prepare to stop an alien invasion (and no, the X-Men were not informed of this, besides Jean, and yes, that is really fucked up).  So Changeling became a reformed villain and honorary X-Man who went out in a heroic sacrifice, and was almost never mentioned again.  (Even now Changeling appears to still be dead in the comics, even though the current storyline has allowed ALL the dead mutants to come back.  Even Thunderbird is back.)

Changeling was greatly reworked to become Morph, totally changing his personality and origins.  The only similarities are the shapeshifting powers and physical appearance.  You can see how this guy:

Became this not-actually-a-guy:

Or even this version:

X-Men 97 Morph got a real glow-up to their human form.

Of course, they also share the trait of being a sacrificial lamb plot device, and X-Men TAS creators were originally going to call the character “Changeling,” but changed the name to Morph because DC’s Beast Boy was called Changeling at the time.

Age of Apocalypse Morph:

In the 90’s, there was a cross-over event over all the X-Books called the Age of Apocalypse, in which a time-traveller (Xavier’s son Legion, long story) murdered Xavier in the past before Xavier formed the X-Men, and created a dystopian alternate reality in which Apocalypse had taken over and Magneto led the X-Men.  This was a kind of what-if event that let writers have fun with switching up character relationships, turning good guys bad and bad guys good, and of course, killing a lot of characters off.  The event only lasted about four issues before it was all undone and we returned to the main Marvel universe, so they could really go wild.  In the AoA book Astonishing X-Men, Magneto’s team includes a character called Morph, a versatile shapeshifter with a pasty white made-of-clay look, and a jovial, upbeat personality that is clearly based on TAS Morph.  (This change to character design is where X-Men 97 Morph’s white, featureless appearance comes from).

Just a silly little guy!

AoA Morph is also stated in the book to have been formerly Changeling, before undergoing a name-change and attitude adjustment, making him an AU variant.  He explains to Sunfire at one point that he never takes anything seriously because fuck it, he’s probably gonna die anyway, he may as well die with a smile on his face.  AoA Morph is pretty cool, he does great shapeshifting tricks, and has some depth and heart beneath the obnoxious jokes.

Exiles Morph:

After Age of Apocalypse, the fan-favorite character Blink (like Morph, another alternate version of a short-lived character in the main comics timeline) gets pulled out of the AoA timeline and placed on a team of time-displaced X-Men.  This team, all coming from alternate realities and including some other minor neglected characters (like versions of Thunderbird and Mimic), is tasked with hopping through realities, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time that the next leap will be their leap home.  The team also includes a version of Morph, who is so similar to AoA Morph that Blink mistakes him initially for her old teammate.  This is another AU variant of Changeling who was never Changeling, but instead was recruited into the New Mutants (a bit of an age retcon for the character, as 60’s Changeling seemed much older, while Exiles Morph is clearly much younger.)  Exiles Morph was a popular hero in his reality, served as both an X-Man and an Avenger, and is an incredibly powerful shapeshifter.  He also winds up being a long-running mainstay of the Exiles team, so this is really the book to read for Morph content.  Exiles also fleshes out the character’s past, stating that he was born as a shapeshifting blob with X-gene already activated, and only assumed a human appearance to fit in with peers.  He also lost his mother to cancer at an early age, and his obnoxious jokey personality was partially a reaction to that, an attempt to both cheer up and get some attention from his grieving father.  Exiles Morph is a great character, my only complaint is that he is a bit of a sex pest, constantly making “jokes” that border on sexual harassment of his female teammates.  I don’t think he’s meant to actually be a creep, he never actually does anything, and when the teammate he has a crush on reveals that she is a lesbian, he steps back and acts as a supportive friend.  I think Exiles Morph just suffers from late 90’s early 2000 writing where the funny jokey character has to be all “LOL, Boobies!” all the time, just so we know he’s straight.  (Funny, given how not-straight X-Men 97 Morph seems to be.)

The Other Morph: Benjamin Deeds:

Brian Michael Bendis, in his Uncanny X-Men run, introduced a new character named Benjamin Deeds who could shapeshift, and looked suspiciously similar to a teenage version of Changeling/TAS Morph.  His personality was different, though (more of a sulky teen trying to deal with being a mutant than a funny guy), and the nature of his powers is different.  Benjamin has what is described as “chameleon-like” shapeshifting, taking on the physical characteristics of people when he gets close to them rather than fully shifting forms.  He also exudes a chemical that makes people automatically like and trust him.  Emma suggests the codename “Morph,” and although Benjamin doesn’t like it, it becomes his official codename going forward.  I don’t think Ben actually has any real connection to Changeling or TAS Morph, he seems more like a legacy character or winking homage, like Pyro II (Simon Lasker, who inexplicably has the same powers and looks almost exactly like original Pyro, St. John Alledyce).  He’s fun character and a cute lil’ guy, though.

There are people who call TAS Morph an “original character” completely invented for the cartoon, and I don’t think they’re entirely wrong.  Morph is VERY different from Changeling,  But to me, it makes the most sense to consider TAS Morph another AU variant of Changeling, given all the influence back and forth between the comics and the cartoon.  Morph was based on Changeling, and Morph’s popularity led to AU versions of Changeling in the comics with TAS Morph’s personality literally named “Morph,” and now X-Men 97 Morph has been redesigned to match AoA/Exiles Morph’s appearance.  They are variations of the same person.  And it’s not exactly the first time that a comics character has been drastically reworked in an adaptation – I’m looking at you, First Class Mystique and Evolution’s “Lance Alvers.”  I wonder if people would still be calling Morph an “original character” if they’d kept the name “Changeling,” since keeping the name seems to be all it takes at times.  Still, TAS Morph is kind of right on the border between OC and “adapted from the comics,” and even I tend to include them in groups of “created for the cartoon” characters like Firestar, Spyke and X-23.

Why is Morph tagged as “Kevin Sydney/Sidney”?

Because that is the character’s name, more or less.  TAS Morph didn’t have a “real name” in 92, because Changeling didn’t (similarly, Rogue also didn’t have a real name because the character hadn’t been given one in the comics.)  In Age of Apocalypse, characters called Morph “Sydney” or “Syd,” and Morph even referred to himself that way in a thought-balloons, but the Exiles writer apparently decided, “Nah, it’s a last name,” and officially named Morph “Kevin Sydney.”  The name stuck, and the 2004 Marvel “Book of the Dead” gave Changeling that name in the entry on him.  Morph’s name has never been given in the cartoon, but it’s probably safe to assume that their official “human name” is Kevin Sydney, just like TAS Rogue is probably Anna Marie (her official name in the comics.)  Interestingly, even in Exiles, the book where the name originated, Morph always goes by “Morph” and never “Kevin.”  Maybe Home Alone ruined the name for him.  I tend to use the Kevin Sydney tags on Tumblr and A03 to differentiate from other uses of the “morph” tag.  In particular, Tumblr has a lot of body modification fetish posts tagged as “morph,” and no offense to the fetishists, you all keep doing what you are doing, but that’s not the content I’m looking for.  I’m sure the fetish people are probably a bit annoyed at their own tag filling up with an X-Men character, but hey, it’s their name. 

How old is Morph?  How long were they with the team and when did they join?  Is the featureless white face their “real form”?  What’s their history with Wolverine?

I don’t have answers here because we don’t know.  There’s a lot we don’t know about TAS Morph, and the origins of their comics counterparts don’t really translate well into cartoon continuity.  Like I can’t imagine TAS Morph ever having been a willing member of Factor Three. 

Personally, I tend to assume that Morph was with the team for awhile before their “death,” given that they have an established “old friend” relationship with Wolverine and know the team extremely well.  I also tend to assume that TAS Morph is a similar age to the other young adults on the team like Scott and Jean.  They sometimes look older in the original series, because they were based on Changeling (who also looks older), but the voice acting and general personality of the character seem younger, plus Wolverine calls them “kid”a couple of times.  And it seems like their “human form” may not be their “real face” anyway, given that they’ve now defaulted to the white blank-face look.  The white blank-face look IS the real form for Exiles (and presumably AoA) Morph, so the same is probably true for TAS Morph and Changeling.  But this is all just my own headcanon and speculation, based on what I’ve seen in the original cartoon and the comics.  You are all free to come up with your own headcanons fleshing out the character, I’ve already seen great stuff in fanfic out there!

Edit: Actually, I thought of a bit more:

How does Morph shift their clothing? Does Morph even wear clothes? How can they create accessories like Psylocke's swords?

Honestly, I dunno, this is Rule of Cool and Morph as a vehicle for character cameos in affect here. I will say that, in the comics, many characters with shapeshifter-type powers, like Wolfsbane, wear costumes made of unstable molecules that shift with their bodies, the same may be true of Morph. Exiles Morph, when commenting on his female teammates' skimpy costumes, at one point jokes that he "wears even less," so he may just be literally making clothing out of his own body. Although I would think that would get cold, or painful with no protection against the elements.

I assume that Morph does form accessories like Psylocke's swords out of their own body, which also presumably means they can't drop them. I wonder if it would hurt Morph if one of the swords broke? Exile Morph regularly turns his own body into accessories that he can hold (but not separate from his form), so presumably X-Men 97 Morph is doing the same. This is a step-up from TAS Morph, who never did that. Exiles Morph seems to be able to turn their body into whatever they want.

Does Morph copy the powers of other mutants?

Morph seems to be able to mimic only the physical-based powers of other mutants, under the shapeshifter logic of changing their body to give themselves larger muscles, claws, etc. So Angel's wings, but not Cyclops' eye beams. Nightcrawler's tail but not teleportation. In X-Men 97, Morph takes a couple of shots from X-Cutioner after shifting into Colossus, so apparently they can do the whole metal skin thing. But in TAS, when Morph turns into Wolverine, their claws are not adamantium and Wolverine easily slices through them.

I would add that Exiles Morph is also extremely durable, and can literally be ripped to pieces and shapeshift himself back together. This doesn't seem to be the case of "died from Sentinel lasers" TAS Morph, but maybe they just aren't there with their power levels yet. Exiles Morph IS especially susceptible to burns or laser blasts, and almost dies when Hyperion hits him with a beam at close range.

That’s it, hopefully this is helpful for people completely new to the character who got into X-Men 97.  Mostly I just love writing about Morph.  I encourage you to go back and watch the original series, or at least the Morph episodes.  It’s a good show, if a bit 90’s corny, and will let you fully appreciate X-Men 97 (which has been, so far, an absolute banger of a series).  Presumably we’ll see more character development of Morph as the show continues, which will maybe answer some of these questions.

[galedekarios]

devnotes: gale's last night alive / act ii romance scene

i thought i'd share the dev notes for gale's act ii romance scene here because i find they really add to the scene and the understanding of gale's mindset.

the desciption of the scene from the files reads as follows:

The player has accepted a invitation from Gale's hologram projection to come meet the real Gale at a secluded grove at night. There, they speak about how this may be his last night alive, as they near the heart of the Absolute, where Gale is destined to blow himself up. The player probes his mindset and can try to comfort him. Ultimately the scene may become romantic. Gale may lead the player to a magically-infused sex scene amidst the stars, or the player may determine they should take a more grounded approach.

and the cinematic context node is:

Gale: I love this time of light. node context: wistful

Gale: This may be my last night alive. I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and wonder... and with company to match. cinematicnodecontext: longing look at the player node context: full of longing - Gale: I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought it might make the weight of what I must do feel a little lighter... but I am not so sure. node context: a lot on his mind

Player: Is this truly what you want, to die for the promise of Mystra's forgiveness? Gale: Babe or crone, coward or hero, death is assured. Mystra's forgiveness is not. If you knew the end was near, would you not want to ensure it had meaning? nodecontext: Quiet dignity

Player: It's a heavy burden, yes - but one you're able for. Think of the good your sacrifice will do. Gale: I am trying. Believe me, I am. The path is set, and I will not stray from it - even as my heart quakes. I am terrified - I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words sought to deny it. nodecontext: Hushed, vulnerable Gale: There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it, on my own terms. nodecontext: Resigned

Player: Why are you so sure it's inevitable? We haven't even found this 'Heart of the Absolute' yet. Gale: I can feel it - ever since we set foot in this strange, corrupted land. The closer we get, the heavier my own heart becomes. nodecontext: Melancholic, comtemplative

the different branching paths open here for either pursuing the romance path, rejecting it, or choosing the friendship version, before then branching out into the astral sea scene, the more 'mundane' scene, as well as the rejection of gale's invitation:

cinematicnodecontext for the kiss: The player and Gale kiss seated on the ground. It's relatively chaste.

Player: I'm in love with you too. Gale: That's a relief. It would be a shame to spend my final hours making an ass of myself. cinematicnodecontext: relieved chuckle

Player: I don't feel the same way. Gale: I see... well perhaps this is for the best. Should my time be short, you will not be wounded too deeply by my absence. Thank you, for spending this time with me. I think I want to be alone now. nodecontext: quietly crushed

Player: I'd rather not listen to you wallowing in self-pity. Good night, Gale. Gale: A good night indeed. The fairest I can imagine... nodecontext: player gets up to leave. gale sadly looks away from them, returning his attention to the stars.

Gale: Yes... but there is so much to live for, and so few moments in which to house it all. [Approval_AtLeast_30_For_Sp6] Gale: Damn you. Damn you for giving me so much to care about. Our friends, our adventures... this would have been so much easier if it was just me. But it isn't. Gale: If there is a way - any way - to save all that's grown dear to me, I want to seize it. I just cannot fathom what that might be, other than to fail Mystra and condemn the world. Gale: Stay with me, will you? I don't want to think of it any more, but I don't want to be alone either. Player: Stay with him and watch the stars in silence. cinematicnodecontext: The player and Gale silently watch the stars. The scene fades out.

from there on, the different versions of the romance scene can play out:

Player: I hope that wasn't a parting kiss. Gale: Not if I have any say in the matter. Gale: I want it to be perfect - to bond with you in the way that gods do... intertwining our spirits in visions of the Weave. nodecontext: gale stands, a little animated as he describes the possibilities of magic love. the player stands.

Player: Show me. Gale: How about the perfect night in Waterdeep? Yes... Let's imagine how it would be. The scene is this: you and I stand in the room that is the centre of my universe. cinematicnode context:

i love this line personally: this is gale's home and heart of his studies.

it really hammers home the point of what gale is trying to do here, showing the protag all of this, trying to cram as much as he can into this one night he thinks he has left with them.

cinematicnodecontext: Gale pauses, breathing in what illusory seabreeze he may.

i made a gifset a while ago of how deeply gale misses his home and it really struck a chord in me, reading this again in the nodecontext as well.

after this he introduces the book. there aren't many devnotes in that part except for this option here:

cinematic node context: cheeky grin node context: cheeky

after this the two paths diverge between the astral sea scene and the more 'mundane' scene:

the cinematic notes and node context notes for the astral sea scene are the following:

ending with a devnote for a wide cut and a fade to black.

the cinematic context nodes / node context notes for the version where you decline gale's offer are as follows:

Gale: the old ways then. If that is what you wish, so be it.

nodecontext: Tactful, bowing to the player's desires.

Gale: A small gesture towards your comfort. nodecontext:

and of course, there is a nodecontext/devnote too for the option to refuse gale at this point:

Player: This is a pleasant fantasy, but no more. Time to return to the real world. Gale: As you like. Thank you, for spending this time with me. If only there was more. nodecontext: saddened/resigned, but respectful Player: This is a pleasant fantasy, but no more. Time to return to the real world. Gale: As you like. Thank you, for spending this time with me. If only there was more. nodecontext: saddened/resigned, but respectful

anyhow, i hope someone found this as informative and interesting as i did. 🖤

[devildom-moss]

I recently finished reading the third season of OG!OM and I had a miniature idea... How would Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos react if amab!MC told them that when the problems with the three worlds were resolved, he would like to marry them? (I may write with mistakes because I am using a translator, I apologize in advance ☆ｏ(＞＜；))

Thanks for the ask. I wrote based on the assumption that Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos are already in an established relationship with MC where marriage is a possibility, (but honestly, it'd probably be fun to write a less serious version, too). I don't know if these are headcanons or just poorly constructed shorts in headcanon format (oops), but I hope you like it.

M!MC tells them he wants to marry them when the three realms are at peace (Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos)

(MC/reader referred to as "man" "husband/future husband" "boyfriend" "fiance") (Diavolo will only be in red for ease of reading in this post primary colors woo)

(Lucifer x m!MC) (Diavolo x m!MC) (Barbatos x m!MC)

(Suggestive in for some parts)

Word Count: +1,900

Lucifer

You told Lucifer you wanted to marry him during one of his softer, more vulnerable moments: when you woke him up after he fell asleep during a long night of paperwork, exhaustion widening his smile upon seeing your face; on one of those rare mornings when he allowed himself to laze around in bed, pulling you in close and savoring the feel and scent of your body; or one of those other long nights when Lucifer’s breath hitched and the sweetest noises left him – it was all for you.

“When things are peaceful –” “Things are never peaceful with my brothers around.” “– when the three realms are stable and at peace, then, we should get married.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a gentle chuckle.

He didn’t believe you at first – not because he had never thought about marriage before. Lucifer assumed it was more likely that you wanted to tease him than that you would beat him to a marriage proposal. His adorable, handsome, wonderful boyfriend would never surprise him by doing something so endearing and unexpected. It just wasn’t – shit! Is he really proposing to me?

Lucifer waited for a teasing “just kidding” or some kind of retreat on your part. When it doesn’t come, his eyes widen, and the heat rises visibly on his cheeks. You really want to be his husband? He already suspected as much, but to have you take the initiative and ask him to marry you was more than he expected.

When Lucifer falls, it’s hard and deep. He knows you so well. He’s so certain of his love that it doesn’t even cross his mind that it could be too early in the relationship to get married.

He glosses over the entire “when the three realms are at peace” thing, because he’s too pleased. Lucifer buries himself in the nearest part of your body he can get to – likely your chest or neck. In part, he’s trying to hide the grin on his face and the blush on his cheeks, but even with his face hidden, you can see the pink tint painting the tips of his ears.

“We already have a pact, and now you want my hand?” he murmured against your skin, sounding almost shy. “Yes. When things are –” “Why w–” “Would you stop fucking interrupting me when I’m in the middle of proposing?!” “Sorry. Do it again. I’ll behave.” His eyes softened seductively. “Asshole.” “Only when you top – and only if you’re being degrading. Usually, I’m your adoring partner.” “Do you want me to propose again or not?” “I do. Try again.”

“Lucifer, when the three realms are united, will you marry me?” Lucifer stared at you, patiently. “Well?” “Why wait?” “What do you mean?” “Why wait for peace and unity? It doesn’t matter what state the realms are in. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine. Marry me now.”

Lucifer would be so earnest and make his argument sound so logical – but maybe it’s easier to justify something you want, too. “I’m serious. I have faith in us – in Diavolo’s plan – but if anything happens, if it takes a long time, I don’t want to wait. I want you to be my husband.”

He would kiss you tenderly and hold you close until you agree not to put off your wedding for some indefinite amount of time. He’ll be ready to go tomorrow morning if that means he can start calling you his husband sooner. How did your proposal to Lucifer turn into a proposal from him?

He’s so possessive and pompous, of course he would be excited to make you his in a more official setting.

Diavolo

You would tell him when he was already on cloud nine: after another successful event that had incorporated elements from all three worlds or after a business deal that would further entrench the Devildom in human-world culture. He had just furthered his goals. You were proud of him. You loved him, and you knew you were going to stand by his side as he achieved his dream for peace and unity, so you told him, “When you succeed – when the realms are united in peace, I want to marry you.”

“Hahaha. You’re full of surprises.”

Diavolo laughs, but it isn’t to mock you. He’s delighted by the proposal – well, admission. He’s gotten requests for marriage before, but he’s never been so happy to hear that someone wanted to marry him. It was unexpected, but he adores that you can surprise him.

It isn’t lost on him that you didn’t actually ask him to marry you or that you were willing to wait an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take him to realize his dream, but you believed in him enough to wait. The fact that you just told him what you wanted without asking him felt like you were giving him the space and time to think about it, come back, and meet you with his own feelings about marriage. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but he didn’t feel pressured, and that was a comfort. You made him feel so free, supported, and loved.

Of course, he would love to make you his – give you the whole grand royal ceremony, mark you as his partner for the whole world to see, and give you the title of “king” to match his own (because in this speculative future, the throne is his by then; he’ll have earned it.).

You both understand why it would be best to wait for his success. It can be difficult enough to get approval and ensure your safety when everyone just thinks the Demon Prince has taken a human man as his lover. Marriage might cause more instability.

Furthermore, although he doesn’t expect his workload to disappear once peace is achieved, Diavolo hopes that ensuring peace takes more effort than maintaining it. If he’s going to marry you, he wants plenty of down time to travel with his new husband after the wedding. He wants enough free time in his day to cherish you and remind you of the love he holds for you. He wants to make sure he can kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you to both of your hearts’ content. (In other words, if Diavolo commits to being your husband, he needs to meet his daily physical affection quota or he will pout for a week.)

After taking a minute to process your words, Diavolo would pull you against him and press his forehead to yours. It wouldn’t matter if you were in public, either (not to Diavolo, at least. Barbatos would scold him about it being “inappropriate” later.). With a soft, sweet smile, he would tell you, “I better work harder then. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long.” Even if everyone was staring in your direction, he would take that moment to lean in and kiss you tenderly.

Suddenly, Diavolo would feel his ambition renewed. He’d even feel motivated to get home and start on some important plans and initiatives – unless you wanted to go home with him; in which case, he would take you to bed and resume his work in the morning. Nothing could light a fire under him like his beloved partner.

After your proposal, he may occasionally flirt with you by calling you “my fiancé” or “my future husband,” but he’ll only do that in private.

Barbatos

There is no ideal time to drop the news on Barbatos that you want to marry him, which probably plays to your benefit when you tell him while he’s working. You were shadowing him – probably assisting in the kitchen or giving him a hand with some light chores (dusting, organizing, laundry, etc.). “When Lord Diavolo succeeds in uniting the three realms, do you think we could get married?”

Barbatos’s eyes would widen, and he would stop his work for a second. Even if he had used his powers, he never would have believed that this would be the path you would follow. Barbatos took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in his body before he resumed his work. “No.”

It was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected such a flat-out rejection, and it hurt. “Oh.” “I’m sorry, MC.” “No, it’s fine. . . but, do you mind if I ask you why not? Are we – do you not love me enough for marriage?”

Now, Barbatos felt hurt. It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply; in fact, Barbatos imagined his love for you was more eternal than most marriages claim to represent. He would vow his love to you under the moon and swear to that celestial body that his love would outlast it. The truth was much sadder.

Barbatos has a duty to serve Diavolo. It seems like the logical conclusion that he would never commit to marriage before Diavolo’s goals were achieved. You were willing to wait, but Barbatos knew that, and he was reluctant to let you.

Without using his powers, Barbatos has no idea how long it would take for that to happen. In the meantime, he wants you to enjoy life. He doesn’t want you waiting around for him for decades or centuries (because he has no intention of allowing you to limit your life to normal human lifespans). If you want to get married, and he doesn’t feel able to do that for you, Barbatos would rather see you marry someone else – certainly, you have no shortage of suitors. (We can all ignore that this is an idiotic reason, right?)

However, the main reason he turned you down is because he believes you deserve the world. Even after the realms are stable, Barbatos will still be bound to Diavolo. Maintaining that peace takes effort as well. Furthermore, Barbatos enjoys his work, and he would never give it up. His time for you would always be lacking. Surely, you would expect more from him after marriage. That wasn’t something Barbatos could give you.

He would tell you as much. “. . . That is why I must decline your proposal.” “Why? Because I’d have to wait, and you would still work for Diavolo?” “Those are not ideal conditions for a husband. You deserve more.” “First of all, we fuck under your boss’s roof. Second, we are different species from different realms. Nothing about our circumstance is ‘ideal.’ Third, I love you, and I love how our relationship works. I would never take you away from Lord Diavolo’s side. I just wanted to cement my love for you with a silly little ceremony – it’s not that important. I will stand by you, and I’ll love you then as I do now – regardless of marriage.”

Barbatos could feel his face flush with heat. He was overjoyed and overwhelmed. “We have yet to even form a pact.” “Yet? And we don’t have to have a pact if you don’t want one.” “Goodness, you are far too accommodating. May I make a proposal of my own?”

Barbatos would pull you into his arms (he had ceased working altogether after “your boss’s roof.”) and whisper into your ear. “I was wrong. I want all of you for myself. Wait for me. When success is in our grasp, I will mark you, and seal our pact. After that, I’ll make you my husband.”

He’ll sound so tender and seductive. So of course, it’s the perfect time to tease him by saying, “Then I can fuck my husband under his boss’s roof.” “Not if I take you out in the garden. After all, you look stunning in the moonlight.”

[baratiddyappreciator]

Giving the Baki Cast Massages

I read a fic and was hit by the inspiration beam, we are making men moan today folks! All SFW, but I could be convinced to make NSFW versions too.

Baki:

When you tell him you're going to give him a back massage, he's initially confused, because why would he need one of those? He's feeling perfectly fine. But he'll still humor you and lay down.

It's not until your hands start working on him that he realises that oh, he needed this, actually. Like, he really needed this. He's needed this for a long time. He's all tense and full of knots, though not as bad as some others would be. It takes you getting the first knot out of his back for him to start making noises.

At first he's really quiet with his noises, they're subtle, not immediately noticed, but they're there. Little groans and grunts, but once you hit the right spot, he lets out a full-blown moan. It will surprise the both of you, because it comes out of nowhere, but keep going, he's not done yet.

By the time you get half of his back done, he's gone completely limp and is just groaning and letting you do whatever you want to him as long as it keeps this feeling going.

Kozue:

Shoulder, back and hand massages are a godsend for her, she needs the relief, because while her posture is good, it's not the best at times. She's all for it, because she'd feel bad if she asked for it herself. Just walk up and start massaging her and it's like you hit her off button.

There's a few knots and stiff spots, but not a lot of them, she does take good care of herself, so you won't really have to dig in to get at the sore spots, they're in pretty shallow.

She is vocal. Whining, humming, groaning, she'll lean back into your hands while you work on her, and it's very obvious that she's just in pure bliss. If you stop before she's ready for you to stop, she'll give you the most bone chilling glare and demand you keep going.

Be the time you're allowed to stop, she's passed out on whatever surface you started massaging her on, and very deeply passed out at that, you'll have to carry her to bed so she doesn't get a back ache.

Hanayama:

It takes a shockingly short amount of time to convince him to let you give you a massage. You just have to ask and he's surprisingly open to the idea. Back and shoulder massages to this man some wonders, but if you can manage to get at his hands, he's surprisingly sensitive.

A lot of stiff muscles and knots, and you do need to dig to get a few of them out, but by far the worst for all the tension is his upper back and shoulders. His lower back doesn't have any issues, actually, he knows to take care of that, but it's the upper back he can't really do anything about, tension just naturally settles there.

Not very vocal at all, but once you get the first knot out and soothe a little bit of tension he'll visibly start relaxing. He's got a naturally upset expression on his face, but even that starts to ease up a little bit.

Be sure to get comfortable, or else you're going to wind up having to wake him, because this man will fall asleep. Use it as a chance to properly get all the stress out of him and take care of him, he deserves it.

Katsumi:

He's all about self care, he knows how important it is. Truth be told he has a masseuse of his own, but he won't turn down one from his beloved friend and partner. His lower back tends to give him the most issues, so if you can get at that, you're in for a treat.

Mostly just stiff muscles, but there are a few little knots here and there. He doesn't expect you to dig to get them all out, but if you do, that's entirely up to you. He just appreciates that your hands are warm and soft on his skin.

Vocal and shameless, he'll hum and moan the entire time. Don't worry, it's just for you, he tones it way down when he goes in to his actual masseuse, he's fairly sure that they'd kick him out if he made some of the noises he does with you there.

Probably won't fall asleep, but he absolutely will relax. And once you're done, he will, be returning the favour. You helped him relax, so he'll do the same for you!

Jack:

It takes actual months of begging to get this man to let you give him a massage. He doesn't see himself as worth the effort of massaging the tension out of his muscles, because he knows that he'll need a lot of work put in to get anywhere close to a relaxed level, but when you do finally manage to convince him, it's a matter of getting him to sit fucking still.

This man is the stiffest out of everyone on this damn list. Knots, stiff muscles, it's like trying to make a rock relax. It'll take hours to get even half of his back done, and you've really gotta dig to get the knots out. You're going to have to do this repeatedly to properly get him to relax, your arms will hurt.

Insanely vocal. He'll wiggle and writhe before you start, but the second you start massaging his shoulders or the back of his neck, he's outright moaning and groaning. Is he embarrassed? He would be if he was capable of coherent thought right now. Even rubbing his back lightly does miracles for him.

By the time you're finished, your arms are sore, your back hurts, and he's probably dead asleep. Don't tell him that you're sore, because he'll feel really bad and he'll never let you do that again because he doesn't want you hurting yourself.

Kosho:

Hand massages are big for him, he uses them a lot and sometimes he gets those deep cramps in his hands, but he's not opposed to a proper back or neck massage.

A few tense spots and knots, but not a lot, his brother taught him how to take care of himself, and he took that knowledge seriously, but there's still enough for you to work on.

He hums a lot. He's not afraid to direct you either. Dig in a bit harder under my shoulder, keep rubbing circles on my palms, stay shallow on my lower back. He knows what he wants and needs, and he's not afraid to tell you that.

He will be returning the favour when he thinks you need it, don't even try to stop him. By the time he's done, you're the one who's going to wind up falling asleep.

Kureha:

You want to massage him?! You? Really? He's almost as stubborn as Jack about this. Almost. A simple appeal to his ego is all it takes to get him laying down and letting you work on him. While you're at it, braid his hair and push it off to the side, because your hands will get tangled in it.

This man is in perfect condition, you think he doesn't have a masseuse? Wrong. He goes in and gets a full spa day. But he's not about to turn down the attention and admiration. Go for his hands and neck, he'll melt.

He's not above praising you when he thinks you're doing well, though he sighs a lot during the process, so he does sound incredibly annoyed, but you've really gotta look at him to see that he's very much enjoying himself.

Once you start you aren't going to finish, he'll have you go from one spot to another and then another until he's finally bored enough to let you go do other things. If you're going to spoil him, dedicate an entire day to it, otherwise he'll monopolize on your time.

Retsu:

He'll politely decline every time you offer, so don't offer and just do it. Walk up behind him and start massaging the back of his neck. He's not opposed to it, but he doesn't want to seem needy or rude by outright saying he'd like a massage.

Get after this man's neck and feet, his back is mostly fine, he's careful to not tax that too much, but his neck and feet tend to get ignored. He'll lean into you and he'll lean hard. He's not that bad, but you might have to dig to properly relieve the tension in his neck.

He lets out one moan, and then he's dead silent for the rest, because he knows if he opens his mouth to make even a single sound. He'll be bright red the entire time after that.

He's incredibly grateful after, expect him to be showing that appreciation in many different ways. You'll come home to find the house cleaned, the floor is so spotless that you'll be able to see your own damn reflection. Meal? Cooked. Bed? Made.

Doppo:

He's chill with everything, but he does tend to have a lot of tension in his shoulders. He'll gladly sit down and let you take care of him. Hell, he'll even tap out for a quick nap if you don't mind.

He's all for just letting you work on him, he loves the attention and the affection, and he absolutely will be playing up how bad his shoulders hurt just so you offer to give him a massage.

He's not afraid of letting you know how much he's enjoying it, lots of humming and groaning once you really hit that spot. You're going to have to dig in once you get to his spine though, those muscles are tough.

Have you seen that grip strength? He and Hanayama are some of the best at returning the favour, if only because they can really get in there and help sooth that tension. He'll make you feel brand new.

Natsue:

She appreciates it tremendously. Offer to give this woman a shoulder rub and she'll sit all pretty as she pleases while you work. There's not as much tension as the others, she doesn't stress nearly as much.

The most you'll have to do is dig when it comes to the base of her skull. That carries a lot of tension for her, and she greatly appreciates it being done.

Not super vocal, but she will smile and tell you how you're doing. Either way, she's super appreciative and loves that you offered to do this for her.

She's a professional at a hand massage. Seriously, if you think Kosho is good, that's because you haven't had your hand massaged by Natsue. She'll make you feel like your hands are back to being five years old, not a hint of stiffness in sight.

Shibukawa:

Oh please do rub his tired old man shoulders, he clearly needs it- Yeah no he's going to milk that for all it's worth. In all fairness, he could actually be sore. Could. He probably isn't, staying loose and limber is how he's avoided most major injuries.

Not much tension anywhere in this mans body. His back and shoulders are all calm and relaxed, most he'd accept is hand or neck massages, and even then there's not a lot of work to be done.

He's not afraid of messing with you. Did you use a little more force in one pass? Oh he'll act like he's been shot, stabbed and run over by a dump truck. Then he'll turn around and pat you on the thigh, tell you good job and to continue.

He's got that old man grip, so if he does return the favour, it's an oddly reassuring thing that makes you feel safe. He's not above pinching you when he thinks you're getting too relaxed though.

Tokugawa:

He doesn't need it, but he'll take it, he knows that a lot of people dote on him out of respect and concern, but he's a grown ass man, if he needs something, he'll go get it.

There's hecca tension in those tiny ass shoulders and his neck. All of his fighters make him worry since just about all of them are hell-bent on rushing head-first into a grave most of the time.

Lots of chuckling as you work, but he does appreciate it. Don't worry about hurting him, he's a lot sturdier than you think he is.

He won't return the favour himself, but when you finish up he'll hand you a voucher for a full spa experience and just sorta walk away. He's grateful, and he'll make sure that you get your chance to relax as well.