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forcemeanakin · 9 months

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Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT. Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

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As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries.

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about.

All of that was erased the moment war erupted.

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker.

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him.

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him.

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible.

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing.

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation.

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place.

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought.

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away.

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation.

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too.

He will think you are stupid.

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot.

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling.

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets.

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes. Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly.

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?”

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process.

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.”

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe.

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you.

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was.

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him.

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect.

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body.

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it.

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.”

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart.

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips.

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him.

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything.

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex!

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled.

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing.

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?”

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way.

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again.

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye.

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention.

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you.

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it.

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting.

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you.

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form.

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response.

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return.

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second.

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan.

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder.

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum.

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions.

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this.

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering.

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression.

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men.

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you.

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action.

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile.

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you.

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration.

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.”

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice.

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.”

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them.

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him.

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it.

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant.

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you.

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over.

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan.

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw anakin #tcw anakin #ahsoka series #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #darth vader

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secret-smut-sideblog · 3 months

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Lover, Please Stay

Astarion x F! Tav

(Pillow Talk part 2)

18+ complicated feelings, angst, jealousy, intimacy, talks of sex work, fingering (f!), oral (f!), forced orgasm (kinda), feral Astarion, tenderness

Tav keeping him at arms length, Astarion makes a plan to woo her back into his good graces. But his hunger, for her and her blood, proves distracting...

Masterlist, Part 1

True to her word, she was avoiding him.

Even leaving him at camp. He covered the sting like he always did.

"You doing all the work while I relax with a good book? Please, if you must twist my arm."

He hid the anxiety throttling him into a sultry smile. Waving goodbye to the retreating party with a wiggle of his fingers.

When they disappeared into the treeline, he turned with a scowl and pushed inside his tent. The hunger gnawing through him now in the forefront of his mind.

In avoiding him, she had inadvertently kept him from her neck.

Animal blood wasn't enough anymore. Sure technically it filled him, it did the job. But it was a meager substitution.

When her blood would burst into his mouth, it sent a crackling pleasure across the back of his skull. Sending fire in slow pulses as her blood pushed out into his veins. From his center ebbing out a warmth in rhythm to his swallowing. His cold body cracking apart with her molten river. It was a miracle he was able to stop that first night.

The bloodcall was a prickling hateful need, but the other need he felt towards her made him bristle more.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way they had crashed and smeared into each other. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing gained or lost. Just pulling mouths and pleading fingers and dizzy heat.

He felt his cock stir just from the memory and frowned.

This wouldn't do. He was too pent up, a dog in a kennel circling.

He would get back in her good graces, in one way or another.

When they had finally returned for the night, he feigned disinterest. Lounging back on a pillow outside of his tent, flicking the pages of one of his books with the tips of his fingers.

She wiggled out of her boots with adorable little grunts. Unlacing her bracers and beginning to lift up to the buckles on her breastplate.

"Here, let me." Gale stepped over, reaching for the buckles that sat on her sides.

"Oh! Thank you!" She chirped, lifting her arm to make way for his fingers, naturally let her hand fall on his shoulder.

"I guess it's only fair. You don't wear armor, so you have much less undressing to do." She hummed.

He saw the heat go to Gale's cheeks, clearing his throat.

"You know, I could continue to help you. In the future." He offered, a slight waver in his tone.

Astarion had stood before his mind had spoken to his feet. Striding over.

"Gale, dearest. You'll keep her here all night. Let faster fingers attend to our friend here."

Gale held his hands up in defeat good naturedly, but he saw a bite flash across his eyes.

A silent crackling energy passed between them.

"Our pale friend is right, I'd better return to the delectable meal I've been planning."

Gale stepped away, but not before squeezing her bicep, leaving a lingering touch there.

The wizard was lucky his blood was putrid.

Well, maybe he could still rip his throat out for fun.

As soon as Gale was out of earshot Tav sighed, speaking under her breath to him.

"Well, Gale wants to fuck me now too."

"Ah, you'll have to forgive the boy. I'm sure he hasn't seen such a ravishing creature before that dusty tower. Nothing but his hand and books."

Tav gasped, trying to kick him, but he slid away from her foot easily. His fingers snapping her buckles open with flourish.

"You're the devil." She chided, but he could see the smile on the corner of her lips.

"Devilishly handsome? I agree."

The last buckle free, he lifted the breastplate over her.

She moaned, rotating her shoulders in relief. Her undershirt sticking to her skin. The white fabric wet with her efforts.

He kept his eyes above collarbone with great effort. The outline of her full breasts in his peripheral.

"Thank you, my savior." She teased, sitting down to unbuckle from her shin guards.

He was hovering and she noticed, looking up at him expectantly.

"Darling, I couldn't help but wonder why you haven't been offering me your sweet neck."

She sat back up, hand resting on her thigh. Eyes searching his.

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd want to see me after the other night." She said plainly.

"But I guess I'm a service, after all." Said with impartial truth.

"Sure, here." She offered her wrist up to him.

He blinked, on the back foot again.

Like she had scooped into him and pulled the marrow of his person out. That uncanny ability to speak his thoughts through her mouth.

No, I'm the service. Not you, sweet girl.

"Let's wait, no reason to supp from you out in the open. With so many prying hungry eyes."

He trailed the backs of his fingers along the inside of her wrist as she lowered it.

"Meet me in my tent, okay?" He hushed, his voice coming out uncharacteristically soft.

"Of course, whatever you need." She smiled.

He felt like he needed to prove something to her, but what?

He rearranged the pillows for a third time. The candle lit canvas shroud of his tent draped in as much comfort as he could find. Or steal.

Blankets and plush pillows. Enchanted lights draped along the roof, a lavender candle burning on a plate.

He sighed, this was too much. He was being silly.

"May I come in?" She whispered outside of the closed flap.

"I'd like nothing more." He crooned, sitting as casually as he could manage.

She ducked in and blinked in surprise. Eyes trailing along.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" She started getting comfortable. Pulling the pins free from her hair and shaking it down her back. Leaving her shoes in a neat line at the entrance.

Something about seeing her like this again made his heart sing. That casual intimacy that he desired in the cradle of his tent.

She kneeled down across from him, pulling her collar away from her neck. Turning her head to the side, bending open for him.

He leaned forward and gathered her into his hands, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Breathing in.

She could feel his need, touching his arm uncertainly.

"Are you okay, Star?" She hushed.

He slid his hand down her back, his eyes closed. Fingers mapping her into his memory.

"Just- just give me a moment." His voice coming out gravelly.

"Do you want me to get undressed?" She whispered, and he nodded into the side of her neck.

She pulled her sleep shirt over her head, his hands only leaving her to toss it far in the corner.

Sat in only the underclothes hugging her hips, she waited patiently as his eyes drank her.

The spread of her hips dipping into her waist. The round full of her breast. The soft curve of her stomach. An oil painting come to life.

"You're very comfortable in the nude." He teased, trying to jumble his thoughts back into his slack head.

"It takes practice." She smiled. "People usually don't want to see the wares stored away."

He could feel the confusion strike his face.

"What do you mean by that, darling?"

"Oh, I figured the others would have gossiped by now. Huh, good for them."

She flourished down her body. "This used to go to the highest bidder."

His hands slowed, pulling away.

"You were a sex worker?"

"What makes you think I'm not still one?" She winked, and he felt a hard shock of sudden recognition in her mannerisms. This was his playing field.

"Tav..." He paused, trying to wrestle his thoughts into a carefully picked set of kind words. She didn't need to know that part of his past yet. He could stand to pretend to be at least somewhat competent for a while longer.

"I get if that turns you off. We can go back to just feeding if you want."

"Well, what do you want?" He leaned his head, looking at her. Dead heart phantom hammering.

She seemed to consider it. "I think I like you, and I want to be near you. In whatever way that means to you."

He leaned forward, sliding on knees to reach her.

He laced his arm around her back, their lips hovered across one another. Her breath tickling his lips.

Sliding his hand down her front, he held her eyes.

A collective breath held between them, only broken as his fingers dipped into her heat.

Her eyes fluttered shut, hips tilting forward.

He pressed his forehead to hers as she rocked into him, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

She tried to reach for his trousers. He huffed out a soft no and led her hands to drape over his neck.

He looked at her with lidded eyes, pulsing his long fingers into her molten heat. Curving and catching the spongy wall.

She squirmed, gripping onto his thighs. One single breath passed between them. Speaking in panting and soft moans.

He pushed her onto her back, sliding down. His mouth coming down to lick in long stripes above his fingers.

She shuddered, head falling back. Gasping out little cries for him.

All of her sounds, her arching movements, wrapping around his mind in a haze.

He ground his erection into the bunched blankets on the tent floor.

His arousal a warm rhythm inside his body for once. The practiced working of his mouth finally put to a worthy effort.

He twisted his tongue into her, slurping and suckling. Free hand holding her in place as her hips tried to escape.

"Fuck," She hissed, gripping his hair. Legs starting to shake around his ears.

He moaned low and deep into her. His cock throbbing, hips fucking into the blankets.

"Oh fuck, Astarion. I'm-" But she was already rising off of the blankets, head wrenched back.

He followed her up, gripping her ass.

She squeaked out a few rising cries then fell apart in his hands. Tremoring rising up through her body, rippling outwards from where his mouth was still pulsing. Her head lolled, little jolts from her cunt as the creamy slick of her spend met his tongue. Lapping it in greedily.

He gasped. It rocketed against his skull like her blood. He needed more.

He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and dove back into her. Hungry. Messy. Uncontrolled. Completely cutting off his breath. He didn't need it anyway.

Her eyes shot open, moaning out.

"Oh Gods," She whimpered, bracing herself next to her head. Holding on as he took her apart.

He felt crazed, his hunger for her blood and the slick he pulled from her one and the same. The sounds coming from his lapping obscene.

Closing his eyes, he growled. Fingernails biting down into her ass. Saliva and slick dripping down his jaw.

One more hard swirling pull on her clit and she was shuddering hard, a strained moan of curses flowing from her lips. Eyes rolling back in her skull like marbles.

He yanked her towards him in anticipation, fingers rubbing hard into her clit encouragingly.

Her second wave of creamy slick met his tongue, so sweet and rich. Lighting his skull up in streaks of pleasure.

He pulled his weeping cock from his leathers and stroked with his slick soaked hand. Once, twice, and he was gone. Spurting thick ropes under his body, whimpering out pulsing cries as the pleasure wrenched out of him.

He lapped at her as long as she would allow, eventually gently pushing his head back.

"Gods below, Star. That was... that was heaven." She gasped.

He murmured in agreement, head falling into the inside of her thigh. Fingers trailing the silk of her side, the arch of her ribcage.

"Do you want me to stay?" She hushed, scratching lightly along his scalp.

He moaned softly, nodding into her.

"Come here to me." She purred, pulling him up her body. Resting his head against her chest.

The beat of her heart a steady tranquil drum. Her arms and legs tangled in his. He puddled into her, both of her hands scratching in slow lines along his skull.

For the first time in a long time, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The night passing dreamless.

#gale just like. i hate it here #astarion smut #astarion x tav #screenshot by @cheekylittlepupp #lyrics from: the garden - the crane wives

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phoenixyfriend · 1 month

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Fulcrum and Old Ben

Hiiiiii I'm thinking about time travel again

Specifically, I'm thinking about Rebels-era Ahsoka and Ben getting tossed back to Obi-Wan's teens in the Temple... and it's an open secret that they're time-travelers, and that the old guy is future!Obi.

The scene I'm fixating on is teen!Obi and Quinlan gossiping about how old they think Ben is, and how he knows the half-Mando-looking Tog Jedi (they aren't used to non-Guards wearing armor in the Temple, and Ahsoka's been wearing Mando-made armor since she was recruited by Bo-Katan in S7).

The whole Temple is trying to figure out what their deal is, but Ben is dedicated to being obtuse and confusing in the grand tradition of Yoda and Qui-Gon, and Fulcrum is enjoying the power of being annoying and able to properly relax for the first time in twenty years.

This is all happening in the refectory. Lunchtime gossip. Fulcrum and Ben are sticking together and while other people do join them, they don't really split up (that's her dad and she's not ditching him again).

Also the possibility of Ezra and Fulcrum "I may not be your Master, but he DID ask me to look after you, so sit down and listen until we figure out where to place you."

Ben: Remind me why you don't just take him on yourself? Fulcrum: You know I haven't been a Jedi since I was seventeen. Technically.

Different moment:

Obi-Wan: How is that ME? I mean, I guess he's from, like, a hundred years in the future, but-- Ben: Forty. Obi: …what. Ben: Closer to forty. I'm fifty-six. Obi and Quinlan: [open-mouthed horror that WILL get them scolded for being rude] Fulcrum, snorting: Ha, you look old. Ben: Yes, well, over fifteen years on Tatooine will do that to a man. Obi, to Fulcrum: Wait, how old are YOU? Fulcrum: A lady never tells. [wink wonk] Obi: … Fulcrum: I haven't been born yet, but I am in my thirties.

Also, there is just something soooo good about Ahsoka telling people she's been doing black ops for the better part of twenty years, and ribbing Obi-Wan about how he spent most of that time being sad and talking to ghosts on Tatooine.

And the two of them are having Fun while their audience is just [doingmeaconcern.meme]

#star wars #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #quinlan vos #time travel #sw rebels #the clone wars #phoenix talks

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fanfictilltheend · 23 days

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❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 2: ♪Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

Hi I apologize that a lot of these reference pics are just of white girls. I tried to find "aesthetic" images that go with the story but so many of them are just of white people and I want to call myself out for this because in the fic's only descriptors are that she has hair and is AFAB -- nothing about race. I also realize that all of the girls in this are skinny too and Y/N's body type is never specified. Sorry fam!! These images are just to get the creative juices flowing and don't truly depict anything from the fic!!

A/n: It’s here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I’ve ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (smut this time tho!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. SMUT and feelings <3 Also check out this playlist of music that’s in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, pov change, Infidelity, threats, age gap, dressing Joel up (swear I wrote this before he wore that outfit to the SAG awards — the mr.Darcy-core one), racist comment (from Y/N’s douchey boyfriend), douchey boyfriend, confidence issues, feelings, voyeurism, masturbation (m and f), kissing, penis in vagina sex — unprotected (wear a condom), lightest hint of ass play, scar worship?? kinda??, daddy issues, daddy kink, using music lyrics to move the plot, multiple orgasms (m and f), religion and god discussions, stepcest (kinda bc technically he is divorced from her mother), tagging psuedo-incest just to be safe!!, use of y/n

Word Count: ~13k

PART 1

AO3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a little crush on Joel Miller. How could you not have? The first day you’d met him had been like some kind of fucked up yet extremely satisfying whirlwind of a daydream. He’d come in, broad and tall and strong, and saved you from your evil (though you do love him somewhere deep, deep down) older brother’s onslaught. Protected you like a knight in shining armor from his punching, beating fists. Treated and touched you so tenderly, so many miles different from how your own father did that you’d been hit with whatever the pleasant opposite of whiplash is. And the way he finally punished Aiden after years of his reign of terror, the violence of it, the justice of it. You didn’t have words for it then, but the way you looked into Joel’s eyes when he was doling out that righteous punishment became some kind of strange secret understanding between the two of you. Maybe it was the first sign of love? You aren’t sure.

As a kid, he’d given you what you like to think of as quiet butterflies. They were always there when he spoke to you, looked at you, touched you, beat the shit out of your father and brother for you, but they were faint enough that you could ignore them. It was a comforting, fluttering kind of love, a gradual understanding of your loyalty to one another. But then puberty hit and the insects became incessantly loud when you thought of, wrote to, or talked to him. They ate at your heart day after day while Joel was in prison – the longing, the missing. Aiden told you that you were obsessed with him. Your mother told you to forget him, that he would forget you. But somehow, he didn’t. You wonder if those bugs live in him too. You wonder if they are quiet or loud and if they gnaw .

You think that they are probably loud. You think this for a few reasons. The first is that you know for a fact, you can feel it in the lining of your soul, and from the evidence of his constant correspondence and care for you, that he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him. The second reason is the fact that you think but aren’t one hundred percent sure is that the last time you’d hugged him he’d gotten a little hard (you don’t want to think too much into that because he is only a man who had been deprived of touch for a long time – but still you wonder…). And the third is the way he looks at you like you are the universe like you are the last drop of nectar and he is the last butterfly left on Earth in a famine.

That’s how he’s looking at you now in the passenger seat of his old, clunky pickup. You know that he wanted to drive, but you wanted to show him how well you could because he had never seen. Never had the chance to see how well you had fixed, maintained, and took care of his baby and of course he gave into you like he always does. He's smiling at you quietly, but his eyes contain multitudes. Right now mostly pride at your driving.

Joel is a bit different than how you remember sitting near him in the truck the last time you were together, him as a free man, you as a little girl. Somehow, even though you are obviously bigger now, he still seems massive and broad and stronger than ever. His biceps are huge – probably from all the time he had to work out in prison – and peeking out under his blue t-shirt that you brought for him, you think you see the outlines of some tattoos. You look a little closer. On his right arm is text in curvy black ink. You think it reads, “Sarah.” You smile softly at that. On his other arm is a strange orange shape that you have to squint at to understand. The edges of the object are jagged but they form a shape like a badge – and then you know what it is! It is the guitar pick you made for Joel as a child. The one that had pricked his finger and drawn blood and he stuck it in his wallet. You can’t articulate how honored you feel that Joel loved you enough to tattoo something you made for him on his body, permanently, forever.

“ Well , the light only turned green damn near eons ago,” he complains about your driving, but you know he is just teasing.

There is hardly anything wrong you can ever do in Joel’s eyes. He grins at you a bit lopsidedly and you smile back. You also can’t help but notice the greying of his brown hair. It’s a bit longer than it used to be too and the length gives it a little bit less of a shaggy look. You think it suits him, makes him look a bit older and more distinguished than when he first came into your life twelve years ago.

Objectively, you know it’s weird to think that your ex-stepdad who is a convicted felon is hot, but it’s just something you’ve always known and thought like that the sky is blue or that orange is your favorite color. You know it’s weird to think of someone who was? – is? – supposed to be a father figure to you that way, but it’s already second nature at this point. You’ve had a few boyfriends (luckily all of them had treated you right), but none of the feelings you’ve ever had for them have compared to the cosmic-sized love and affection you have for Joel and you’ve never known anything different. The years you spent longing, missing, loving, obsessing over, and aching for him in every way under the sun, can’t be healthy, you know this, but they have eclipsed practically every other relationship in your life. No one has ever made you feel as safe and protected and loved as Joel has. No one else has ever looked at you the way he does. No one else’s entire existence has revolved around you the way his has. The sheer devotion in his gaze is enough to make the butterflies inside you scream and beat their wings against your insides like hungry bats.

And you especially know you shouldn’t have these feelings about another human being violent enough to be capable of taking a life – inebriated or not. You’re grown now and know the man he killed was a scum-of-the-Earth child predator, and secretly you’ve always wondered if there was more to the story than Joel told the police in the official court transcripts you’d read as an adult, maybe even something to do with you since you had been there that day in the repair shop when they met , but you haven’t pressed because you’re sure the whole thing is quite traumatic for Joel and if he ever wants to tell you, you know he will. And more importantly, you don’t really care. Drunken, violent idiot or not, you were already deeply invested and never intended on wavering in that. You’re not sure there’s anything Joel could do to get you to stop loving him and that both terrifies and excites you.

“Okay, whatcha wanna eat?” you ask, reaching out to rub Joel’s shoulder gently. “Now that you’re free you can have whatever you want! On my mom’s credit card of course. Swear I won’t tell her.”

Joel grins.

“Deal,” he tells you. “I was thinking of a nice steak dinner.”

***

You pull into the fanciest restaurant you can find in the tri-state area and sit down to order a regal, all-American, full three-course steak dinner (though you’re both woefully underdressed – not that you care – though the host gives you a dirty look). All the while, you tell Joel about your major (psychology) and how you want to become a counselor for abused children.

“That’s sort of beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you with a genuine smile that used to be so hard to coax from him, but now seems to float over to you so easily and gently like a kiss from something as soft as the wings of a butterfly. “Wanting to help defenseless children. You’re kinda like a guardian angel for them, ya know? Damn proud of ya! Also, these mashed potatoes are goddamn delectable!” he exclaims after taking an experimental bite. “Have I mentioned that prison food is shit?”

You smile bashfully and want to tell him that he is your guardian angel (you wonder if he thinks the same of you) and inspiration in a backward sort of way for wanting to help kids in the first place since he was so good at protecting you for the most part (though you obviously don’t believe violence is the correct answer in your line of future work). But kids need protectors. Somehow you know that deep down you forgive him for all of the violence he caused because you would forgive him for anything. And him being proud of you? You don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than that! You burst with pride. Your real father never said that to you, but Joel doesn’t feel like your father now. He is something different entirely. Something that entirely belongs to you.

“And you’ll meet my boyfriend, Max, tomorrow,” you nod as Joel moves onto the steak and lets out a soft moan at how good it tastes. “He’s heard a lot about you.”

Joel’s face flattens.

“And who is this kid exactly?” he sneers a little, attacking the steak with his knife.

You smile internally at the obvious jealousy he’s trying to hide from his voice.

“Hey, Max is a decent guy!” you insist in his defense. “He’s pre-law. Real smart. He’s gonna be an important person someday, I know it. You’ll get on.”

That last part is a bit of a lie since you’re not sure the two will actually like each other.

Joel examines your face, looks deep into your eyes.

“All I know is, just because someone is important, don’t mean they’re good to you or for you for that matter.”

You can’t help but think of your father, the most “important” man you know and how much of a degenerate he is compared to someone ostensibly average like Joel who didn’t even have a status symbol like a college degree and how perfect of a man you think he is, despite his obvious flaws. You blush a little, scrunching up your nose.

“Just lookin’ out for you, sweetheart,” he continues, smiling at the way you do. “He ever fuck with you – he ever break your heart, you know just where to send him, alright?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grin. “Don’t need you getting any more jail time though, alright?” “You may have made a valid point,” he concedes with a smirk.

***

When you two enter your shitty, one-bedroom apartment it’s already dark outside. Joel actually grins when he notices his and your guitars have both been mounted on the wall.

“We can play ‘em tomorrow,” you tell him excitedly. “If you want to, I mean…”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Joel smiles. “Wanna hear ya singing for me, honey. I missed that.”

You smile to yourself.

“You can have my bed, and I’ll take the couch,” you decide, getting back to business.

“No way, babygirl. I ain’t taking your bed.”

“Joel, you’ve literally been on a prison mattress for eight fucking years! Can’t imagine that’s been very comfortable.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t mind the couch. That’ll feel like heaven to me. Don’t want you messin’ up your back, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth, but Joel beats you.

“And that’s that,” he insists.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, knowing by the look on his face he’s not budging. If one thing, Joel has always been stubborn, but you like that about him. “D’you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, baby, if ya don’t mind, I’d like a quick shower. Been dreaming about taking a real, private one for ages.”

“Yeah, of course!” you nod, motioning toward your bathroom door. “Towels are under the sink.”

Joel makes his way inside and soon steam is billowing out the bottom of the door.

You busy yourself with some homework, but just as you walk past the door to grab a glass of water, you think you hear Joel singing.

You listen more closely over the fall of the running water and make out him singing the chorus of an old ABBA song with a deeper, sadder tone to it,

♪ “ Slipping through my fingers all the time / I try to capture every minute / The feeling in it / Slipping through my fingers all the time / Do I really see what's in her mind? / Each time I think I'm close to knowing / She keeps on growing / Slipping through my fingers all the time…” ♫

You feel like such a sap, but you feel a tear forming in your eye at the way Joel must be thinking about his and your relationship and everything he missed in your life. You aren’t mad at him, but his absence hurt in a way you didn’t know you could feel. And you’ve never blamed him, really, but the lack of him for eight years of milestones really did kill a piece of you. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly at the bottom of your stomach with its wings pulled off. That’s how you felt all that time without Joel – like a butterfly without wings. A writhing worm of a human being, senseless and lost in a giant world full of forces you couldn’t control.

You listen to Joel’s beautiful, deep voice until you hear him turn off the tap and you scurry away and act innocent.

Joel emerges from the bathroom then with nothing but a white towel around his waist, steam from the shower floating lazily into the room behind him like precession. And oh, wow, is he ever a sight to behold. His hair is wet, dark brown flecked with grey, and starting to get curly from the moisture. You also can’t help but notice his broad chest, the expanse of it, the dark curls of hair, his bulking, muscular tattooed arms, his soft, hairy tummy, the V-shape of muscle that descends beneath the towel, his happy trail. You are overwhelmed by the soaking beauty of him. You’d seen Joel shirtless before, sure, but it had never felt like this .

“Gon’ grab some of those clothes you bought for me and then maybe we could watch something?” Joel asks as you try so fucking hard not to stare at him.

“Sure!” you squeak, staring down at your notebook at the kitchen counter.

You think you see a smirk from Joel, but you're not sure because your gaze is averted as he grabs some clothes to change into and disappears back into the bathroom.

When he reemerges, dressed in a wifebeater and shorts that accentuate his form, you two sit next to each other on your cushy sofa and surf the TV for something to watch. You feel Joel’s hairy knees against your jean-clad one and your heart flutters.

“Can’t believe I’m really here,” Joel says softly as you pass re-runs of Full House, a dog show. “Like I gotta fuckin’ pinch myself to know it’s not a dream.”

Suddenly you feel a large, weathered hand on your cheek.

“Missed you so much, babygirl,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes, massaging the line of your jaw ever so lightly, trying to hold your skittish gaze. “More than I even have words for.”

First, you avoid looking at him a bit bashfully, but then you stare up cautiously into those big brown eyes that feel like a familiar kind of home and you’re such a goner. You lean into his warmth, the warmth of his hand.

“Missed you too, Joel. So much,” you admit, never wanting this moment to end or him to let go of you. “More than anything.”

He leans forward a little and for a second you think…but then he’s leaning in and planting a heavy kiss on your forehead. A kiss that has weight to it – not those soft, weak ones that Max gives you haphazardly when he’s drunk or high – the only time he’s brave enough to be vulnerable with you. This kiss says something, means it so sincerely too.

“Love you, honey,” he tells you. Then his face falls. “Sorry I…wasn’t quite there to say that to you enough in person.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I forgive you,” you insist. “I love you so much, dummy. More than you even know!”

But you truly do appreciate the sentiment.

***

You settle on an old, black and white classic, Paper Moon, that’s playing on the TV Land channel.

Joel wraps a big arm around you and you snuggle close. You’re pretty sure there isn’t a better feeling in the world than being this close to him. Even after all these years he still smells like Joel; like home (and, if you’re being honest, a bit like your vanilla shampoo) .

You lean against him, your cheek pressing into one of his firm pecs. You begin to feel sleepy, drunk on the steady sound of his heartbeat, alive and beating against you and really here .

You nod off.

***

At first, you don’t believe it, but you feel someone with strong, firm arms lifting you into the air, cradling your back and the insides of your knees in a bridal-style carry. The movement wakes you, but you don’t open your eyes because the safety and security you feel is too good to give up. Joel carries you to your bedroom and lays you down gently in your bed. You’re still in day clothes and shoes so Joel takes off your worn sneakers with a feather-light touch and places them at the foot of the bed – you can tell from the soft thumps it makes. He maneuvers you so tenderly under the covers and tucks you in with love and care. You wonder the last time someone did that for you and pull up a blank. If anyone ever did that for you it was probably Joel. Maybe your mom did when you were really young. Certainly your father nor Aiden ever did – your father hadn’t liked to touch you except out of anger – kind of like you had some kind of weird, contagious disease. Aiden’s hands had almost always hurt too, but not Joel’s – never his.

He breaks you from your thoughts by pressing another kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are still closed so you aren’t sure, but you think he watches you for a second and lets out a long sigh.

Then you hear your bedroom door close softly so as not to disturb you. You smile, you can’t help it, and drift back off into a peaceful sleep.

***

You wake up to a mumbling, grunting sort of sound. You look over at your clock and read 3:42 a.m. You sit up. You can kind of hear some muffled noises coming from outside your room. At first, you feel a little concerned – like maybe Joel is in pain or something as he is the only one who could be making the noises. The walls in your apartment are paper-thin. Like you could hear him sneeze clear as day if he were to because sound travels through the shitty walls so easily. You should have told him that. But what the fuck is he doing up at 3 a.m.?

You creep (and you mean creep) silently to the door of your bedroom and open it the tiniest crack. The way your apartment is laid out, the back of the sofa is the first thing you see and the back of Joel’s head about six feet away. He doesn’t sound in pain the way he’s groaning and then you understand exactly what he’s doing. Of course the man is jerking off! After being in prison, stuck around people for so long of course he wanted a good, private wank. He isn’t looking at anything from what you can tell, no magazines or anything. Must be using his imagination. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s gotten good at that over the years.

You should turn around, slink back into bed, and cover your ears with a pillow so the man can have some privacy. But, fuck, the way he’s grunting. His voice is so fucking deep and sexy and then he lets out a soft, vulnerable moan and you feel heat envelope your whole body. You think you hear a soft fuck roll off his tongue and your heart almost beats right out of your chest. You can hear the lewd slapping of his fist on skin getting louder and more intense. Then you hear a soft take it, fuck. And Jesus, you are so fucking wet between your thighs. You ought to be ashamed. Instead, you reach down your hand feverishly beneath the band of your jeans and soaking underwear instinctively to stroke yourself ever so slightly. You sigh in relief, but you are fucking gushing, your fingers covered in your slick. You can’t see anything besides the back of Joel’s head, technically, so this couldn’t be that wrong, could it? He lets out a soft groan, you can tell he’s holding back so as not to be heard, but the desperation in the pathetic little noises this hulking man is making is turning on every switch inside you. Oh how you want to go over there and take him in your mouth, to taste him. God you are so fucked up! You’re still touching yourself gently, not really fully going at it yet, considering the possibilities that could follow if you went over there. But before you can decide to do anything, Joel positively whines, moans, and grunts fuck, unh, and you think but aren’t sure, babygirl, and finishes.

You stop dead still in what you’re doing. Did he really say “babygirl” or was that just your horny-ass imagination playing tricks on you? You’ve never heard Joel call anyone babygirl except you. Was he really thinking of you? On the one hand, if true, mega fucked up. On the other, wow, incredibly hot. You think about going over there and asking him to finish you off or something as crazy as in all those dumb romance novels you used to read in middle school, but just as quickly as the idea comes to you, you hear another noise: loud snoring. Joel is asleep.

Typical.

You snort to yourself. That was so quintessentially Joel. You don’t want to disturb him now. The moment has passed. And only then is when you remember you have a fucking boyfriend.

That doesn’t stop you from closing your door softly, crawling back into bed, and reaching your hand down beneath your panties to touch yourself. You stroke your clit, imagining it is Joel’s rough hand rubbing against you. Holy fuck. You haven’t been this wet since you used to touch yourself thinking about him in the past. It’s like he can reach every part of you, every layer in a way that no one else can. You know the whole thing is so fundamentally fucked up, but you can resist sinking into your favorite fantasy. The smell, the touch, the feel of him. You imagine the noises he was making so beautifully on the couch, feel heat coil through your entire body, and immediately cum hard without even sticking a finger inside yourself.

The pleasure you feel is so unparalleled and real you have to cover your hand with your mouth not to scream out your powerful orgasm.

Sweat drenches your whole body as you come down.

God, you are so fucked.

***

The next morning you wake up to the wafting smell of someone cooking eggs. You emerge from your room a little sheepishly from last night’s events to find Joel behind the kitchen counter making eggs and toast.

“Mornin’, babygirl,” he grins, his eyes shining like he’s excited about something.

And then you realize: that something is you.

You grin back.

“Good morning, Joel,” you beam at him.

You were so afraid things would feel awkward after what you heard last night, but nothing ever feels awkward with Joel. In some ways, he’s still just your average dorky, friendly old ex-stepdad, convicted felon. In other ways, everything about him sets your heart on fire, but it would be stupid to ruin what you have with him because you think it’s remotely possible he might be interested back. You know this is dramatic, but if he flat-out rejected you, you think you might die. Truly. Like those butterflies inside you would beat their wings so hard they’d burst your heart.

“‘Membered you liked ‘em poached,” he nods, breaking you from your thoughts.

He scoops two poached eggs onto one of your plates and grabs a piece of toast from the toaster which he smears with butter like how you used to eat toast as a kid. You can’t believe he remembered.

“Thanks so much,” you tell him.

He grabs a few eggs and toast for himself and sits beside you at the counter.

“Nice to be able to cook me ‘n you some real food,” he remarks. “If I eat one more cup o’ noodles in my lifetime I swear to God Almighty…” he trais off.

He’s looking at you like you put the goddamned sun in the sky. Your heart melts as you stare at his features, the faint curls in his hair. Oh, how you want to reach out and touch him. But that just isn’t how you operate. You won’t ruin what you already have.

The butterflies in your chest howl.

***

` You lay out the day’s schedule to Joel. You have plenty of time to hang about (you see him eyeing the guitars), and then you need to go shopping for some actual clothes for Joel since the things you brought for him don’t constitute a proper wardrobe. Then you will go out to dinner and meet Max.

Joel grunts a nod at that last part. He doesn’t seem too thrilled.

“Wanna show me what you’ve been playing?” he asks hopefully as he gets up to put both of your plates in the sink,

“‘Course!” you nod enthusiastically. “Max says I need to work on my fingerpicking so I can’t promise it’ll be all that good.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

***

You sit down on the couch right next to Joel, each of you holding your respective guitars in hand, across your laps.

Joel looks ecstatic to have his guitar back in his hands. He fiddles with the tuning and finger-picks a faint melody.

“Haven’t played one since the prison band. But then some dumb motherfucker clobbered another sorry son of a bitch to death with a saxophone so that ended our music privileges,” Joel explains.

“Jeez,” you reply.

Joel is sitting so close you can feel his body heat. You just want to hear him sing, but he insists on hearing you.

“Joel,” you try as innocently as possible. “D’you remember how to do an A-flat? I forget and I need it for my song.”

“Sure, baby. Lemme help ya. Now put one finger on this bit of the 4th fret here,” he begins, snaking a big arm around your shoulders so he can maneuver your fingers to the correct position.

His touch is electric. He feels so good and warm. You feel the intense urge to climb into his lap and embrace and stay there forever. His big caloused hand full of scars places your fingers correctly for the chord. The same hand that must have jerked himself to completion last night…You can’t help but wonder how much cum there was…The truth is, you know how to make an A-flat. You just wanted to feel him.

He backs away and you whine internally at the loss.

“There we go,” he says soothingly, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “That one can be tricky. Now where is my performance?”

Your nerves are squirming around inside you but you begin to play and sing to the best of your ability.

You look into Joel’s eyes.

♪“ You've got a heart on fire / It's bursting with desire / You've got a heart filled with passion / Will you let it burn for hate or compassion?” ♫ you sing.

Joel watches you intently, sitting up straighter.

♪ “What's the point with a love / That makes you hate and kill for? ♪

You sing as best and as seriously as you can. You look up and think you maybe see a tear in Joel’s eye.

When you finish, it’s clear Joel is finding it hard to select the right words to convey what he’s feeling.

“I–” he tries. “That was…well, let me just show you how I can answer that if anyone ever could to a performance as beautiful as that.”

You blush.

He begins to finger-pick a familiar tune, Instantly, you are transported back to eight years old in the back of Joel’s old pickup truck, listening to one of his many cassette tapes. It’s “I’ll Never Find Another You” by The Seekers. The original version of the song is pretty happy and upbeat, but the way Joel sings it slowly in his deep and weathered voice makes you feel sad and achy inside. The emotion behind his voice is palpable.

♪ “But if I should lose your love, dear / I don't know what I'd do / For I know I'll never find another you / Another you / Another you…” ♫ he trails off.

It’s your turn to tear up a little. It’s crazy to know he means every word he’s singing too. He sings like every word is his last breath. When he finishes you are crying a little.

“You oughta record an album,” you sniffle, leaning into his shoulder, throwing him a side hug.

“Wanted to be a singer,” he replies with a small grin, leaning his head against yours. “Back when I was young.”

You sit back up straight.

“You did? I never knew that.”

“Don’t tell nobody really,” Joel replies, looking a bit sad you left his immediate proximity. “Just a stupid dream ‘n all that crap.”

“‘S not stupid,” you tell him. “You really have a beautiful voice, Joel. It’s like if I could take it, hold on to it, and keep it forever in my chest pocket next to my heart, I would.”

“That’s where I keep you, baby,” he tells you honestly.

He reaches up a big hand to yours and guides your own to place it right on his heart over his plaid shirt. You can feel it beating steadily below your palm to the rhythm of something as delicate and ferocious as the beating of butterfly wings.

“Right here.”

***

You take Joel shopping. At his insistence it is nothing fancy, just the local department store. That doesn’t stop you from dressing Joel up in ridiculous outfits of your choosing. You make him try on a Hawaiian shirt, some golf polos like your dad liked to wear, a pinstripe suit and he lets you because saying no to you has never been in his vocabulary. He acts grumpy on the outside, but you can tell he is amused. You know in the end, you’ll just end up buying every flannel shirt and jeans combo they have in the store, but it’s just fun anyway. You watch the fabric hug his torso, his tummy, the slight bulge at his waist. At one point he comes out shirtless and you try very hard not to swoon as you stare at the hair lining his chest and his adorable little tummy that you for some reason have the urge to bite. The band of his Hanes boxers sticks up past his jeans and he looks so good. He even lets out a genuine smile. The middle-aged sales attendant who is helping you even takes a good look at him which makes the butterflies inside you swarm possessively.

Finally, you make him try on a proper white-collared button-down shirt and black dress pants with matching black shoes and he looks so good you’re actually at a loss for words when he asks you what you think. They hug the curves and lines and planes of his body so nicely. All you can do is ask him to put on a black tie to match and he does at your behest following some customary griping that he would never wear such a monkey suit in the first place. The effect that a fully dressed-up Joel has on you is not one to be reckoned with. He might as well be wearing the men’s version of lingerie for how it makes you throb and ache between your legs. He looks like a force of nature, commanding and tall. It makes you weak. All you say is,

“Looking good, old-timer.”

He snorts.

When you finally ditch all the fun clothes and grab the essentials, Joel offers to go pick up the car while you pay. He tries to give you his eight-year-old credit card, but you insist on treating him on the condition he buys the “monkey suit.” After a bit of prodding, he gives in and you go to the sales attendant to pay at the counter.

“Your dad is really cute,” the sales attendant giggles to you as she rings up the pile of clothes.

Your cheeks go a bit red. You don’t really care enough to correct her.

“He’s my guy,” is all you say absentmindedly as you fish out your wallet from your purse.

The sales attendant hands you the receipt and on it, you see a scrawled phone number.

“For If he’s single,” she explains. “I’m Barb from sales.”

You look her over. She’s close to Joel’s age and conventionally pretty with long brown hair. The exact kind of woman Joel should be dating should he choose to get back in the game. Your stomach twists and the butterflies howl inside you.

You take the receipt, thank her, and join Joel back in the car (who is more than happy to be driving this time).

“What took so long?” he asks casually. “You two writing a novel in there?”

You think seriously about what you should do. You consider letting the bugs have their way and tearing the receipt with Barb’s number on it to shreds. But you want good things for Joel. The chance of you two ever being together the way you wish is so far-fetched that you know you shouldn’t even be thinking it. A literal pipe dream. He was your stepdad for christsakes. He literally fucked your mother! (Gross!). Barb is exactly the kind of woman Joel should be going after if he’s up to dating right now. You hand him the receipt begrudgingly.

“Sales Lady likes you,” you sat flatly. “Name is Barb.”

“Oh,” he says softly like he’s a bit flattered.

He looks back at her through the glass door of the store and she waves at him. He waves back politely. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.

“You think…you think you’re gonna call her?” you finally ask as casually as humanly possible, dreading the answer.

Joel looks over at you, his gaze sweeping over you. Then looks back at Barb through the window. He looks her up and down.

“Nah,” he says with a smirk, looking back at you. “She ain’t my type. Only need one girl in my life right now anyways,” he winks.

Was that Joel flirting? With you?

Regardless, you smile back and then sigh in relief and grin to yourself as you two drive away.

Much to your satisfaction, Joel crumples up the receipt and throws it out the window for good measure.

***

You get ready for dinner, to go to a nice Mexican-Japanese fusion restaurant that Max picked out. You wear a red dress that accentuates your figure and matching heels and to your shock, Joel reemerges from the bathroom in the white button-down shirt and black dress pants you picked out for him (you had been sure flannel would be part of his ensemble). God, he looks good. A part of you wants to ditch Max and just stay here with Joel forever. He looks you over, his dark eyes sweeping over your frame. You think there is a tinge of possessiveness in his voice when he says,

“ Christ, you look beautiful, babygirl.”

***

You arrive before Max and sit down at the fancy white table-cloth-covered table next to Joel, a booth facing you. Max finally makes an appearance a half hour late and sits down across from you, sweeping his hair out of his face, sliding into the booth. Joel is frowning and the butterflies beat their wings inside you nervously.

“Sorry I’m late,” Max announces, puffing out his chest a little and smoothing out his collared shirt as he looks down at his watch and then over at Joel. “Hey, baby,” he says to you. Then, “And, uh, nice to meet you. Joe, was it? Heard a lot about you.”

“Joel,” Joel replies flatly, eyeing Max.

Max is a good-looking guy, everyone says so, but he looks more like a little boy than you’ve ever thought as he squirms uneasily in his seat under Joel’s unrelenting gaze and launches into a tirade about his frat’s inter-mural lacrosse team practice and how his team should have totally won the scrimmage and that’s why he’s late. And of course, he was the one to score the most goals.

“And the taxi cab driver was a nightmare. Only spoke Spanish. It’s like, if you come to this country speak fucking English, am I right?”

You notice Joel’s jaw tighten and his fingers clench.

“Max, that’s so rude!” you tell him, frowning. “We’re at a fucking Mexican restaurant!”

“Anyway,” Max continues, rolling his eyes at the interruption like he barely even heard you, smirking. “Where’d you go to school? What do you do for work, Joel? Besides making license plates, I mean. Kidding!” he insists as you stare daggers at him.

Joel leans forward ever so slightly but you slip your leg over his to hold him back and he calms down a fraction. It’s like when you touch him, everything tense in him melts away.

Joel sits up straighter in his chair and looks at you, stretching his arm across the back of your seat protectively like it’s a casual thing and not an unconscious sign of possessiveness.

“I’m a mechanic,” he grunts unceremoniously to Max. “I mean, I was anyways…Didn’t go to school.”

Max frowns ever so slightly.

“You didn’t go to college? You must’ve gone to trade school at least?”

“Nope. Picked up what I know over the years. Not everyone gets a free ride from their parents,” Joel smirks.

“Free ride?” Max snaps. “I’ll have you know I spend every summer interning at a law firm!”

“Yeah, your dad’s,” you can’t help but snicker.

Max’s cheeks turn a bit pink.

“At least I’m not a psych major,” he shoots back. “I mean, no offense, babe!”

“What’s wrong with psychology?” Joel snarls, his eyes darkening. “You ought to be proud to have such a thoughtful and intelligent girl like Y/N studying such a topic.”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to go pink.

“Joel–”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Max sneers.

That makes you feel a bit better.

“I’m just saying, she could have inherited the second-best law firm in the tri-state area from her pops if she was pre-law like me,” he smirks.

Your smile fades, used to hearing this kind of shit from him. He knows you and your father don’t get along at all, but not the full extent of it. He also knows you don’t have an interest in pre-law. But you swallow down how you really feel.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you tell him, placing a hand down on his thigh.

It’s not that you enjoy the way Max has been talking to you, but you are so used to it from the men in your life that it feels like the common denominator must be you. And sometimes it feels like maybe they have some kind of point. And fighting back only makes things worse. You’ve learned that over the years the hard way.

“It’s not fine!” he snaps like he’s trying to get you to see sense, looking deeply insulted on your behalf. Your heart thunders in your chest. “This boy has never worked an honest day in his life and he’s telling you what you ought to be doing? Bet his hands are soft as a baby’s ass. He doesn’t know shit about you, babygirl.”

You may not know the hardship of labor that Joel has taken on in his life, but your hands are not smooth. They are full of scars. And Joel is right. Max’s are soft like silk. You look down at the most prominent, ugly scar on your middle finger. You don’t even know which man in your life gave it to you. But you do know it means something. Shows you survived something. Survived your stupid father too, not that Max seems to care.

But Max never loses.

“Whatever,” he smirks dismissively. “Sorry I’m not some, like, common blue-collar worker. But I guess I should be taking advice from someone who became a fucking convicted felon ‘cause they drank too much one night,” he shrugs with a terrible sneer.

You know it’s over then.

But Joel surprises you. Doesn’t immediately strangle Max like you thought he might. Simply stands up tall and silent over Max’s frame which has suddenly begun to shake ever so slightly in obvious fear, his blue eyes widening. Joel’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

“Wouldn’t mind them sendin’ me right back in, ” Joel growls low. “Drunk or not.”

You shiver and Max positively cowers.

“Got something to say? Don’t wanna take it outside?” Joel leers, smirking ever so slightly at the trembling boy before him. “I’d even let a little boy like you take the first swing.”

“Your stepdad’s a freak, Y/N,” Max stammers, not taking his eyes off of Joel.

“Joel, it’s fine, okay?” you growl, not wanting him to actually hurt your boyfriend. Let alone in public! “Shouldn’t talk about Joel like that though, Max! Jesus!”

“Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” Max tries, eyeing back and forth between you and Joel. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t get what you see in him with a real Dad like yours! Your dad has so much to give you!”

Look out for you? So much to give you? What could he possibly give besides a stupid law firm and two black eyes?

Max looks a bit desperate. Him apologizing for anything is actually a new concept for you. Your heart twitches ever so slightly. He must actually like you a lot. But Joel would never do anything to hurt you if it was in his power. At least not intentionally, unlike your real father.

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” Joel snarls moodily, turning around. “Don’t want to do things I might regret to Mr.Future-Corporate-Lawyer over here. Have fun with him .”

Joel looks deeply hurt. Like you are choosing Max over him or something. That’s never what this has been about, has it? Doesn’t Joel know you’d do anything for him? That the hurt on his face hurts you more than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever.

“Joel, wait!” you decide and disappear after him, leaving Max behind at the table.

“Babe, what the fuck!?” Max yells, but you don’t care. “Come back here!”

***

You ride back in silence, Joel’s hands turning white against his grip on the steering wheel.

When you break through to the front door of your apartment, Joel finally snaps, the anger on his face directed at something that feels like you for the first time in your life.

“You really love that little son of a bitch, don’t you?” he sneers, uncharacteristically harshly towards you.

“So what if I did?” you shoot back, a little shocked. “It’s none of your business, Joel. What the fuck?”

“It is so my business,” he snaps back. “That kid is no good for you, Y/N. He doesn’t understand you. You deserve someone much better than that who will actually go to the ends of the earth for you. He wouldn’t do anything for you.”

There is a desperation and vulnerability in Joel’s words and tone that you’re not sure you’ve heard before. He sounds like he had been waiting the whole car ride to say this, maybe even his whole life. You aren’t sure.

“Max does give a shit about me,” you try to convince yourself, getting angrier. “I mean at least he was there for me while you were gone.”

Joel flinches.

“How do you know what’s so good for me and what’s not when you dipped out of my life for eight years?” you continue harshly. “Because why? It wasn’t because you were drunk, was it? It was because you couldn’t control your anger. You never could.”

He stares at you.

“I controlled it for you,” Joel says so quietly you almost miss it. “ You are the only reason I did any of it.”

“What?” you stammer, not sure you want to hear more. “W-what do you mean, Joel? Any of what?”

A million thoughts begin to run through your mind, but you push them aside. Theories about the case and your ideas of Joel’s true nature all threaten to drown you but you push them away.

“Do you want to know why I really killed that sick son of a bitch?” Joel asks dangerously after a long moment of silence. You stare at him, your body frozen. He looks down at his hands, flexing them like he can still feel them punching or around that disgusting man’s throat. “Why I killed him all those years ago? It was no accident, I’ll give you that. Manslaughter, my ass. I killed that scum of the Earth because he threatened you . To do terrible things to you with those disgusting hands of his. So I broke each one, but it wasn’t enough. I killed him because I didn’t want you to get hurt and because I didn’t want you to live in fear of him. I was tired, Y/N. Tired of being afraid for you in a world that doesn’t let you do shit except fight back. I loved you so much, Y/N, it hurt me. It scared me, but I couldn’t let him hurt you. I’d die before I let anyone hurt you again, not him, not your father, not Max, not anyone. You have to understand. I love –”

And then it’s all over. You’re not sure who moves first, but you think it might be you. The butterflies are rustling and thundering and screeching inside you and you kiss him. And Joel kisses back, devouring your mouth in his. You grab the back of his graying brown hair and pull him as close to you as you think is humanly possible. He cradles the back of your head so gently you almost lose your breath. And you are kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. There is nothing else in the universe except this kiss. You have never felt anything like this in your life. It is like every butterfly inside you has gone silent. It is like the world has stopped just for you and something new is forming inside you.

Joel killed that vile man for you. To keep you safe. Like he always said or showed that he would. He gave his life away for you. He did the unspeakable for you.

He bites down on your bottom lip and all your brain can manage to coherently think is: more, harder .

But then Joel is breaking away from you slowly.

NO! your heart cries out, the delicious pleasure and pain draining away from you. The butterflies swarm dangerously inside your chest, worse with every inch he travels from your lips.

“Joel,” you whine. “What? You…you don’t want–”

“Don’t even say that, Y/N,” he growls dangerously. “Of course I want you. How could I not? I have spent my entire life wanting you in some capacity, baby, but I ain’t no good for you either, alright? I…” he says slowly like it takes every inch of his body to agree to say this. “I am not a good man, Y/N. I never have been. I’ve done wrong in every chapter of my life. You deserve someone much better. I don’t want to hurt you. Physically or mentally. Our history… The damage I’ve done…” he trails off.

“You don’t understand,” you swallow, tears forming in your eyes. “You have already loved and hurt me more than any human being on planet Earth. And yet somehow there is nothing you could do that would keep me away from you, don’t you get that? The Joel Miller I love is not a good man and I don’t care. I want all of you. All of the pretty and crooked pieces you try to hide away from me. You killed a man with your bare hands, arguably one of the worst things a human can do, and I don’t care. I still want you, Joel. Maybe even more because of it. No one has ever loved me the way you do and that is the love I want and it terrifies me.”

A single tear falls down Joel’s right cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, but Joel grabs your hand on the way reflexively, so you help him wipe his own tears away.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I would move the Earth for you,” Joel whispers back.

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve always known. I–”

But he is kissing you again before you can say another word, like a man starved. You hold onto his cheeks, your fingers caressing his stubbly beard.

“ Joel,” you whine when you break for air.

“I wanted this so badly,” he says softly, grinning a lopsided grin. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“Me too,” you giggle.

You have to lean up a bit, but you press your forehead to his gently.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smirks. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, ya know that? You like

it when I go a little rough, honey?” he smirks down at you in satisfaction, reading your mind.

You have to stop yourself from getting lost in the warm pools of his brown eyes, your panties soaked.

He reaches an affectionate hand down to rub your side softly.

“This okay, babygirl?” he coos, massaging his hand down your torso.

“I’d let you do anything to me, don’t you know?” you snicker. “Pain or pleasure, it’s all the same to me. I like all of that. I just want you so bad.”

“Think a safe word is in order,” Joel grins, leaning down to kiss your neck. “How about ‘butterflies?’” you suggest.

“Sounds good to me, baby,” he grins, looking genuinely happy for the first time in hours.

He leans down and places a calloused hand around your throat, not squeezing (yet – you hope) and plants soft kisses and bites down your expanse of skin.

“All mine,” he mutters into your skin. “My beautiful babygirl.”

You feel his erection pressing against you through his black dress pants which makes you moan softly.

His hand trails over your crotch and he starts rubbing over the tight fabric of your red dress.

“That okay?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Want more, Daddy.”

Oh shit. You don’t mean to say it like that! You know it is about ten levels of fucked up to call Joel that, but how is it your fault that in every fantasy that’s how you think of him? You figure you’re probably past the point of weird and every other standard of decency, but you’re still afraid.

“Sorry…” you mumble. “I–”

“No, no, baby,” Joel says quickly. “It’s alright, you can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind, sweetheart.”

“You think it’s weird,” you mumble again, further stupid tears forming in your eyes.

He snickers.

“Baby, I think we’re beyond weird at this point. Let me show you how turned on it makes me.”

Joel takes your hand and places it on his crotch. He takes your left hand, the one with the scar and you cringe a little, but he is rock-hard.

That’s good because you’re positively drenched.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Daddy likes that more than you know, alright?”

You take your hand back, smiling, but you cover your scarred finger, shocked he will allow this fantasy for you.

“Whatcha hidin’ from me, baby?” he asks, noticing the positioning of your hands.

“I hate that scar on my finger. ‘S so ugly,” you admit.

Joel looks flabbergasted.

“That’s the last damn thing I think of when I look at you. Ugly? Who in the fuck told you that?”

“How it got there is ugly. It’s marred skin, looks gross,” you mumble.

Joel moves to take out his cock, and when you nod he unzips and unbuttons his dress pants, pulling out his length. You have fantasized about his cock for god knows how long so you are more than excited to see it. He reaches to place your left hand with the scarred fingers around the length of his dick, which is thick, but longer than you expected. The leaking head is almost purple and your mouth begins to water as you stroke him gently.

“It’s part of you,” Joel tells you, his eyes connecting with yours. “I love it. It shows you survived. Gonna jerk off to it, Daddy loves it so much. And when I’m done you’re gonna love it too. Swear I’ve got so many over the years I can barely even count ‘em. Even got a few on my middle finger. Maybe even one from a certain guitar pick you made me. Nothing like that could ever make me stop wanting you, ya know that, right?”

You smile and take your time stroking him, wanting to show him how much you love and care for him, scars and all.

He grunts softly, closing his eyes, but then shoos your hand away with a feverish kind of want.

“Yeah, touch yourself now, baby. Daddy wants to see how wet you are for him. With that scarred finger. C’mon, now. ‘S gonna make you feel so good.”

You do as you’re told and reach down underneath your dress and begin to touch yourself, especially with your middle finger. You stroke your clit and then your dripping wet slit. You moan softly as Joel’s eyes rake over you, taking in every sigh and groan you emit. The butterflies are forming something big inside you, which presses against the inside of your tummy and ribcage.

“Daddy,” you whine.

“Enough, little one,” Joel whispers.

He takes out your hand and begins to suck the slick off of each of your fingers, groaning deeply, making intense eye contact the whole time.

“Fuck, angel,” he moans, having a tough time keeping himself together, you can tell. “Taste and smell better than like how I pictured. Like you were fuckin’ made for me, I swear.”

He reaches a hand of his own down to stroke himself and his moans become more desperate. Finally, he sucks on your middle finger covered in your slick and groans so deeply you feel like you might cum untouched. He stares into your eyes.

“ Mine, ” he growls possessively. “Oh, shit! Gonna–”

Then he takes your left hand and leads it to meet his throbbing cock. You stroke him, harder this time, fisting his thick length, moaning softly and that does it for him.

Joel cums all over your hand, oozing white globs of cum over your fingers, once, twice, three times.

“Fuuuuuck, babygirl,” he groans. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! Couldn’t help it. Yeah, suck it off, baby. That’s it,” he commands, and you do, licking up all of his cum, even the part that got on your middle finger.

When Joel comes down he still looks half-crazed with desire.

“Sorry about the, uh, early release. It’s been a while since anyone touched me,” he babbles in embarrassment, his cheeks flushed pink. “But I don’t wanna hear shit about your gorgeous hands ever again, you hear me, babygirl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nod, snickering.

He looks like that one word has set his entire universe back in order again. You honestly don’t care at how fast Joel came. You love how much it shows he wants you. And his heady taste is making you weak. You could taste him for days and days and never get tired, you’re sure.

“Can still get you off though, don’t worry. Shoulda let you cum first, but I couldn’t help it with the things you do to me. Goddamn. Can Daddy eat your pussy, baby?”

You grin, but then your face falls.

“Didn’t shave,” you admit, feeling dirty.

Max hates your hair down there.

Joel looks at you in confusion.

He laughs, his face scrunching up.

“Oh, sweetheart. You think I care about that? Only little boys give a shit about things like that. Not men.”

You shiver.

“Really?”

“Of course I don’t care. Didn’t ya hear what I just said? C’mon now. You can lie down on the couch.”

You follow instructions, pulling your dress over your head to reveal white lace panties and no bra.

You move to take the panties off, but Joel stops you, staring at the lines and curves of your body.

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, taking you in.

You think you see his cock twitch ever so slightly. He palms his softening length instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he snarls, pushing you back on the sofa.

You happily fall backward.

He lies on top of you, his white button-down shirt pressing against your naked body tantalizingly.

He bites your lips roughly and you groan against him.

“Daddy’s mouth,” he commands against you.

“Yeah, duh, Daddy,” you snicker.

As if he even needs to say it!

He kisses down your neck expertly and you begin to shiver and whine, your pussy aching with need and neglect.

He stops at your breasts, sucking and biting each one.

“Daddy’s tits,” he declares, snaking a finger over the lace panties that protect your clit. “Of course,” you respond, moaning softly, grinding needily against him.

He continues lower, licking down your breasts and over your tummy which he plants with kisses that tickle and then one hard bite on your hip that leaves behind teeth marks.

“Daddy’s body,” he impresses upon you.

“Yes, Daddy. Only yours.”

“No more of that little shithead, Max,” he snarls, an inch above your clit.

“No more Max,” you repeat as he presses kisses down your pussy, still covered by soaked white lace panties.

“Only Daddy.”

“Only you.”

“Good girl,” he growls.

He finally removes your panties and begins to eat and suck your clit and pussy so hard and enthusiastically, swirling his tongue around your bundles of nerves that you grow exponentially closer by the second.

“Joel,” you whine. “Oh my God.”

It doesn’t take long. The second his calloused hand is pressing a finger and then two inside of you it’s over. You were so needy for him that you could have even cum from just his mouth alone, but his hands are what send you over the edge. And something different happens as orgasm crashes down upon you. The butterflies all join together and transform into something bigger and softer, caressing your insides, cooing. It feels like a breathing white dove is spreading its wings inside you, the tips of its feathers brushing against your rib cage. And you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Pleasure engulfs you in currents, facilitated by the gentle flapping from deep

inside your body.

“ Joel,” you moan. “Oh my God. Daddy, pleaseee–”

“Please what, baby? Make my princess cum again? I would eat that pretty little clit and

pussy every day for the rest of my life if I could, fuck. God, so perfect and you’re so fuckin’ tight. Look how fucking hard you make me, angel.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his half-hardening cock. Not going to lie, you are partially shocked at his recovery, but another part of you seems to know that if there was anyone in the universe that could do that to him it had to be you.

“Never got hard again from anyone I’ve ever fucked before…” he trails off dreamily like he can read your thoughts. “You’re so gorgeous, babygirl.”

“Not so bad yourself, handsome,” you tell him lazily, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth as you pull him closer to you.

The heat from his body keeps you so warm and tender and for a moment you lie on the couch, Joel’s still-clothed body pressed to yours.

“Can you fuck me, Joel?” you ask, squirming against him needily.

“You can’t say that shit to me, baby,” Joel groans, his cock getting harder. “Not quite ready yet.”

“Lemme help you out,” you offer, pouting.

You reach down and stroke his half-hard length and then bend over and press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock.

Joel swears, staring down at you with so much adoration it pours off his face. No man has ever looked at you like that before. You’re certain. Perhaps no man ever will again? Not like that.

“Shit, baby,” Joel babbles stupidly, his eyes threatening to swallow you up in that beautiful shade of umber. “Never gonna forget this moment,” he grunts as you begin to suck his cock properly, feeling it slowly get hard enough to throb between your lips with each thrust of your head and gluck of your throat.

You stare up at him, your eyes wide and wanting and Joel lets out a soft, vulnerable moan as you begin to really suck him and take him down the walls of your throat.

“ Unh , babygirl, fuck,” he whines and you have never quite heard Joel so desperate before. “Gotta pull out or I’m gonna cum. Holy fuck.”

It sounds just like it did the night you accidentally spied on him jerking off.

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh, Daddy?” you ask, releasing Joel from your mouth like he wanted, though his hips buck forward ever so slightly with desire, the tip of his cock just barely scraping against your mouth. He grunts.

“Maybe so,” he replies, looking a little guilty. “Don’t know how not to these days.”

“Heard you on the couch last night,” you whine yourself. “Had to touch myself ‘cuz of it, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Joel reaches out a hand to cup your crotch and rub against your slick pussy.

“That’s so fuckin’ naughty, baby,” he groans. “Look how wet that made you. All for me.��

You steal a glance at his cock and find that the tip is weeping too. And he is so fucking big compared to the size of your hand. Fuck!

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” you whisper.

“All about you, baby,” Joel nods in agreement, his hips twitching ever so slightly. “‘Bout touching you just like this.”

He slinks two big fingers inside you and you moan deliciously, the feathery wings of the newly-formed dove fluttering against your insides.

“Gotta stretch you a bit more,” he grunts into your throat, pushing in a third finger. “Daddy’s so big and you’re so tight, angel. Don’t wanna hurt ya. Not too bad at least. Not yet…That’s it, pretty girl, fuck,” he grins when you slide back on his thumb in pleasure which had traveled to the rim of your asshole “Good girl, so good for Daddy. So naughty too. Don’t think Daddy won’t punish you.”

“Want you to hurt me, Daddy,” you moan. “When you fuck me. Please fuck me hard. I want all of you – pain and pleasure. One hundred percent Joel. Joel, please, I need–”

And Joel does stop for a moment.

“Never hurt you in a way you didn’t beg for,” he tells you seriously. “You know that right, baby?”

You stop your rutting against him and look into his eyes.

“Are you kidding? You would protect me with your dying breath. I know that, Joel. Never been afraid of you since I’ve really known you. Not once. I mean: fuck; you gave up your whole life for me. To keep me safe, for fuckssake. In every word you say and don’t say to me I can feel how much you love me.”

“I do love you so much, babygirl,” he whispers, nuzzling your forehead. “If I had to, I’d do all of it all over again if it meant I’d get you. I’ve made mistakes, big ones, but protecting you, loving you was never one of them.”

Warm tears trail down your cheeks, but Joel licks and kisses them away.

“Wanna feel me inside you?” he asks. “Don’t wanna go too fast, but I need you, baby. Needed you for so long…Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for Daddy, huh? Gonna fit me just like a glove, I just know it — if you wanna…”

“Yes, please, fuck me, Daddy! Please, Joel Wanna feel you—ah!” you moan as Joel shoves his entire length into your pussy in one hard thrust eagerly. “Oh my God, please fuck me harder!” you moan, reeling from the deep blend of pain and pleasure of him sinking inside you, clenching down around the thickness of him. “Joel, please!”

He pauses, sweat glistening on his brow, sneering.

“You really want harder?”

You shiver. The way he says that makes your heart beat wildly in your ears.

“Because babygirl, I would treat you like porcelain if you want it so. I will never hurt you, my angel, my gift from god, my goddamn sweetest heart please know I will break my fucking hands before they would hurt you, before I would ever hurt you in a way that you didn’t want, no matter how much it hurt me. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Joel. But you want it too,” you smirk. “You aren’t innocent in this, are you?”

“Fuck, of course i’m not innocent. I want you, babygirl. In every way there is to want another. Want every inch of you, inside and out. Wanna mark you up so the world knows you’re mine, honey. Want everyone to smell me on you and know I marked you, moved in you, darlin’, please, see, I’m no fucking Hemingway, I didn’t go to college, I’m not like you with words, but I need you to understand that I mean this with my whole chest and heart. Really, I’m not a big talker, never was, babygirl, but I need you to understand I—”

“I do, you dumbass fucking fool!” you shout, giggling at his desperation. “I’d understand you even if you were speaking another language. You’ve made your intentions loud and clear. I don’t want a Hemingway, I want Joel Miller!”

You pull him in for a kiss and he thrusts in you again a second time and you end up moaning clumsily in his mouth, but you can feel him smiling , smiling like some dumb idiot against you and maybe you called him the correct insult because he is a dumbass fucking fool for you. And it turns out you must be one as well because you are smiling like an idiot for him too.

“ Joel,” you moan as he begins to move inside you, hitting deep places that Max or any of your previous exes never went. Pleasure is tracing itself along the line of your stomach. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” you babble and you’ve never meant that more than you do now.

You can feel Joel coming apart above you, plowing into you, sighing deeply. His grunts and moans and thrusts spur on the intense pleasure.

“More!” you moan. “Oh my god. Harder, please, I need–”

Joel plants rough bites on your neck and kisses too like he’s trying to consume every inch of you.

He places a large hand around your throat questioningly and you nod.

“Beg for it,” he commands in his deep, sexy voice — the voice that’s been in every wet dream you’ve ever had. You think you might just pass out from the sound alone.

“Choke me, Daddy,” you whine as pathetically as you possibly can, batting your eyes. “Oh, please, I could cum from just this, but I want more. More of you. All of you.”

“As you fuckin’ wish, baby,” he snickers in amusement. “Bet no little boy ever fucked you like this, huh?” he growls, continuing his rough pace, slamming against your walls, his eyes growing wild.

“They don’t compare to you, Joel. It’s always been you. In every orgasm. Fuck, never felt like this! Shit! Shit!”

Joel reaches out his large scarred hand and applies gentle delicious pressure to your throat. You know even something like this can be dangerous, but you crave that feral look of violence in his eyes and the power that comes with it. You want him to own you completely – every inch of you. You want him to mark you just like he said he wanted to because he is yours and you are his and has it ever really been any other way? You can’t remember properly from the pleasure rushing through you, the white dove inside you spreading and fluttering its wings, cooing softly. You think it’s only ever been what you feel now.

“Joel, Joel, fuck!” you scream, orgasm building in you.

“I know, babygirl. I know,” he coos himself into your mouth.

He pulls you closer, presses his nose to yours, his lips to yours, biting and kissing like a starving man possessed. He looks into your eyes and it’s there! That look of pure predator closing in on its prey, that look of ownership but also the most intense love you think you’ve ever witnessed. You would recognize that look anywhere. Your starved brain cries out for oxygen beneath his iron grip.

“Gonna cum again, angel,” Joel growls. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’re never gonna forget who you belong to. Whose pretty pussy this is.”

He is pounding so hard against your cervix and his dick is so big inside you and the pressure of his hand squeezing around you is so overwhelming and the scent of him could make you faint straight then and there, but you let go and feel yourself cumming in enormous waves as you squeeze down around Joel’s prick, the pleasure more intense than any single bodily experience you’ve had.

“ Daddy ,” you whine breathlessly, tears trickling out of your eyes. “Oh my god!”

“You’re mine, babygirl, always have been–FUCK!” he shouts into your throat, collapsing on top of you.

And then you feel him starting to empty himself inside you, painting your sensitive insides with trustful after trustful of hot cum. You’ve never felt so helplessly full and sticky in your life, the brilliant pleasure billowing through every inch of you. You want to feel like this every day, stuffed full of Joel’s cock, so close to him you can feel his heartbeat against yours, the one true place you belong.

“So beautiful, babygirl,” he whispers in an exhausted type of awe.

When your words come back you reply,

“Shut up, you’re the hot one,” through a snicker.

You look down at your body, covered in purple bite marks and bruises forming like galaxies across your body.

Joel snorts. Then he sits up on the couch and you lean your cheek against him. You lean up to kiss his cheek and he blushes ever so slightly.

“I said a lot of stuff, Y/N, but I want you to know that I meant all of it,”

“Yeah, you probably said more in the last hour than you’ve ever uttered in your entire life,” you tease, sitting up.

“I’m serious,” he snickers.

“I am and was too,” you nod. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me — that we did this. I know that our…origin story is weird and unconventional and some might argue straight up wrong, but I need you, Joel. I don’t care about that or think I could go back to pretending to be what we were.”

“You think I’d want you to act like that?” he asks incredulously. “You think I want this to just be a one-time thing?”

“Of course not,” you smirk. “But as close as we are I can’t actually read your mind. I mean…how are we going to be together realistically?”

“I’m not sure,” Joel admits, frowning a little. “For now it has to be a secret unless you want your mother or brother in jail for murdering me this time around. But someday, I dunno. It’s dumb…”

“What?”

“I just have these thoughts sometimes about you ‘n me. I…” Joel’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “Had a lot of time to think in prison, you know? And I’d Imagine us living on a ranch somewhere quiet out in the country with a flock of sheep. I could work at the tractor and auto-body repair shop that’d be out there, you know, in this dream of mine, and you could be a counselor at a local school if that’s what ya wanted. I don’t know, l know it sounds silly, but nobody would know or bother us there. But I want you to finish school and have the best life possible, babygirl. I’d wait a thousand years for you, but if you didn’t want me anymore the way we are now, I’d respect that. And if you’d allow it, I’d still be there for you just in a platonic sense — or just there for you however you want because I can’t imagine my life with you in it. I’d do whatever it takes, brokenhearted or not. I just can’t be separated from you like that again. A day longer in prison and I could’ve keeled over and died. And it’s crazy how much I mean that.”

“I don’t ever want to be separated from you again, Joel,” you agree. “I know the original plan was for you to find work and get an apartment of your own and I would love for that to still happen, but with you being intimate with me in every way – even if it has to be a secret. I don’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I need you in mine. I’ve never needed something more than I need that. Understand?”

Joel pulls you into a hug and leans his chin on the top of your head. He kisses it then your forehead. You lean up and plant a kiss on his throat and then his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t mean to get too ahead of ourselves now. We can take things a day at a time,” he mumbles into your skin.

You yawn contentedly, the tiredness clawing at your eyes, so unbelievably spent.

“I like hearing about your dreams and I’d go anywhere with you, Joel. But I am kinda dead from how good you just fucked me. Take me to bed?” You ask exhaustedly into his chest.

“Of course, babygirl,” he smirks down at you.

***

You don’t let go of Joel all night long, burrowed up against his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. And he doesn’t let go of you either. After the most intimate night of cuddles and snuggling you’ve ever experienced as well as the deepest and most restful sleep you’ve had in ages, you wake up to Joel gone from the bed. You frown, having wanted more than anything to wake up in his strong arms. Fear grips your insides as you wonder if he finally realized last night was a mistake and that you were never meant to be together in the first place (what you fear more than anything). A stupid vulnerable tear comes to your eye, but then you cock your head and hear music playing. Guitar music.

You think of your apartment as shitty, but truthfully you care deeply about your little private space and one of the things you do actually love the most about it is the tiny balcony that overlooks a measly courtyard and part of the city. That’s where you find Joel in the deck chair holding his guitar, strumming it lazily.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says, fingerpicking a melody that scratches at the back of your mind with familiarity.

“Morning, handsome,” you tell him softly, plopping your smaller hand down on his shoulder.

The city hasn’t woken up yet, the soft glow of morning shining beams of light onto you and Joel, filling you with warmth. You sit down in the deck chair next to him, bathing in the sunlight.

“Whatcha playing?” you ask curiously, crouching to sit up on your knees.

“You know the song ‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen?” Joel asks in that beautifully deep voice of his.

He isn’t even singing yet but you could listen to him forever.

“‘Course,” you nod. “It’s a classic. You used to play it for me once in a blue moon.”

“Know what the word ‘Hallelujah’ actually means?” he asks.

You think about it for a second.

“It’s about praising god and all that, right? Why d’you ask?”

He pauses, both his words and fingerpicking.

“Babygirl,” he begins and you can tell he’s about to say something serious. “You know I’m not too good with words, but I need you to know this: I’ve never had much to thank god for in my life, except for Sarah, you know? But then He took her away…”

You place your hand on Joel’s and he looks at you sadly, but appreciatively. He flips it over and holds it in his giant paw of his own marked-up hand.

“And I was so fucking angry. Nothing left in me. The only good part of me gone. I was a broken man. And I hated Him. But then He, despite the shit I’ve done…He gave me you . And I know our road hasn’t been easy or fair, and the pain you’ve felt and I have felt but…I guess what I’m trying to say is you are the reason I believe that any type of��goodness— of holiness— can exist in this universe. And I’m not a religious man, I don’t believe in most of that dogmatic type of shit, and I don’t think you do either, but I do think someone or something is up there and I wanna thank them for you. Does that make sense? Do you wanna hear what I mean? I just feel so damn grateful.”

A tear you hadn’t noticed was there rolls down your cheek.

“Of course it does and of course I do,” you tell him.

You think perhaps this is the closest thing he can do to bearing his soul to you.

And then he leans over and kisses the tear away and begins to fingerpick the familiar melody.

♪ “I heard there was a secret chord…”♫

You listen to his deep weathered voice as the sun grows higher in the morning sky, casting both light and shadow over Joel’s wrinkled, handsome face. The light trails over you too. You feel the dove inside you cooing contentedly, dusting its wings gently against the edges of your insides.

♪There's a blaze of light in every word / It doesn't matter which you heard / The holy or the broken Hallelujah…”♫

When he finishes he places his large, scarred, calloused hand in yours and you hold it between your own scarred fingers.

“Thank you, Joel,” you tell him, meaning every word. “I think there’s hope for us, you know? I don’t believe in hippie-dippie type stuff, but something in this universe did bring us together. And I’ll be forever grateful for that too, ya know?”

Joel squeezes your smaller hand, his big fingers engulfing yours as the dove coos louder inside you.

“Babygirl, you know that I ain’t a good man, or a rich and educated one like maybe you thought you’d end up with, but I am less of a broken one because of you and I’m never letting you go. If we’re together, I think we have a chance.”

A/n:PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING DID THE SMUT LIVE UP TO YOUR DREAMS????

PART 1

PART 3 (coming soon)

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

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lemony-snickers · 1 year

Text

i am sorry but tummy touches are an underrated form of intimacy. like, even just the barest brush of fingertips beneath the hem of a shirt, you know? it's such a vulnerable part of the body - so many delicate organs, no bones to protect them. a part so many are self-conscious of. and whether made of firm muscle or soft tissue, it is delicate. easy to destroy.

and i imagine a shinobi is even more hyper aware of this. imagine kakashi gently redirecting your hands the first time you try to slip yours beneath his shirt as you cuddle on the couch early in your relationship. he's reading, probably, while you half-doze on top of him, listening to the reassuring rhythm of his steady heart against your ear, the gentle movement of his chest as it expands and then contracts, lulling you like the ocean tide.

you barely recognize the change in the tempo of his heartbeat, the way it skips and races a second before resettling. he threads his fingers with yours as he pulls your hand away, so you hardly notice what's happened, especially half-asleep.

but then it happens again. and again. and eventually when you walk up behind him in the kitchen and try to sneak your hands beneath his shirt as he washes your dinner dishes, you can't keep your curiosity at bay any longer and you ask, "is there a reason you don't want me to touch you there?"

and kakashi doesn't really know how to answer, exactly. technically, there's no reason for you not to. honestly, he doesn't even know why it makes him feel so squiggly inside. uncomfortable.

vulnerable.

so he just answers, "no," with a little bit more of a question mark than he meant to tack on the end and you stare at him a little, pondering the best way to proceed.

you decide on boldly, and step close, maintaining slightly too intense eye contact as you roughly shove your hand beneath his uniform shirt...

only to be met by chainmail, which snags against one of your fingers until you pull back with a slight yelp.

kakashi pales, eyes wide as he steps forward to cradle your hand. "sorry, shit, sorry, i forgot."

you frown, maybe pout a little. "you forgot you were wearing battle armor in the kitchen?" you ask, only half-skeptical. kakashi is a strange man, one with many habits ingrained from his time as the copy ninja of konoha. you don't pretend to understand all the things he does - hiding weapons scrolls in your couch cushions, keeping a spare pair of sandals on the window sill in his bedroom, always sitting with his back to the wall and never the window - but you don't question them. you know it's just part of who he is.

still. the chainmail is a little unexpected.

"isn't it heavy?"

kakashi has many laughs, and you've been lucky enough to hear almost all of them, now. this time, he offers that soft huff that puffs his mask out a little in front of his mouth. "old habits never die, it seems."

you chuckle, leaning up to kiss his cloth-covered cheek. "next time i try to be assertive, i'll be sure to ask if you've changed out of it first."

"probably a good idea."

kakashi wraps your finger in the bathroom, "just a precaution," he says when you protest. you let him even though you know it isn't necessary because you understand it's important to him to take care of you.

you thank him with another kiss, this time without his mask in the way, before he heads home.

the next time the two of you snuggle on the couch together, you don't try to reach beneath his shirt. as much as you want to - as much as you crave knowing what his body feels like beneath the thick, reinforced fabric of his uniform, you satisfy yourself with running your fingers over his clothed chest, tracing concentric circles while you daydream and kakashi reads.

the snap of his book closing draws your attention and you twist yourself to look at him. "are you hungr--"

you never finish your sentence because, faster than you can ask the question, kakashi has grabbed your hand and guided it beneath the hem of his shirt with swift purpose.

he isn't wearing chainmail this time, and all your palm is met with is warm, soft skin, broken in place by what you assume are scars you haven't yet seen. you flex your fingers, drag your fingertips over his abdomen until he shivers.

"ticklish, huh?" you tease, "good to know."

kakashi only hums.

you can feel his own fingers dancing across your hip, sliding from your upper thigh to your ribs and back again like he's trying to decide what to do.

you gasp very gently when his hand slips beneath, goosebumps springing to life across your skin in the wake of his calloused touch. you sigh, nuzzle your face into his chest as you both relax into the embrace - so similar to your usual cuddling position, and yet suddenly more intimate.

a step forward, something which often comes so painfully slow in your relationship with the stoic and reserved kakashi hatake.

you listen closely to his heart this time, relishing the way it sometimes speeds when you let your hand drift higher, toward his clavicle - or lower, toward his waistband - knowing your own heart hammers just the same as kakashi's hand dances over your belly, grazes your hip bone; your nerves all alight, blood racing.

you're ready for more, and hopefully he will be soon, too. for now, though, you're content to map with your fingers all the scars you plan to lavish wish kisses when the time comes.

#kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #gn!reader #kakashi headcanons #kakashi imagines #lemony scribbles #this is a queued post

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cuubism · 11 months

Text

literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren’t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

#if i don't post this attempt at 'just smut' now i'll end up crawling into a hole and eating the crumpled paper of it instead #just doing smut outside of a plot is like so hard mad respect to the people who write smut oneshots damn #dreamling #nsft #dream of the endless #hob gadling #ye olde prince/knight dynamic #my writing #this fic is actually absurd i'm sorry. but if at least one (1) person thinks this is hot i'll consider it a success. it only takes 1 #im cringe but im free

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mayakern · 1 year

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as a long time fan of supergiant games and as someone who was obsessed with greek mythology as a child, i am EXTREMELY pumped about hades II. but also very curious about the new main character’s design. i feel like sgg (really, jen zee specifically) usually does a really good job of telegraphing their designs so that if you know the most basic things about a god, you can recognize them on site based on their design.

from the shape language to the posing to specific visual elements, they make sure that even at a quick glance the characters are not only distinct from one another, but have enough references to their domain and mythology that they are very recognizable.

i think demeter is one of my favorite indicators of this and one of my favorite hades designs over all. she’s not interpreted in the way a classic demeter is, and that’s part of what’s perfect. she’s been built at with little hints and references in other characters’ dialogue that paint her as critical, overbearing and not exactly trustworthy. and when you see her you’re like, “what, this is the goddess of the harvest?” with the absence of persephone and her casting the earth into famine, it makes sense that she doesn’t look bountiful, that her cornucopia (still the classic visual reference to demeter) is empty, her wheat frozen.

but melinoë is different. melinoë is a bringer of nightmares, a goddess of ghosts. her mingled heavenly and infernal heritage manifests in her primary physical trait: a body that is split down the middle, half white and half black. this is basically her most defining physical characteristic (the other being that she wears saffron, which is bougie as hell but not the point), but here is her design from the hades II trailer:

i see the saffron, see reference to her ghostly/undead connections, and there is an element of her half-and-half complexion with those black moon armor (maybe?) coverings on her right arm and leg. but when i first saw this design i thought she was an original creation (like zagreus*), not an existing god. i’m interested to see if this means they’ll be changing core parts of her mythology (and to see if that’s reflected in her design) and to see what direction she’s headed in but really this whole long post has just been building up to me saying

WHY DIDN’T THEY GIVE HER SPLIT DYE HAIR

PLEASE IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO PERFECT

almost every visual interpretation of melinoë, even if they don’t split her body into white and black halves like a white and black cookie, gives her a split dye. and maybe they wanted to avoid what everyone else was doing, but i feel like melinoë is unknown enough that that isn’t really a big deal. idk. i just think it would be neat. that’s all.

(*yes i know there is a zagreus in greek canon that is the first iteration of dionysus and is the son of persephone and zeus but i feel like game zagreus resembles his mythological counterpart so little that he’s basically an original creation, and maybe they’re doing the same with melinoe! since she is also technically the child of zeus and persephone**)

(**depending on the canon it’s either zeus disguised as hades or zeus and hades are two aspects of the same being)

#hades #hades ii #melinoe #maya rambles

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hoshifighting · 6 months

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Code of temptation

Synopsis: When a series of cyber threats puts national security at risk, Y/N is assigned to lead the investigation. Her team is complemented by Vernon, a computer genius known for his dexterity in deciphering the most complex codes.

Words: +1k

Reader! SecretAgent x Vernon! Hacker

Warnings: Smut, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (wrap it up), dry humping, fingering, hair pulling, chocking, dirty talk and etc.

Your tight TechWear is starting to get uncomfortable, your fingers attached to the trigger, and your arms are already weak from holding the heavy gun, one wrong movement, everything is done. You wait for the sign from Mingyu, who is already in position to catch the target “1, 2, 3… Now!” he says in the little point of sound in your ear, and you do your shot.

The bullet hits the target directly in the head, and Mingyu runs in the middle of the basement to steal the small device that is the pivot of the mission you have been working on for the last few weeks. The both of you run to the back door, you enter the armored car that awaits you.

“Objective accomplished successfully, mission completed with distinction and mastery.” Your chief says on the other line. Body finally relaxing on the car seat, while you do a little weak punch on Mingyu’s hand.

[…]

“We did a great Job Mr. Lee, we trained for this, but it’s difficult ultimately, they are more attached to the systems day by day, so we need to take action, and ask for the Department Head to recruit a Technical Expert, so we can obtain coordinates during missions” you point your pencil on the map in front of you “Promise me that by the end of the month, we will have some ‘technology guru’ to help us, and I promise to complete another mission as always.” that said, you leave the meeting room slamming the door loudly.

[…]

You hold a cup of coffee while you try to decipher the nominal codes on the computer screen, you snort and immediately give up on understanding the logic of the system in front of you. The computer room doorbell rings, and you can see a young man with brown hair waiting for the door to be opened, showing his FBI badge. You put your fingerprint into the system, and the door is slowly opened, revealing the boy, holding the shoulder strap from his backpack, wearing a black uniform, just like yours.

“First off all, I am almost freaking the fuck out seeing all these algorithms with letters on the same screen” you point to the computer with raised eyebrows, and he closes the door behind him “and we should have met before the mission started, but since you're here now, we need to track them down as quickly as possible.” He agrees and sit on the chair in front of the desk.

“My name is Vernon by the way” the sarcasm is proliferated from his lips, while he maintains an extremely unbothered expression.

You snort incredulous at his audacity - even though the ironic tone in his voice may not have been intentional - you stop to look at him from top to bottom, analyzing his mannerisms until he actually starts doing something on the electronic device that hovers in front of him “very funny of you, but I would like more respect since I am leading this mission, and the hierarchy is very-“

“Oh come on don’t play like you’re 10 years older than me!” He says with the face still buried on the screen “and since you are leading the mission amidst so much cyber invasion, you should at least know how to clear your history, if I were your enemy, and found out that you listen to the same Backstreet Boys song for 9 hours straight, you would definitely no longer be my target, freaky ass girl”

The heels on your feet touches the cold ground towards him “This is an invasion of privacy!” You turn the chair, so now you make eye contact with him, pressing his shoulders on the chair.

“This is being on the verge of madness!” You let him go, sitting on the couch on the other corner of the room, drinking your coffee ashamed.

The clicks on the mouse and the sound of the keys were driving you crazy, until he lifted his back from the chair and widened his eyes towards the computer, you run to see the screen popping a map with a lot of red ropes interlinked “Fuck! they’re on the building!” You recognize the structure of the department you are hiding in, running to get your guns attached to your waist, while Vernon turns off the trackers “We need to run away right now, we don’t have time!” You hold his arm, and you run through the company halls, until you leave the building, running down the opposite street. You led the way, while Vernon, the shy hacker, tripped over his own legs. The sound of sirens echoed through the streets, mixing with the frenetic rhythm of your footsteps. The cobblestone streets made escape even more challenging.

"Y/N, I think they saw us!", Vernon exclaimed, breathing hard.

You threw a quick glance behind you, displaying a confident grin. "Don't worry, Vernon, I have a foolproof plan." you say with pure sarcasm, and with a quick gesture, you grabbed Vernon's hand and led you into a narrow alley. The space between the two of you is tiny, you can clearly feel Vernon's minty breath hitting your face, the space doesn't help either, as your breasts are pressed against Vernon's chest - he'd be lying if he said he wasn't starting to like it.

The tension in the air was palpable as your eyes met, breathing heavily, you shared a moment of complicity that transcended the imminent danger. You instinctively grabbed Vernon's forearm, running your fingers over the skin still warm from running his eyes revealed a mixture of surprise and expectation, an electrically charged silence filled the narrow alley as your proximity grew. You, who are normally focused and fearless, felt a unique vulnerability at that moment. Then, without words, but with a shared intensity, you leaned slightly towards Vernon. The world around him disappeared when his lips finally touched, an instant of defiant lust in the midst of chaos. The narrow alley became a stage for the beginning of an immense desire between the two of you.

His right hand goes to your neck, pulling your hair, and the other, grab the meat of your ass, you moan in his mouth - you had even forgotten that you had a small beef with him earlier -, your hand goes down until you can fill your hand with his hardened cock, making him stop the kiss to bite his lip “Turn around” he orders. You hardly turn because of the compact space, and now your ass was pressed against his dick, as he pulls your skirt up, massaging your clit over the thin fabric of your panties “More, we don’t have time!” You whisper, and he slaps your cunt “Stop being hasty! Where's your 'foolproof' plan uh?” a high pitched moan leave your mouth, your hands holding on the little bricks of the wall so your face doesn't lie on them.

Vernon pulls your panties to the side, entering his fingers in your cunt, you hump your ass against him, feeling he hiss in your ear, the wet noises from your pussy and the sound of your panting breaths fills the alley, you moan feeling him going faster with his fingers. He suddenly stops the movement, opening his jeans, so he can slide his cock through your folds. “You are so hot, but fuck, you are so annoying!” he pulls your hair, slowly moving his hips finally diving into your heat, your eyes roll at the back of your head, his mouth kissing your neck.

The space was small, but he was doing wonder with his hips, circling his hips so his tip brushes against your g spot, making your legs go numb, you're lucky that he held you tight with an arm around your hip “Such a whore… Tsk”

You can hear footsteps approaching you, while a light from a flashlight approaches, Vernon pulls you to hide deeper in the alley.

“I think I heard something coming from here!"

He covers your mouth with one hand as he bites your shoulder, furrowing his eyebrows, still pounding deep inside of you, feeling your juices run down your thighs.

“It must be all in your head, come on, they must have gone that way!”

Vernon pulls you to rest your back against his chest, chocking you, while his hips are working faster “Afraid of being caught hm? So nervous that got you clenching so hard around my cock.” Your mouth opens, as you feel your orgasm approaching, his dirty talk between his moans was driving you crazy, squeezing him, while he throw his head back. “Fuck, I’m cumming” his cock twitches inside of your pussy, shooting ropes of cum inside of you, moaning low in your ear.

You can feel his cum running down your legs, he starts to rub your clit again, so slow it almost burns, his scent invading your nostrils, making your mind go blank, your body begins to tense, and an intense climax makes your legs shake, as he laughs proudly in your ear “Hmm… Thats it! Good girl..” He turns you around, so now you're face to face with him again, his kisses going down your jaw, as he fix your skirt.

“The night isn't over yet, we still have targets to catch” he gets dressed again “but first, let me clean you up” he bends down, licking your thighs, until he reaches your pussy, holding your leg up on his shoulder, while you tremble sensitive. He stands up, wiping his mouth with his thumb. Vernon steals a kiss from you, before pulling you to run through the streets once again.

#seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #vernon smut #seventeen imagines #svt smut #hansol vernon chwe #chwe vernon #chwe hansol x reader #seventeen reactions #seventeen headcanons #vernon x reader #vernon #vernon angst #hoshifighting writes

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caroldantops · 7 months

Text

indentation in the shape of you || valcarol

ship: valkyrie x carol danvers

summary/request: carol shows valkyrie her new suit. valkyrie doesn't like it.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smut (18+ only), kinda pwp, the marvels spoilers, strap on use, jealous sex, daddy valkyrie, dom!val, sub!carol

a/n: if you're seeing this coming from a ship tag hello! i usually write reader insert so if you go to my blog looking for more of this ummm. sorry.

masterlist | ao3 link

“I’m glad that they seem to be adjusting well. Fury tells me that they’re working on restoring Tarnax’s atmosphere, so hopefully they won’t have to stay in New Asgard for too much longer,” Carol tightens her fists at her side, tension in her body clear as she stands in front of Valkyrie’s desk.

“Oh, no worries. Having them is no bother at all. Though I’m sure they’re eager to get off Earth,” Valkyrie hums as she swirls her dagger.

Carol insisted on coming down after fixing Hala’s sun to check on things, something that didn’t surprise Valkyrie in the slightest. What did surprise her was her sudden costume change. Her suit was different. Less saturated, emblem bigger on her chest. Valkyrie didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like the Captain Marvel image that she’d grown used to.

Plus, this one’s torn in places. Cheaply made. Not fitting for a hero who flies into suns.

Carol is rambling on about something to do with one of the Skrull families as Valkyrie analyzes this new suit. It does hug her hips nicely. Form fitting around the waist that she’s grabbed and pulled against her many times before.

“What’s with the new get-up?”

“What?” Carol’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

“This,” Valkyrie points her dagger at Carol. “Different suit.”

Carol looks down at her suit. Valkyrie holds back a chuckle at how she almost looks surprised by what she’s wearing. “Oh! I got a new one.”

“Clearly,” Valkyrie laughs. “Come closer, I wanna see it.”

Carol scrunches up her brows in confusion at Valkyrie’s sudden interest, but chalks it up to that warrior mentality. That woman loves some good battle armor. She walks around the desk to stand in front of Valkyrie, awkwardly holding still as she inspects the suit, running her hands over the material and poking a finger through one of the tears that ripped during the fight with Dar-Benn.

“Seems cheap, doesn’t it?” Valkyrie sneers. “My armory could make you something ten times as sturdy. Where’d you get this shit suit from?”

“It’s not shit,” Carol huffs. Valkyrie raises an eyebrow at her and pulls her finger down, making the rip bigger. “Hey!”

“Why aren’t you answering me, hm?” Valkyrie knows damn well where this suit came from, she could tell from the moment she touched it. She just wants Carol to say it.

“Aladna. Prince Yan--”

“Oh, a gift from your husband.”

Before Carol knows it, she’s being tugged flush against Valkyrie. From her standing position, she towers over her even more than she usually does, but she gulps because she knows who’s in control here.

Valkyrie knows that Prince Yan is no more than a friend to Carol, but both of them know just how much the idea of Carol being technically married makes Valkyrie’s jealousy blaze.

Especially when she comes around with the gifts he’s given her.

“Val--”

“You know, I’m surprised it looks so dull, given that Aladna’s traditional clothing has more colors than a pride parade.” Valkyrie grips Carol’s waist, fingers digging into her sides. It would hurt if Carol didn’t have super endurance. But it’s enough to make the message clear.

“It’s fine, I’ll probably go back to my old one anyway.” Carol refuses to make eye contact with her. She can’t let her know how much this is affecting her right now.

But gods.

It took Carol a long time to find someone who could make her feel this way. Someone who could make her feel safe rather than terrified of giving in to their control, their dominance.

It just came so naturally to Valkyrie. Carol supposes that’s why she can’t stay away, comes running back when her thoughts get too much for her to bear and she just needs them shut off.

Like now.

“Don’t look away from me,” Valkyrie says firmly. Carol bites her lip and meets her gaze again. “Good girl. Bend over the desk.”

Carol briefly considers asking why, but at the moment she can’t bring herself to fight Valkyrie’s little game. She moves some stuff out of the way and bends over the desk. She does her best to steady her breathing as she feels Valkyrie’s hands run up the back of her thighs.

“You’d think that Prince Yan would give his princess a sturdier suit. You know, I bet I could just…”

Riiiiiiiip.

“Valkyrie!”

Valkyrie laughs, giving Carol’s ass a slap as she admires what she’s done. Just as Valkyrie suspected, she was able to poke into one of the tears and fully rip a hole right through the crotch of Carol’s suit. Her cunt is exposed, the pale skin of her ass peeking through the top of the tears as well. Valkyrie steps forward, hips flush against Carol’s ass.

“Feel that, princess?” Carol groans. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.” Carol gasps as Valkyrie grinds the bulge of her strap into her exposed ass. She tries hiding her face to conceal how flustered she is, but Valkyrie won’t tolerate that. She’s tugged up by her hair, Valkyrie’s lips brushing against her cheek as she speaks lowly to her.

“Does your husband ever do this for you?” Valkyrie doesn’t expect a response, just chuckling at Carol’s whines. “Does he know what a needy girl you are?”

“No, sir.” Valkyrie unbuckles her belt, pulling out her strap and nudging the tip between Carol’s already damp folds. Carol shudders, pushing her hips back against the sensation.

“Greedy, greedy thing. Already trying to fuck yourself on my cock.” Valkyrie stands up straighter, but doesn’t release her grip on Carol’s hair, knowing the stinging in her scalp makes Carol as compliant as can be. “You’re getting spoiled, princess. Gonna have to ask nicely for what you want.”

“Please,” Carol asks softly, voice pitched high as Valkyrie rubs her clit with her strap. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

“Hmm,” Valkyrie releases Carol’s hair and runs her hand down her back, feeling the strong muscles of her back quiver under her touch. “Dunno, that’s not very convincing if you ask me.”

“Please, daddy, I need you to fuck me!”

Valkyrie laughs and sinks her cock into Carol’s weeping pussy. Carol lets out a guttural moan, only overshadowed by the wet noises her cunt makes as Valkyrie pounds deep into her. She grips Carol’s hips, pulling her back against her to meet her rough thrusts.

She loves having Carol like this. The all-powerful Captain Marvel, destroyer of armies and savior of the universe begging for her tight pussy to be ruined by her, shivering under her praise and degradation, weeping in her arms after she’s been thoroughly fucked.

Carol must have been particularly pent up today, because it doesn’t take much longer for her to be on the edge, a few strokes of Valkyrie’s fingers over her clit and some whispered praises of “Good princess, let go for me. I’ve got you” send her into a shaking mess as she comes.

She mumbles something incoherent as Valkyrie flips her over, pulling her up to curl against her chest. “What was that, baby? Can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.”

“Thank you,” Carol sighs.

Valkyrie smiles softly, kissing Carol on the tip of her nose and rubbing her back. “You that tired after one round?”

“Not tired, just…tired.”

“Ah, yeah. That really cleared things up.”

“Shut up.”

#valcarol #valkyrie x carol danvers #s: valcarol #fic #silver writes #i wrote this mainly just to get it out of me idk its been so long since ive written not reader insert #so i am a bit rusty #the marvels spoilers #IM SO SORRY I KEEP FORGETTING TO TAG

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emo-ratbastard · 11 days

Text

I'm thinking about mcd characters losing what gives them purpose;

As Aphmau becomes a better known Lord, she mediates and makes alliances with villages not only across Ru'aun but other regions as well. She just doesn't have time anymore to do anything but paperwork and peace treaties so she can't spend time with her kids and friends anymore. She is lonely.

Garroth gets badly injured, maybe he was hit in a sensitive pressure point in his arm and is now partially paralyzed. He can't pick up a sword anymore let alone defend his Lord and village. His armor is too heavy on his joints and muscles so he's stuck in regular, flimsy clothing. He's also not technically a guard anymore but everyone has silently taken pity on him by letting him continue to live with the other guards but it really just makes him feel even more pathetic and useless.

Laurance becomes completely consumed by the calling and the shadow lord. He no longer feels like himself, merely a shell. He is numb, watching the world fly by like a never ending bad movie. He knows what he's doing, who he's hurting but physically cannot stop himself. He terrorizes and plunders towns and villages with no remorse. He just misses his sister.

Dante becomes so engrossed in his duties that it drives a rift between him and KC. She kicks him out and limits his time with Nekoette. Nicole and him have become civil for the sake of Dimitri but they are nowhere near friends. Dante is lonely, he can't care for either of his kids and is constantly reminded of his failed relationships so he increases his shifts and spends all his time on patrols. He can't talk to Aphmau about his issues because she's also busy, causing him to recluse further and further. His reflection is looking more and more like Gene by the day.

Cadenza is also occupied with Lord duties. She doesn't have time to design or make clothes anymore. She prided herself in her creativity and finding fashionable loopholes with her own armor but after a too close for comfort assassination attempt, she is forced to wear traditional, clunky armor.

KC who is now a fulltime mother with Nekoette getting older is unable to bake in large quantities like she used to. She cooks, cleans, and takes care of her daughter and that is how she spends her days. KC was upset to have to kick Dante out but couldn't deal with the absence. She regrets keeping boundaries between him and Nekoette but believes it's best for their daughter to not rely on an absent father. With the lack of her baking, her magicks are stunted leaving her with a constant lethargic feeling as the power drains from her body.

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comicaurora · 9 months

Note

Also in light of the yu-gi-oh! Rewatch, do you have any opinions on the changes to Joey's character and arc(s) in the anime compared to the manga? It always felt like the anime REALLY wants to make him into the class clown and in the process missed/ downgraded some of his stronger moments for me, but I also read the manga first and am probably biased.

I think the one Joey change I disagree with is downgrading how much of an ass-kicker he is in the manga, but I think that was part of the general suite of adjustments they made to center the anime 100% on Duel Monsters, where that was a much more gradual thing in the manga. Several other games and non-game threats took center stage early on, and alongside that, Jounochi's origins as a badass delinquent punk were a lot more centralized in the early chapters. It didn't come up much as the comic went on and got more millennium-item-based, but on the rare occasion that anyone still tried to solve their problems with violence instead of card games, Manga Jounochi just. absolutely spanked them. It was a nice way to reinforce that card games and shadow games were ONE way for the heroes to solve problems, but they weren't the ONLY way - and it also kind of highlighted that everyone the gang was dealing with, no matter how much of a tough-guy gimmick they had, was still - you know - a card game nerd. Manga Bandit Keith got absolutely stomped when he tried to throw hands and it was hilarious. It also helped make Joey's Dark And Brooding Past a little more tangible - like, oh yeah, pre-Yugi-friendship this guy was regularly winning fights with entire gangs singlehandedly, if this were a problem that could be solved with punching he would have already solved it with punching.

It also helped make Yugi and Jou's relationship more of a foil situation in the early manga, a classic Big Guy Smart Guy duo. Jou regularly bailed out Yugi from bullies and bad situations by virtue of being the scariest motherfucker on the block, and in turn Yugi/Yami would only take over and help out when a situation was contrived to be so horribly unfair that Jou couldn't get himself out of it, at which point Yami would resolve it with a combination of smarts and dark magic. This dynamic slapped, but it was mostly relegated to the Season Zero chapters that didn't make it to the anime, so I can see why it got a little lost.

I also think part of why the anime dialed back Joey's ass-kicking is because they wanted to make Kaiba cooler and more consistent character-wise, which was a big struggle with the early manga, and that meant making him a little more of an action star - frequently at Joey's expense.

That said, I don't think the anime does Joey dirty when it comes to what really matters (card games) because they use the medium of card games to highlight Joey's most consistent character trait across both mediums: absolutely refusing to give up on a fight until his body literally gives out. If I had a nickle for every time Joey lost a duel on a technicality by falling into a coma on his last turn, I'd have two nickles.

This is also why I think the non-manga filler seasons and spinoffs are some of the most fun adventures in the show. Not only do they have actual non-card-game stakes, but they let Joey do fun things like wear power armor shaped like his favorite dragon and punch people with it. I'll take the loss of Manga Jounochi if it lets me keep Joey Vs The Evil Bikers From Atlantis.

#asks #not aurora

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genshinluvr · 1 year

Text

Beyond the Stars

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader x Various HSR Men [a Genshin Impact x Honkai Star Rail crossover]

Summary: You were having a relaxing day at Yaoguang Shoal all alone, decompressing from the grueling week that is finals week at the Akademiya. Just when you thought you'll be able to relax and unwind, eight outlanders decided to ruin that all because they were searching for you.

Note: No tags for the Honkai Star Rail men since I don't have any space to put the tags anyway 🥲 To be really honest, I didn't think I would make a crossover between Genshin and HSR, but here I am! I know the HSR men are a tad bit out of character, but it's mainly because I'm not as familiar with them as I am with the Genshin men. So, hopefully, the more I play HSR, the more I'll get a perfect grasp of their personalities. Of course, not all of the HSR male characters are in it; only about eight of them are in this crossover fic. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Bad portrayal of HSR men's personalities because I am not as familiar with the characters as I am with the Genshin men [hopefully it'll improve in the future]

Word Count: 8.5k

You’re sitting on a beach chair off the coast of Yaoguang Shoal, sitting under the shade while reading a book Al Haitham let you borrow. This is the first time you’re in Teyvat alone without your boyfriends accompanying you. You made sure to stay at least five feet from the Serenitea Pot in case anything happened. While reading the book Al Haitham has lent you, you hear someone approaching where you’re sitting.

“Gumdrops? Is that you?” An unfamiliar voice breaks the silence.

You look up from your book and at the small group of unfamiliar men approaching you. They all wear clothes and armor you have never seen before. You have explored many regions in Teyvat with your boyfriends. Yet, you never come across anyone wearing something like that. You blink and look around, searching to see if this strange man is talking to someone else. But alas, it’s just you and those men on the beach of Yaoguang Shoal. You close your book (technically, the book belongs to Al Haitham) and place it in front of you on the beach chair.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” you say, adjusting your sun hat and pushing your sunglasses up on the bridge of your nose.

The black-haired man looks at you with shock. “Do you not remember us?” He whispers.

You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head. “I’ve never met any of you before. How could I remember someone I never met?” You ask, taking your sunglasses and sun hat off.

The silver-haired man runs his hands through his hair and lets out a sharp breath. “Yeah, it seems like they don’t remember us at all. This is a problem,” he mutters, propping his hands on his hips.

The temperature suddenly drops, making you shiver. The blond man in armor looks away and sighs, shaking his head while chewing on the inside of his cheek. You have never seen these men before, and quite frankly, they look like outlanders themselves. Handsome outlanders, but that doesn’t matter right now! What matters is they, supposedly, know who you are, and yet you have no recollection of who these men are.

The man with glasses exhales sharply through his nostrils, pushing his glasses up. “This is worse than we thought. We traveled through many universes to search for them, only to find them, and they have no recollection of who we are.”

Huh. So you’re correct. They’re not from Teyvat. They’re outlanders like Lumine, Aether, and yourself.

The blond man walks toward you, stopping in front of your beach bench. He stares at you with his icy-blue eyes. Even though it’s nice and warm at Yaoguang Shoal, the look he’s giving you sends chills down your spine, making goosebumps appear on your body and the hairs on your arm stand up.

“Are you messing with us? You’re joking, right?” The armored blond man demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dear Archons, this man looks like he’s getting ready to go into battle. He’s wearing an armored suit. It makes him almost as intimidating as the man with long dark hair and red eyes. With the way he’s looking at you, you’re surprised you’re still alive. If looks can kill…. The man with long blond hair looks at the man with red eyes and nudges him.

“You’re going to scare them off if you continue to look at them like that,” he whispers.

The man with long, dark hair and red eyes huffs and looks away. You look at the armored blond man before you and give him a wary smile while he continues to stare you down, waiting for you to reply to his question.

You clear your throat and scratch the back of your neck. “I’m not joking. If I knew who all of you were, I wouldn’t be acting like how I am right now, would I?”

“They have a point.” The man with long silver hair says, brushing his fringe away from his eyes.

The man with long, dark hair lets out another huff of breath like a petulant child. You tilt your head to the side and give the other men a questioning look. They all shrug their shoulders in response while the man continues not to make eye contact with you. Which, you’re kind of glad because the way he was looking at you was giving you the heebie-jeebies.

“Do you have something to say, sir?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at the moody dark-haired man.

His red eyes land on you, making you visibly flinch when the two of you make eye contact. He narrows his eyes at you and slowly makes his way in your direction. The way he is walking to you reminds you of a predator stalking toward its prey, ready to strike at any moment. You would run, but judging by his and the other’s appearance, they’re most likely faster than you are. You can’t outrun them even if the Serenitea pot is close by.

“You running away is the most careless thing you could do, [Y/N]. We finally found you after searching for you, and here you are, relaxing on the beach in another universe, pretending you don’t know us?!” The long dark-haired man demands.

You do a double take and look at him with wide eyes, dumbstruck. “How do you know my name when I don’t know any of you!?” You demand, getting up from the bench and backing away from them.

The brown-haired man sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great, you scared them, Blade.”

The man with short silver hair puts his hands in front of him as if he’s trying to console you. “Please don’t freak out! We’re not here to hurt you. We promise! We’ve been searching for you for so long, ever since you fled the Astral Express after your argument with Blade,” said the silver-haired man.

You shake your head, taking another step back. “I don’t know who you people are, nor do I know what the Astral Express is. Please, leave me alone,” you plead.

Before any man could say anything, an arrow flew past the armored blond man’s head. Everyone looks in the direction where the arrow had come from, only to see twenty-five men approaching where you’re standing. A massive wave of relief washes over you. Childe glares at the eight men before you, drawing another arrow.

“I would back away if I were you. Unless you want to be a target practice of mine,” Childe says nonchalantly.

Zhongli runs over to where you stand and wraps his arms around you, standing between you and the strange men. “Are you alright, dearest? You’re not hurt, are you?” Zhongli asks, cupping your face in his hands while examining you from head to toe for any injury.

You shake your head. “I’m okay, Zhongli. I’m just glad you’re all here,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around Zhongli’s waist.

Zhongli wraps his arms around your shoulder and walks you over to where the other twenty-four men are standing. Every man has their weapons drawn out. Once you and Zhongli are with the others, Pantalone and Baizhu stand in front of you, glaring at the eight outlanders.

“We’re not going to harm them. Relax. We’re only here to take them back to the Astral Express with us.” says the black-haired man.

“Take them back? They have never been to the Astral Express before.” Xiao glowers, tightening his grip on his polearm.

Pierro chuckles darkly and shakes his head. “What makes you think we’ll let you take [Y/N] back to the Astral Express? Like the Yaksha said, they’ve never been to the Astral Express, and last time I checked, they’re not from your world.”

The tension between the men continues to rise, causing you to shrink in Zhongli’s arms. Sure, you may have the “power” to stop this… tension between the men, but you don’t think the eight outlanders would go down without a fight. The blond in armor looks fired up; his weapon is drawn out. Speaking of his weapon, that is the strangest weapon you’ve ever seen.

You point at the man. “His weapon looks like a cello case,” you whisper to Zhongli, looking up at the former Geo Archon.

Zhongli cracks a smile and pulls you to his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Indeed, it does.”

Baizhu clears his throat and gives the eight strange men a smile. “How about we talk about this back at the abode? I have a feeling a fight isn’t going to settle this down until one of us gets to keep [Y/N],” Baizhu says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You roll your eyes and tilt your head back against Zhongli’s chest. “Can we not treat me like I’m an object? If any of you view me as an object or anything that isn’t human, I will not hesitate to whack any of you,” you threaten.

“Yeah! Why not have a conversation about this? Quite frankly, I’m tired of needless battles,” Venti sighs dramatically, draping his arms around your shoulders and smacking Zhongli away from you.

Zhongli rolls his eyes and unwraps his arms around you, standing beside you, while the Anemo Archon keeps his arms around your shoulders. The eight men look at each other before huddling in a circle, whispering to one another. You and your twenty-five boyfriends look at each other from the corner of your eyes, unsure of what to say.

The man with long, silver hair looks at your group and nods. “We accept your offer. And I agree with the short one standing beside [Y/N]. There’s no need for needless battles over [Y/N]... even though they belong to us, but let’s have a civil conversation about this,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sneer and look away, steam practically coming out from your ears. “Don’t act like I can’t hear any of you! Maybe this is one of the reasons why the other me ran away from all of you and the Astral Express.” You grumble, grabbing onto the nearest person and dragging them to the Serenitea pot. You and Thoma disappear into the Serenitea pot, making the eight men visibly do a double-take.

“Before entering the Serenitea pot, please make sure not to touch things you don’t know of unless you want to lose a finger,” Aether says nonchalantly, walking toward the floating teapot.

Diluc interjects, “And please do not lay a hand on [Y/N] or get close within five feet of them. It’s not like we don’t want you to— well, it is, but [Y/N]’s not comfortable with strangers getting near them.” Diluc crosses his arms over his chest.

The indigo-haired man makes a face and crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re not strangers to them! They know us!” He huffs, glaring at the redhead tycoon.

Dainsleif rolls his eyes and walks to the Serenitea pot. “Let’s go to the Serenitea pot and continue the conversation there. Time is being wasted,” Dainsleif states.

Everyone soon enters the Serenitea pot, keeping their distance from each other. The eight men are between the twenty-four men. Twelve men are standing in front of the eight outlanders, and the other twelve men are standing behind them. Standing at the entrance of the estate is you and Thoma, distracted by the conversation and not noticing the group walking up to where you and Thoma are standing.

“If they’re hungry, I can make something for them to eat! But, uh, to be honest, I think they’re more focused on bringing you back to this ‘Astral Express’ than their hunger,” Thoma shrugs his shoulders while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, whatever it is, I still don’t know who they are. There’s no sense of familiarity when I see them.” You sigh.

“Which is why we need to have a chat with them about their relationship with you. Well, that’s if there are any connections and relationships between you and the visitors,” Al Haitham says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You and the rest of the men enter the estate. You can’t help but feel very tense now that there are eight strangers in the abode. They can roam aimlessly around the estate and perhaps destroy things in their paths. Seeing them analyze their surroundings makes you feel nervous. They’re strangers to you, and yet you worry about what their thoughts are on the abode and the interior design of the estate.

“Now that we’re in the abode, let’s start introducing ourselves, shall we?” Kaveh says, turning to look at the visitors with an expectant look on his face.

You purse your lips. “This is going to take a while,” you mutter.

You quickly excused yourself and walked to the kitchen to grab drinks for the guests. Even though you’re a little bit anxious to be around the guests, you don’t want to be seen as rude and not get them any drink while they’re visiting the abode. You begin filling the glass cup with cold water from the pitcher you pulled out from the refrigerator, placing the cups on the tray, and mentally preparing yourself to return to where the others are.

Dear Archons, you’re going to be in one room with thirty-three men! Thirty-three! That is more than what a classroom has! Heck, you think that’s more than the number of students in your lab class at the Akademiya. You put the pitcher back in the refrigerator, grab the tray of water and take a deep breath.

“I can do this.” You whisper, gnawing on your lower lip before walking back to the living area where the other men are.

“Okay! So, now that we have introduced ourselves to each other, please state your business.” Heizou says, giving them a polite yet fake smile.

Cyno holds his hand up, stopping the others before they can speak. “They may have introduced themselves to us, but they haven’t introduced themselves to [Y/N],” Cyno says, propping his hands on his hips.

You stop in your tracks and look at the men like a startled desert fox— eyes wide and frozen to the spot where you’re standing. The men turn toward your direction, their eyes locking in on your frozen form. You give them an awkward smile and clear your throat before continuing to make your way further into the living area.

Albedo smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh? It looks like [Y/N] brought drinks for our guests. How nice of you,” Albedo says, nodding his head.

You give Albedo a fake smile and put the tray on the coffee table. “I can’t help but feel like I’m forgetting something.” You muttered, furrowing your eyebrows while trying to remember what it was.

“Why don’t the eight of you introduce yourselves to [Y/N]? You may know who they are, but they don’t know any of your names.” Kazuha says.

Each man starts to introduce themselves to you. Some smiled at you, while others did not. The tension is so thick you want to hole yourself in your bedroom. Your sweet, sweet bedroom. Your bedroom is your sanctuary, and not being able to be in your room makes you feel almost naked.

“Now that we got the introductions out of the way, let’s continue where we left off,” Tighnari says, gesturing for the eight guests to have a seat.

Dottore crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the eight visitors behind his mask. “Please explain to us how you all know [Y/N]. They have never traveled anywhere outside of Teyvat on their own, nor are they from your world.”

Gepard, the blond man in armor, raises his eyebrows at Dottore. “We know they’re not from our world. They’re not from your world either, so I don’t understand why you’re acting like they belong to your world too.”

“If you know that [Y/N] isn’t from your world, why are you all so adamant about bringing them back to the Astral Express?” Scaramouche demands, taking a step forward.

Blade, the man with long, dark hair, narrows his eyes at Scaramouche. “If you know they’re not from your world, then why are you all so adamant about keeping them in your world?” Blade hisses.

You can almost hear Capitano roll his eyes under his helmet. “Just answer the question.”

Luocha, the man with long, blond hair, explains to everyone why they wanted to bring you back to the Astral Express. Apparently, a while back, you somehow mysteriously ended up on the Astral Express with no recollection of your memories. You spent months at the Astral Express with them, exploring the universe with them and other people they passively mention.

Before your disappearance, you and Blade have gotten into an argument that led to you storming out of the Astral Express, telling them not to follow you. That was the last time they heard from you, and it has been months since your sudden disappearance. The eight men have tried searching the universe for you, only to come to a dead end.

After Luocha’s explanation, you and the men sit there in silence. The supposed argument happened a few months ago, but you have never left Teyvat. It was impossible for you to physically leave Teyvat because there aren’t any spaceships or portals that allow you to teleport from planet to planet.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you all, but it’s hard to believe because [Y/N] has never traveled outside of Teyvat. Even if they wanted to, there’s no way for them to do it because there aren’t any portals or waypoints that let them do that.” Ayato says.

You nod. “Plus, I’ve been in Teyvat for, I believe, a year now. I have not stepped foot outside of Teyvat, ever. Before I arrived at their,” you gestured to your twenty-five boyfriends, “universe, I was in my universe. It’s unlikely that I was in your universe. Plus, as I’ve said previously, I don’t know who you guys are. Even when all of you have introduced yourselves to me, none of your names clicked in my head.” You sigh, shrugging your shoulders.

Itto wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your neck. “My onikabuto booboo bear would never travel to another universe without telling us! Let alone a universe where there are monsters roaming around,” Itto huffs, planting a big kiss on the side of your head.

Gorou laughs nervously and clears his throat. “There are monsters roaming around Teyvat too, Itto,” Gorou whispers to the Oni.

Sampo snickers and leans in his seat with his legs crossed. “Onikabuto booboo bear? That’s the most ridiculous nickname I’ve ever heard. It’s nowhere as cute as gumdrop,” Sampo comments, flicking his fringe from his face.

Kaeya looks at the eight men with interest. “Gumdrop, you say? What are your relations with our precious [Y/N]? Giving them an endearing nickname is something friends don’t do, from what I’m assuming,” Kaeya says, sipping on his cup of wine.

When did he get that wine, and how did you not see him wander off to pour himself a glass of wine? Hearing Kaeya’s comment made Pantalone want to burst out laughing. How does one have relations with a person without ever meeting them? Pantalone crosses his arms over his chest and looks over at you, who’s busy being smothered by Itto’s affections.

“Yes, what are your relations with [Y/N]? We’re curious,” Pantalone says, the corners of his lips twitching.

Dan Heng stares at Pantalone, his eyes flickering over in your direction. Dan Heng clenches and unclenches his jaws. “They’re my significant other. Need me to say more?” Dan Heng asks, raising an eyebrow at the men.

Caelus looks at Dan Heng in disbelief. “Your significant other? The last time I checked, all of us collectively agreed to share them,” Caelus says, leaning in his seat.

“Significant other? All of you are dating our significant other?!” Aether exclaims, looking at the eight outlanders with wide eyes.

You stare at them blankly and slowly remove Itto’s arms from around you. You pursed your lips and debated whether you should make a run for it or not. Then again, even if you were to make a run for it, you don’t want it to be a “repeat” of what happened in the other eight men’s universe. That would be awkward and make things even worse than it already is.

Pierro sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose while Pantalone gives the visitors a fake smile.

“This is taking an interesting turn,” Pierro mutters.

Pantalone hums in agreement. “Indeed it is, Pierro.”

Childe runs up to you, looking at you with an over-exaggerated pout. “Snookums! Please tell me it’s not true that you have other lovers from another universe!” Childe pleads, cupping your face in his hands.

Before you can respond, Childe pulls you to his chest, pressing your face up against his chest while swaying you side to side. You grumble and continue to let Childe suffocate you against his chest while mumbling and pleading for you to disprove the eight Outlanders’ claims. You push Childe off you and lightly whack him in the chest with a huff of breath. Childe pouts and sniffles dramatically before grabbing your hand.

Dainsleif looks at the eight men before him and narrows his eyes. “How can they be your significant other when they never met any of you?” Dainsleif demands.

A realization suddenly hits you like a sumpter beast. You gasp and smack your forehead, startling everyone in the room. Oh, fuck. You look at Al Haitham and make a face while he stares at you quizzically.

“What’s wrong?” Al Haitham asks, approaching where you stand.

You make a face again and press your forehead against Al Haitham’s chest when he stands in front of you. “I left your book back at Yaoguang Shoal,” you reply, looking up at Al Haitham with despair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to Yaoguang Shoal and look for Al Haitham’s book that I borrowed.”

You walk over to the door and begin putting your shoes on to return to Yaoguang Shoal before anyone can stop you. When you return to the area where you were sitting at the shoreline, you didn’t find the beach chair or Al Haitham’s book. It was nowhere in sight. Damn, do you have to search along the shorelines to find it? You’re sure you’re in the right spot because you see the mark left by the beach chair, but the chair isn’t there, nor is Al Haitham’s book.

“Huh. That’s strange. I thought it was here,” you said, propping your hands on your hip. “Al Haitham is going to kill me.” You run your fingers through your hair with a shaky breath.

“That’s because someone brought it back to the abode already,” Diluc comments, startling you.

You turn to see Diluc, Kaveh, Xiao, and Albedo walk toward you. You press your hand against your chest and let out a deep sigh. Archons, did they follow you out to Yaoguang Shoal the entire time? Wait, why are you asking the obvious? You smack your forehead again and close your eyes.

Xiao grabs your hand and looks at you worriedly, rubbing your stinging forehead with his gloved thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself. This is the second time you’ve done it today,” Xiao mutters, giving you a disapproving look.

Kaveh huffs loudly, scanning the surroundings of Yaoguang Shoal with his arms crossed over his chest. Today would’ve been a nice day if those eight outlanders didn’t show up to ruin everything. You were supposed to have a nice day for yourself at the beach to decompress from finals week, but that had to be ruined by the eight outlanders who claimed to be your boyfriends in their universe. The audacity for them to step on Teyvat and want to take you to the Astral Express or whatever the heck it is.

“What’s on your mind, Kaveh?” You murmur.

Kaveh looks at you and clears his throat, waddling over to you with a pout. Kaveh wraps his arms around your shoulders and closes his eyes, resting his chin on your shoulders. “I don’t like how they claim you’re their significant other. You’re ours. You’ve always been ours, and you were never theirs.” Kaveh grouses, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Do you want to continue to hang out at the beach a little longer, or do you want to return to the adobe?” Albedo asks, digging his feet into the warm sand.

“Let’s return to the abode. As much as I would love to stay on the beach, it’s best we return before everyone starts searching for us,” you say.

The day comes to an end way quicker than you think it would. When you, Xiao, Diluc, Kaveh, and Albedo returned to the abode, everyone was sitting at the dining table with food sitting in the center for everyone to help themself with.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were having guests for dinner,” you say, taking your shoes off at the entrance.

“Oh? Did you not want us to stay?” Blade asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head. “No, no, it’s just that I didn’t know you guys were going to stay for this long. I assumed you all would leave after I went to Yaoguang Shoal.”

“Speaking of Yaoguang Shoal, did you find the book?” Heizou asks, turning around in his seat to look in your direction.

You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head. “No, it’s not there. Diluc told me someone brought the book and beach chair back to the abode,” you sigh, collapsing on the nearest chair. You look at Al Haitham and wave to get his attention. “Whoever brought the book back, did they at least return it to you?”

Tighnari points at the shelf behind you before waving you over. “The book is over on the shelf. Now, sit down and get something to eat. It’s been a long day today, and I bet you’re hungry,” says Tighnari.

You stretch in your seat before getting up, raising your index finger. “I will, but let me take a shower really quickly because, you know, I was at Yaoguang Shoal today, and I smell like the ocean,” you said.

You run upstairs and to your bedroom to take a quick shower. As much as you would love to take a long shower like usual, since there are guests who claim to be your boyfriends, you don’t think it’s a good idea to be gone for long with your twenty-five boyfriends and eight guests in one room.

While you’re in the shower, the dining area is consumed by silence. The sounds of cutlery clinking against the plates fill the silence. No one was talking to each other. They only eat and look at every person sitting at the dining table, waiting for you to return from your shower.

“Do you think [Y/N] is going to go with them?” Venti mutters to Baizhu, reaching for his cup of wine and sipping from it without taking his eyes off the other men’s faces.

Baizhu chuckles and shakes his head. “They won’t leave with them. [Y/N] doesn’t know the eight of the Outlanders. It’s very unlikely they’ll board the Astral Express,” Baizhu replies.

Thoma scoots his seat closer to Venti and Baizhu before leaning toward Baizhu and Venti, his eyes focusing on the plate in front of him. “Even if [Y/N] doesn’t go with them, do you think they will leave Teyvat without [Y/N]? That’s their only ‘mission’ on Teyvat, and that is to return to the Astral Express with [Y/N].”

“What are you three whispering over there?” Jing Yuan asks, breaking the silence in the dining room.

Thoma, Venti, and Baizhu freeze in their seats before looking at the long, silver-haired man sitting across from them. The four exchange looks with one another for a moment before Jing Yuan breaks eye contact.

“I have a question,” Cyno speaks up, propping his arms on the table, “after today, will the eight of you return to the Astral Express without [Y/N]?”

The corner of Luocha’s lips quirks up, forming an amused smirk. “What makes you think we’ll return without them? If we have to stay on Teyvat a little longer, we will do that. We won’t return to the Astral Express until [Y/N] agrees to go with us,” Luocha replies, leaning back in his seat with his arms over his chest.

Kaeya chuckles, tapping his index finger against his cheek. “How bold of you to assume we would allow you to step out of the estate with [Y/N],” Kaeya mutters, the smile slipping off his face.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and leans forward on the table, making sure to lock eyes with the eight Outlanders. “If you need a reminder, there are twenty-five of us and eight of you. You’re outnumbered. The chances of you being successful are low. Therefore, I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you.”

Gepard glares at Scaramouche and clenches his jaws. Gepard opens his mouth to retort, but your footsteps coming down the stairs silences him. You enter the dining room wearing your pajamas, a rabbit headband, your face dewy and glowing from your moisturizer, and undereye patches.

You hold up a bottle of foaming cleanser. “Who does this belong to? Someone left this in my bathroom,” you said, looking at the men at the dining table.

Itto raises his hand. “Oh! That’s mine, but you can keep it in there because I want to do skin care with you,” Itto says, getting up from his seat and walking toward you.

You look at Itto with surprise. “Oh! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m about to be finished with my skincare routine,” you sigh in defeat, letting your hand fall at your side.

“I forgot,” Itto laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but hey! We can start the night routine tomorrow!”

You nod and begin to walk back up the stairs, but Itto grabs you by your biceps and turns you around. You look at Itto with a questioning gaze before he presses his lips against your forehead and steps back with a big smile. You smile and peck his cheek before walking back to your room. Itto and the other men in the room watch you leave. Itto turns to the others with a smug smirk on his face before returning to his seat with a pep in his walk.

“Oh, would you look at that! Isn’t it sweet how Itto and [Y/N] are going to start doing night routines with each other?” Ayato asks, sipping on his tea nonchalantly while smirking behind his cup.

Kazuha chuckles. “It seems like a subtle way to let you all know that they’re not leaving any time soon.” Kazuha comments.

Gorou turns to look at the men, specifically Blade, with curiosity. “Let’s say that it’s true [Y/N] did spend time at the Astral Express with the eight of you and the people you have mentioned,” Gorou begins, clasping his hands together.

“Why are you saying it like it's a theory when it’s true?” Welt interrupts, glaring at Gorou with a deep frown on his face.

Capitano shrugs his shoulders. “It may be true for the rest of you, but for us, it’s a theory that has yet to be proven true,” Capitano retorts.

Gorou rolls his eyes, “Anyway! As I was saying, what did the two of you get into an argument about? It wouldn’t be a small argument if it caused [Y/N] to storm off the Astral Express and disappear without a trace.”

Blade stares at Gorou before continuing to eat his food without responding to Gorou’s question. Gorou frowns and lets out a huff, grabbing his cup and gulping down the water. The men continue to eat in silence, the sound of the cutlery clinking against the plates and bowls filling the tense silence between the thirty-three of them.

A few minutes later, you enter the dining room and sit between Xiao and Blade. You cursed to yourself about the seating arrangements. Why did you have to sit between Xiao and Blade? You don’t mind sitting beside Xiao! However, what you do mind is sitting beside Blade since you supposedly had this argument with the dark, long-haired man on the Astral Express before disappearing without a trace.

You tried your best to act natural— as if nothing strange had happened or been revealed. You subconsciously scoot closer to Xiao to the point where your biceps are brushing against Xiao’s biceps. Xiao didn’t make a comment about your strange behavior and continued to eat his food in silence.

Dottore clears his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. “We didn’t get to ask you, but how was the beach today? Were you able to relax like you wanted?” Dottore asks.

You make a so-so gesture with your hand. “Kind of! The weather was nice, and the waters were surprisingly warm. It’s nice to have a break after a grueling week of finals,” You reply, tucking your hair behind your ears.

Welt perks up at your response. “You’re going to school right now?” Welt asks, looking at you curiously.

You shrug your shoulders. “I’ve always been going to school. Before I arrived at Teyvat, I was a university student in my world. Technically, I still am, but since I’m not physically there right now, I might as well continue my education at the Akademiya.”

Kaveh smiles and rests his elbow on the table. “[Y/N] is an excellent student; we’re incredibly proud of them. They’re at the top of their classes, and their GPA is over 4.0. They’re involved in many research papers with the Akademiya, and they’ve been granted many scholarships,” Kaveh boasts, his eyes forming into crescents when he smiles in your direction.

“Hehe, it’s, uh, no big deal, really,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck, “plus, the Akademiya is a prestigious institute. I must put my all into my schoolwork for the Akademiya, or else it’ll be a waste.”

Sampo visibly deflates and rests his chin on the palm of his hand. “I’m assuming you’re not going to return to the Astral Express with us, Gumdrop?” Sampo asks, smiling at you sadly.

You shake your head in response. The eight men sigh, and trade looks with each other without saying a word. It’s like they’re communicating with each other telepathically. As much as you want to know what’s going on in their heads, you know it has something to do with you.

After all, they’re only in Teyvat because of you. It’s strange how you supposedly have a life outside your main universe and your twenty-five boyfriends’ universe. There are so many questions that are left unanswered, and you don’t think anyone can answer them because everyone is probably just as clueless as you are about this stuff. Heck, not even someone as refined as Welt, Albedo, Dottore, and Dainsleif would know the answers.

Caelus leans to Jing Yuan, whispering, “Nanook isn’t going to be happy when he hears about this.”

“As long as he doesn’t find out, we’ll be okay,” Jing Yuan replies.

Zhongli raises his eyebrows at Caelus and Jing Yuan. “Who is this Nanook you speak of? And why would he be unhappy when he hears about this?” Zhongli asks, sipping his tea.

Dan Heng sighs and looks away. “Just someone who holds [Y/N] near and dear close to his heart. Then again, we all hold [Y/N] near and dear to our hearts as well,” Dan Heng murmurs, looking over at you from the corner of his eyes.

You and Dan Heng’s eyes meet from across the table. Heat rushes to your face and down your neck, causing you to clear your throat and reach for the cup of water in front of you. You break eye contact and gulp down the water, hoping it’ll extinguish the heat rushing to your face and the tip of your ears. The way Dan Heng looks at you reminds you of how your boyfriends would look at you— you can’t help but feel shy, almost awkward in a way.

“We’ll be staying here for a while. We won’t be leaving until [Y/N] agrees to return to the Astral Express with us,” Blade states, his red eyes flickering in your direction.

You nearly choke on your water and look away, ducking your head while trying to hold back your cough. Xiao glares at Blade and pats your back, moving closer to you. You clear your throat and lean into Xiao’s touch, ignoring the looks the other men are giving you and Xiao.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Might as well make yourselves a home here because we’re not letting them leave with any of you any time soon.”

Scaramouche was being sarcastic at first, but that is what the eight outlanders ended up doing. They made a home at the abode and decided to learn and adapt to a new environment. At first, they wanted to live under the same roof as you and the other men, but of course, the others opposed it and offered to make a small temporary house for the eight visitors.

Everyone is doing their own thing in the estate. Some are sparring with each other, others are having tea, reading books, playing TCG, and many more. From a distance, you’re giving an extensive detailed tour of the estate so the eight visitors can be familiar with their new environment rather than the main island the estates are sitting on.

“And the abode keeps getting bigger and bigger,” Ayato chuckles, sipping his tea on the pavilion, looking out at the view of the abode.

Zhongli chuckles and nods. “Soon enough, every land in the abode will be occupied by many estates.” Zhongli comments, blowing on the hot cup of tea in his hands.

Al Haitham sighs and keeps his eyes on his book. “You would think they would give up and leave already, but instead, they’ve been treating this place like their second home,” Al Haitham mutters, looking at the eight men from a distance.

“Scaramouche did tell them they can make themselves a home at the abode because we refuse to hand [Y/N] over to them,” Cyno mutters, placing the TCG card down on the table.

Itto groans and slams his head on the table. “Dammit, Cyno! This is the third time you beat me!” Itto grumbles, lifting his head to glare at the Mahamatra.

Cyno smirks at Itto before looking at the cards in his hands. Meanwhile, you stand in front of the eight men with your hands propping on your hips while tapping your feet on the ground. The eight men before you looked like anxious puppies. It was adorable, but what they did was not something you’re going to be tolerating. Especially since it keeps happening.

“It’s not nice to poke Tubby and Chubby! I get they’re cute, and all of you have never seen something like Tubby and Chubby before, but please refrain from poking them,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You guys don’t see me stepping foot on the Astral Express and snatching Pom-Pom up and throwing them around, now, do you?” You raise your eyebrows.

The eight men shake their heads in response, their heads hanging down while Welt has his eyes closed, his glasses in one hand while rubbing his temples with the other. Childe and Diluc stroll up to the nine of you, covered in dirt and sweat from their spar.

“Did those hooligans disobey you, snookums?” Childe asks, placing his hand on your waist and pulling you toward his chest.

Your face pinches up with disgust, and you take a step back. “Childe, as much as I love being in your arms, now is not a good time because you’re sweaty and covered in dirt.”

Gepard looks at Diluc and Childe, his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing with concentration and curiosity. “How often do all of you spar? Is it a routine?” Gepard asks, his icy-blue eyes remaining on Childe and Diluc’s faces.

Diluc sighs and takes the hair tie out before retying his long red hair into a high ponytail. “It’s not routine for us to spar, but when we do, we do it on our own time. Either alone or with someone that volunteers to help,” Diluc replies.

“You wouldn’t mind us joining on, would you?” Sampo asks, adjusting his gloves while smirking at Diluc and Childe.

You look at the men, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t think it’s a good idea for your men to spar with the eight outlanders. Knowing Childe and Gepard, there will be a competition of some sort. Technically, Childe will make it a competition with all of the outlanders, and you don’t want to see how it turns out.

Before Childe and Diluc can respond, you shake your head. “No, no! No sparring! I don’t think it’s a good idea because you guys will turn it into a competition and hurt each other. No.” You deadpan.

“Then how are we supposed to entertain ourselves and bond? I think knowing each other’s skills in combat is a great way of bonding!” Aether says, propping his arm on your shoulders from behind.

You brush off Aether’s question. “There’s plenty of ways to entertain yourselves and bond without having to draw weapons!” You reply.

“And what are you suggesting other than sparring?” Heizou asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smile at the men innocently. Before any of them know it, you’re all at Yaoguang Shoal wearing sun hats and sunglasses. You turn to look at your boyfriends and your guests from beyond the stars with a big smile while bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement.

“The beach? Weren’t you at Yaoguang Shoal not too long ago?” Thoma asks, slathering sunscreen on his arms.

You nod. “Yes, but my moment of relaxation was ruined when our guests from beyond the stars popped up in front of me!” You say, propping your hands on your hips. “Now! You all can go and chase each other around the beach, and I am going to continue where I left off with my reading!”

Al Haitham hands you the book you borrowed from him not long ago before placing a beach chair down. Everyone scatters around the beach, staying within the vicinity. While you’re reading Al Haitham’s book under the shade, someone sits beside you on the sand. You look away from your book to see Blade sitting beside you, refusing to make eye contact with you. Ever since your first encounter with the long, dark-haired man, you have been keeping your distance from him mainly because he looks intimidating. You have a small feeling that he was still upset with “you” after the argument you two didn’t have.

“So! Are you going to finally tell me what the argument was about?” You ask, putting the book face down and pulling your knees to your chest.

Blade doesn’t answer. Instead, he didn’t even look in your direction. You mumble to yourself and turn to the side, getting up from the beach chair and dusting the sand off your legs.

“Alright, you don’t have to answer me. I’m sure the other [Y/N] would’ve done something else to get you to respond to them, but I’m not them.” You say before walking away from where Blade is sitting.

You quickly stopped in your tracks and turned around to grab Al Haitham’s book you were reading before continuing your walk to where Kaeya and Venti were hanging out. Venti and Kaeya wave at you the closer you get before patting the space between them for you to sit. You plop down between Kaeya and Venti, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“What’s with the exasperated sigh? You were so excited to go to the beach!” Venti says, sipping his drink.

Kaeya turns his head to look over where you were sitting previously, locking eyes with Blade. Blade quickly looks away with a deep frown. Kaeya chuckles under his breath and looks at you while you dig your feet into the sand, feeling the warm sand between your toes.

Kaeya points at Blade with his thumb. “I’m assuming it has something to do with him,” Kaeya comments, leaning back on one hand.

Your expression sours. “When is it not Blade? He’s refusing to tell me what the argument was! It’s like he expects me to know what it is when I was never there to experience it!” You groused. “I hope the other me is doing okay. Given the fact that they’re supposedly dating Blade and the other seven, or was it nine, men.” You stroke your chin.

Footsteps approach where you, Kaeya, and Venti are sitting. “Oh, I’m doing okay! Other than having to traverse many universes to find my way back to the Astral Express, only to find this universe and run into the other me surrounded by a lot of men.”

Your, Kaeya, and Venti’s head snaps toward where the voice comes from, only to see another version of yourself standing there. Everyone around you stops what they’re doing and looks at you and the other you with eyes the size of saucers. You scramble to your feet and point at your other self, trying to find the words to say while they stare at you with a sheepish smile on their face.

“These men weren’t causing you any trouble, were they?” They ask, looking at the eight outlanders that are approaching you and the other you.

You glare at the other you, propping your hands on your hips. “Where were you!? You made your eight boyfriends worried to the point where they have to travel beyond the stars to search for you!”

The other you laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of their neck. “To be fair, I got lost after I stormed out of the Astral Express, and I couldn’t find my way back.” The other you sigh in defeat, letting their head hang low.

Tighnari raises his eyebrows at the other you. “Have you tried asking for directions?” Tighnari asks.

“Gumdrop is a great fighter but terrible with directions.” Sampo snorts before skipping happily to the other you, wrapping his arms around their waist and snuggling against them.

You watch Blade approach the other you, his arms crossed over his chest. The other you give Blade a fake smile before looking away from the long, dark-haired man. You clear your throat and look away. Man, this somehow got awkward.

“You two have some talking to do! I’m not sure if you,” you look at your other self, “remember the argument the two of you had before your disappearance. Still, please talk it out because I somehow got caught in between!”

Your other self drags out a sigh, resting their head on Sampo’s shoulders. “Ah, right! How could I forget about that? I was so busy trying to find my way back that I completely forgot about the argument Blade and I had before storming out,” your other self says.

“I didn’t think there would be another [Y/N], but here we are,” Dainsleif murmurs, trying to find the difference between you and the other you.

Appearance-wise, the other you are wearing clothes from Jing Yuan’s world. The other you have streaks of red and purple in your hair, and you look a little rougher around the edges. Sampo presses a sloppy kiss on your clone’s cheek— yes, that is what you will be calling them from now on. Your clone snuggles up against Sampo’s chest and holds your (their?) hands out to the other eight outlanders.

“Now that the other [Y/N] have found the eight of you, will you all return to the Astral Express now?” Gorou asks, gazing at the nine people curiously.

Your clone nods their head in response. “Yes, we will be heading back to the Astral Express now. That means Blade, and I will need to speak about what happened before my disappearance,” your clone sighs, looking at Blade.

Blade gives your clone a weak smile and grabs your clone’s hand, gently squeezing them. Your clone smiles at Blade and pulls him close to them. Blade and Sampo give each other a small glare while clinging to your clone’s side while the other six men stand around the three of them.

You squint your eyes at your clone, tilting your head to the side. “How do you handle dating nine men?” You ask.

Your clone snorts and rolls their eyes. “I can ask you the same thing, [Y/N]. Really, [Y/N]? Twenty-five men? That’s more than what I have,” They raise their eyebrows at you, the corners of their lips twitching.

“You know what, fair enough,” you mutter, looking away from your clone with a sour look.

As much as you would love to talk to your clone about the other universe, you didn’t want to deal with them matching the sassiness with you. That and because they do have to return to the Astral Express soon to patch things up. You and your twenty-five boyfriends watch your clone and their boyfriends walk far before disappearing into small orbs of light, ascending to the stars.

“I did not think that there was another [Y/N] out there,” Kazuha comments.

You sigh in relief and lean on Venti. “Me neither! But I’m glad they showed up because I don’t think I can handle Blade’s attitude any longer! The man acts like I remember this so-called argument!” You sigh, running your hands through your hair.

“On the bright side, you won’t have to deal with any more men entering the relationship,” Baizhu says, clapping his hands once.

Albedo chuckles, shaking his head. “You’d never know. There may be twenty-five of us today, but there can be forty tomorrow,” Albedo comments.

Xiao rolls his eyes, sighing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, shall we?” Xiao mutters.

Pantalone snorts. “What makes you think we’ll share [Y/N] with more people? I believe twenty-five people is enough,” Pantalone says nonchalantly.

Kaeya drapes his arms around your shoulders, leans down, and kisses your cheek. You wrap your arms around Kaeya’s slim waist and kiss his cheek in return. Albedo isn’t wrong, though. There might be more people in the next few days or maybe even weeks. All you know is that you’re glad you’re not in your clone’s spot because what is up with Blade and his attitude? He intimidates you, and you don’t know what your clone sees in that man other than his looks.

Note: Midterms week starts on Monday, and I am not looking forward to it. If next week's fic is short, it's because I have been occupied with my studies and haven't been able to type out as much as I would hope ;v; This week has been a long week for me, but it will definitely not be as long as midterm week and finals week (which is coming in hot). To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @xyji, @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @kwelibeeery, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @mompt2, @chalksdreams, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @bajifairyy, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @lucifarts-boxers, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr (Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

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