#and at this rate ill never finish a full body | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

infinite-orangepeel · 2 years ago

Text

rating: as explicit as explicit gets with heavily angsty steddie

and for obvious reasons, this post is 18+ only !!!!!!

hi ! this post contains a VERY SMUTTY excerpt from pt. 4 of the current steddie fic i’m writing on ao3, it’s rotten work (loving a heart like mine) and this is my attempt to convince you to read the rest of the fic bc it’s my literal baby !!! thx <3

TW: feminization kink, daddy kink, memory loss, mild dub-con, religious imagery in non-religious contexts, heavy angst, sh behaviors, ed behaviors, bdsm dynamic, eddie’s a bit of a mean dom, ref. to past trauma (including homophobic parents, usage of homophobic slurs, domestic abuse), questionable decisions, blood, risk taking

note: i’ve placed the “read-more” where things start to become more sexual in content, but pls note this fic is utter chaos. it’s incredibly angsty and i strongly advise you read the full list of tw’s/tags at the link above before proceeding. i’ll be listing the main ones here but just please read at your own risk/pay attention to the tws. i don’t ever ever ever want to trigger someone accidentally !!

The cabin is a solid three miles from his house and his body feels every bit of the distance.

If it weren’t for the years of regimented physical conditioning, protein powder, and animalistic need to force his own body into submission—Steve probably wouldn’t have made it without having to stop by the emergency room for medical assistance.

His lungs are on fire, his chest feels about thirty seconds away from caving in, and his hair is plastered to his forehead by a sticky sheen of sweat.

Nevertheless, ignoring the constant bitching and moaning of his muscles, Steve runs.

The car was never an option. Too dangerous, too obvious. Burgundy beemer that everyone and their mother knew belonged to the Harrington kid.

Steve runs and the only thing that keeps him going, the only thing that propels him through the eternal damnation of this illness is the knowledge that Eddie is just across the finish line.

Eddie. His Eddie.

The lighter is with him. Eddie’s lighter. Bouncing in his pocket, as he reaches the crest of the last hill in the woods with chapped lips, thin blood, and blistering feet.

Hardly alive, he employs the final stores of energy in his ever-weakening body and knocks at death’s door to beg for desperate relief.

Which just so happens to double as the dilapidated entrance to Hopper’s seemingly abandoned cabin.

He bounds up the set of three stairs that have been eaten alive by an obvious termite infestation.

Hideous and cold and complete with temperamental plumbing—this is the place he’s dreamed of for nights on end.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers—cautiously opening the door and blowing a cloud of thick smoke over his shoulder, as he ushers him in and hurriedly latches a complicated series of locks over the door, “You’re not supposed to be here. What the fuck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. How did you even—“

“I can’t go back home. Please don’t make me, Eds,” he’s heaving for oxygen, supply empty, “I’m not—I’m not good when I’m there.”

“Baby,” Eddie pouts and slants his mouth to kiss him, restraint quickly eroding under the waves of desire that push them together, “It’s not safe for you here,” he nips at his tongue as if chastising him for making such a careless decision, “You need to go back home. As much as I want you to stay, as happy as I am to see you—you have to go. It’s not worth it.”

Steve tastes the acrid bite of tobacco on his mouth, which is predictable, but there’s something less familiar beneath it. A deeper layer of bitter medicine that sparks anxiety within him as it crosses his tongue.

He licks over Eddie’s ruddy lips to identify the source—disguised as filthy passion—finding a clearer hint of rum or whiskey. Probably borrowed from Hopper’s old stash before he went sober.

The thing is Eddie doesn’t drink for fun anymore, save for the occasional beer or social glass of wine.

He doesn’t drink, because his deadbeat dad was a wretched alcoholic whose tirades were fueled by liquid gasoline.

Eddie’s been drinking alone and smoking and there’s salt on Steve’s tongue when he moves his lips in the direction of Eddie’s stubbly cheek.

“You’re hurt,” Steve pulls back to break the spell of shared touch, “You’re not okay, are you?”

Eddie laughs, turns his head, and swirls a crystal glass Steve hadn’t realized he was holding.

As predicted, the liquor is dark like molasses and smells about as sweet as germicide.

Poison.

“Is anyone? Are you?” Eddie spins on his heels, out of control, tires hitting black ice. Stumbling and catching himself on the edge of the couch.

Eddie recovers and straightens up quickly. Luring Steve closer to run a hand up his side at an aggressively slow pace. He smiles lazily and blushes at the way Steve squirms and stares at the row of silver rings waltzing over his ribs.

He wants to suck them off his fingers. He wants to get sloppy and dirty and gag around the silver. Let his fearless knight choke him on the likes of chainmail and steel.

He’d polish them day and night with globs of spit and messy worship.

He’d kill for it, Steve would. Slay any dragon to get those piano fingers down his throat, let Eddie play him dumb like a fiddle. Out of tune and grotesque. Gothic and ugly.

“I saved you once before. I could do it again. We can keep each other safe,” Steve appeals, following Eddie like a giddy Labrador as he rounds the front of the paisley print couch, “If we can beat Vecna and a hoard of Demobats together, we can definitely take on the town mob.”

Eddie’s hair is pulled into a messy bun and his white tank top leaves little to the imagination. Steve’s speaking plainly, but just looking at Eddie is making him ravenous.

“Maybe,” Eddie sips from his cup too calmly and Steve wants to shatter it, “Or maybe I was always meant to die. Maybe it was supposed to be me all along. Maybe Chrissy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Black ink swirls visibly beneath the fabric of his tight shirt, as he bends to replenish the drink—filling it to the brim. Chugging poison like it’s pure water.

The head of the demon on his chest peeks out from beneath the low neckline. Tempting Steve to sell his soul and commit the crime of sodomy.

Give into the illness at long last.

“If you’re not gonna leave, you might as well make yourself useful, princess,” Eddie winks and stretches his arms overhead.

It’s pompous and douchey and makes Steve’s dick ridiculously hard.

”I haven’t forgotten how warm and sloppy that mouth of yours is or how good you look on your knees.”

”Really? You’ve—you’ve thought about me like that?” he replies dumbly, head a little fucked by the idea that any of this is actually happening.

Steve’s eyes track downwards, following the natural path of Eddie’s taught waist and widen as he notes the dark line of hair that is exposed beneath the jaggedly cropped shirt.

”Oh, sure. Gotta have something to keep me occupied while I’m out here living off the land like it’s the 1800’s,” he palms his cock roughly, dragging his hand over the head with slow force, “Turns out thinking about my wife’s pretty pussy makes the time pass faster than you’d think.”

Steve can’t even begin to process that comment, because he still hasn’t moved past the point he’s heavily fixated on—Eddie’s exposed stomach. Scars and ink and porcelain skin.

”Oh,” he sighs shakily and adjusts his stance to modestly cover his throbbing hard-on, “I’m—I’m glad."

That shirt, that stupid fucking shirt.

The hem is fraying and looks to have been cut with little planning. He’s now certain Eddie altered it himself with kitchen scissors or garden shears—haphazard and bizarre as is true to his nature. Kin to the wild things that dance in the shadows.

“See something you like?” Eddie croons in the cheesy tone of a chick-flick heartthrob.

It's infuriating how much it makes Steve genuinely swoon.

How much it makes him want to fill a girly diary cover to cover with Eddie's name in loopy cursive; little red hearts above the 'i's.

Honestly, he'd wear a dainty gold locket around his neck if it happened to have a picture of that fucker in it.

Steve is so royally fucked up. There's no coming back from this.

Not that he wants it to end, but still.

“You can touch me, Stevie. But I have to warn you, I do tend to bite," Eddie comedically bares his teeth and hooks a finger into the side of one cheek to showcase his canines-parodying a costume vampire, "Can’t blame me for wanting to mark up such a cute little victim with my teeth, though. Naughty habit, I know, but I’ve never been any good at sharing and it's only fair to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

His.

Steve audibly gulps and allows Eddie to pull him back in by the hand, giggling as their hips bump into each other. It's immature and clumsy-bringing his friend along to play make believe in clothes that don't quite fit either of them right.

Eddie maneuvers his limbs for him like an amateur puppeteer. Graceless and awkward, a colt fumbling his way through the meadow on needlepoint legs. He's drunk and it shows. Tucks Steve’s arms around his waist and leaves a claustrophobic distance between them--which is to say none--as he sucks onto his neck and grazes his pulse with sharp incisors.

His drawstring sweatpants are tented absurdly and reveal the thick line of his cock. Steve hasn't forgotten just how big Eddie is.

He thumbs at the head—noticing Steve’s lustful gaze—betraying his own discipline and moaning pornographically as he gets a hand on himself. Massaging the length as best he can over the obstruction of his pants. A shiver runs down his spine and Steve responds with a series of open-mouthed kisses along his broad shoulders. Unable to resist tasting him in one way or another.

“If you put the drink down and promise not to pour another drop tonight, I’ll let you fuck me,” Steve cants his hips into Eddie—somehow already rock hard despite the fact that his body should be incapable of such a thing considering how he’s treated it over the past few weeks, "Use me instead, c'mon. Show me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better. I know you want to. You're just as hard as I am-ah," his cock is so close to bursting, "I can feel it."

Eddie doesn't respond. Just stares at the glass in his hand and weighs the scale. They're both down on their luck, they both have so little left to lose--sitting ducks in a row. What's the point in denying themselves this one final pleasure?

If their story is destined to end in scattered ashes or twin graves, then why not masquerade as a pair of fortunate lovers in the interlude?

“I’ll be your pretty housewife. We can play pretend and forget about everything else. You can do whatever you want to me, but you’re not allowed to drink another drop of that shit,” Steve wagers, adopting the face of Bully #1 from his early days at Hawkins High--terrified to be known beyond his generic title, "It'll kill you before anything else ever has the chance to and that's a fucking waste of a way to go, Eds."

Eddie doesn't argue, in fact he doesn't say anything. Instead, he casually turns, sets the lurid glass on the dusty coffee table, and motions for Steve to trail him the rest of the way to the couch.

He does as he’s asked. Following Eddie’s orders without complaint.

He needs this. He wants this. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel loved.

Eddie sits on the antique coach and opens his legs wide. Steve stands in front of him—sweaty and vastly unappealing after his suicide mission of a run. Feeling like a mere mortal in the hall of a god.

Patroclus at the feet of Achilles. What a tragic Greek myth of a duo they make.

“Why do you want me to fuck you, Steve?” Eddie asks inquisitively, palming his own cock again and rolling his hips to meet his open hand-its gotta hurt, the way he touches himself like its punishment, “It’s one in the morning. We both know you’ve always had your pick of the litter. You could be fast asleep with practically any girl in town curled up naked next to you. So, why me? Why here? Why now—when being in this cabin could very well cost you your life?"

Steve drops to his knees between Eddie’s thighs—more in complete exhaustion than in an intentional show of submission, but Eddie bites his lip just the same and moans at the view.

“Because I don’t want them, Eddie,” he stares at him through the dim light that a small lamp in the corner provides, laying his head in Eddie's lap and watching the hypnotic movements of his veiny hand, “I want you.”

“You shouldn’t. I won’t be good for you. Not long-term.”

Eddie’s hand stops moving, he lets it fall from his lap and retrieves an almost empty pack of Camels from his front pocket. He taps the bottom and tucks the resulting cigarette between his lips.

Then, as if needing to occupy his hands with something else, he curiously paints a thumb over Steve's lips-tugging at the bottom one and pinching down hard. Tears prick in the corners of Steve's eyes from the sudden jolt of pain.

Every move he makes with Steve holds careful intention, curated thought. Nothing is accidental and Steve knows Eddie's hinting at something more with his wandering fingers.

“I’ll ruin you, Steve. I’ve held back so far. This is about more than just tying up your wrists and silly little games of roleplay. You think you know me. You think I'm some interesting, open book with plenty of fun stories to keep you entertained,” he says condescendingly, which causes Steve to roll his eyes in budding annoyance, “but you only know the parts of me I’ve wanted you to see. You only know the stories I've wanted to tell. You don’t know the rest. Getting attached to me isn’t fucking good, I break everything I touch and I promise-I will break you. Whether I want to or not.”

There’s an eerie darkness behind his eyes. A black hole of pain that distorts his features into something previously unseen by Steve—sickeningly beautiful, terrifyingly alluring. He can't look away.

Steve has the urge to dive in and take the fall from heaven— down, down, down they’d tumble —with Eddie writhing above him in sinful release. Excommunicated for the greedy satisfaction they find in holding each other close and moaning into each other's mouths until the sun comes up. Passing catastrophe back and forth for all eternity like a bottle of cheap wine. Drinking their fill until all they have left is each other and the devil.

“Show me,” Steve says in a threateningly calm tone, “If you really are the big bad wolf, then quit holding back and give me everything you have. Just this once. Just tonight. And then–let me decide for myself.”

As more tears streak Eddie’s jawline and his cigarette loosely hangs–unlit and meaningless–between his lips, Steve realizes he isn’t in love with him. Not really.

He’d told Robin the truth, after all, it seems.

“Steve, I killed her. I killed Chrissy. Maybe not with my own hands, but with this stupid curse that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I can’t escape it. I’m bad luck, I’m a fucking nightmare. That shouldn’t read as an invitation to you. It should send you running as far away from me as you can get, but instead you've done the dumbest fucking thing in the world. No matter what I do, you keep running straight towards me like I can save you. Like this isn't the last fucking place you should be right now,” Eddie sobs and his voice is garbled by a thicket of pain and the obstacle of the cigarette, “I can't even save myself! I’m bad, Steve. At my core. I’m not–I’m not a good person. I’m not like you. I’m not the fucking human incarnation of the sun.”

No, he’s not in love with Eddie Munson.

Love isn’t the word for what Steve feels.

It would be a sheer fucking insult to sum up his feelings in such universally applicable form.

Love isn't nearly enough, but it's all Steve has for now.

And, even if it kills him, even if it leads him right over over the cliff's edge-he's going to love Eddie Munson until the very last second.

“You think I’m the sun?” Steve’s not sure if he’s breathing–he’s not sure how he got here in the first place or if he’ll see the light of another day.

But Eddie’s eyes are on him and maybe, that’s enough.

Maybe he can die on the floor of Hopper’s cabin.

Maybe he can die the beautiful death of a Shakespearian tragedy. Wax the poetic, hopeless dream of Juliet as his eyes fall shut.

Maybe he can find the romance in the suicide.

Maybe Eddie will kiss him as he takes his last breath and hold him as his heart ceases beating.

“Yeah, but that’s not–that’s not the point. I’m trying to get you to understand that I’m all sorts of wrong for you. I'll break your heart and I'm not–”

He leans forward and Steve is painfully sober and in need of a vicarious buzz, so he kisses Eddie without first asking for permission. Tangles his hands in the hair of the boy he’s not supposed to touch; not supposed to dream of; forcing his father to roll into a premature grave. Wherever the man may be in the world at this very moment. Steve doesn’t know. Hasn’t known for most of his life.

He kisses him until he's convinced it may very well be his last breath and with Eddie wrapped around his tongue--he thinks he can accept that fate.

“Eddie,” he feels hesitant hands wrap around his waist and scratch down his spine, “Eddie, I don’t care–”

Eddie kisses him back–kisses him harder. One upping him and raising the stakes of their game. Eddie kisses him murderously. As if trying to slaughter the words right on Steve’s tongue, as if trying to devour the sacred truth before it can make contact with the frigid air around them. Blue to red, dead on arrival.

They lick and moan and whine at each other.

Play with each other like they're regal pawns on a chessboard.

They sink teeth into reddening lips and make up for lost time, smashing the clock under Eddie's heavy boots.

And, at a certain point, Steve really does think he may pass out from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Trusts Eddie to catch him if he falls.

But then, Eddie releases him and Steve has to breathe on his own whether he likes it or not.

This isn't how it was supposed to end. Not with alarm bells ringing in his ears.

“Fuck, Steve. Don’t make this so hard, please. I’m going to want you for the rest of my goddamn life, okay? However long that may be. And that's enough, I've done my best to accept that," Eddie laughs bitterly and curses at the ceiling, staring up at the crooked wooden boards, "But, you? You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a normal fucking life and a family and the ability to hold hands in public. Someone without a fucking mob out to get them. Someone who can actually keep you safe. Someone who doesn’t see you the way I do.”

You have no idea–no idea the things I want to do to you–

A monster, he'd called himself.

“How do you see me?” Steve stands and straddles Eddie’s lap; drinking in the moans he draws out of him, drunk on the power of being held by this man, "I promise you won't scare me away."

Eddie’s rock hard beneath him and Steve knows it’s wrong, knows it’s a bit manipulative, but he’s also a human livewire after seventeen whole days of separation–so he rolls his hips down and presses heat into Eddie's lap. Eddie hisses at the contact and grits his teeth as if Steve’s tied him to the electric chair.

He observes closely as Eddie’s hands cautiously trace the scars that have been revealed by Steve’s ratty, green Hawkins High basketball shorts riding up around the tops of his thighs. Deformities conceived by an experiment gone horribly wrong. By misadventures in self-reflection. Repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

“No, I’m not, We’re not doing this–” he shakes his head fervently, kissing the spaces between the lines anyway, “We can’t–”

He touches the gruesome scars like they're precious, soft as silk, and valuable as the commodified diamond. Keeping his touch featherlight.

“You told me you wanted to talk, Eddie. You told me you couldn’t resist the ‘Harrington charm after all,’” Steve–in an unusual display of decisiveness–grabs him gruffly by the jaw and watches the dull cigarette fall from grace-never achieving its' purpose, “So tell me. Let me decide.”

“I’m fucked up, Steve–” Eddie says through a river of tears.

He doesn’t take his hands away, rather creates half-moon indents in the flesh, digging in and growing roots in the soiled skin.

"I'm so beyond fucked up-"

“And I’m not?”

Steve pulls his sweat stained t-shirt over his head, tosses it aside, and moves one of Eddie’s hands to read the sullen language of ridged scars on his abdomen. Leading his fingers over the furled ruffage, illustrating the reality of the last few weeks. The damage he's done to himself in Eddie's absence, new and lasting.

“Whatever this is–whatever you feel, do me a favor and tell me before one or both of us dies without knowing the goddamn truth. Now or never, man."

“Shit. Shit. Shit. You promised,” Eddie brushes his hands over Steve’s chest, thumping a fist into the center—beating a drum that’s lost the will to make music worth listening to, “You told me you’d stop. You told me you were doing okay–”

“I lied, Eddie. I fucking lied to keep you safe,” he kisses him, nips at his jaw, gets his fingers back in those curls and wonders if this is how it feels to jump from the edge of the universe–to dive straight into the black, “Just like you. So, we’re even, I guess. We can put a tally mark on both sides. One, one. And if I can take the training wheels off, so can you.”

In a montage of profound rebellion–against his own rationale–Eddie locks a hand around Steve’s throat and pins him horizontally to the length of the couch. Penultimate domino collapsing as he bites him on the shoulder.

“Full honesty?” Eddie questions and tightens his grip enough to bruise, as if trying to squeeze the response out of Steve’s esophagus.

“Full honesty,” he pants, lightheaded and floating through space–Eddie the center of his universe.

“I–I think you’re the fucking sun. I do, but I actually think you’re brighter than that," he takes the bud of Steve’s nipple into his mouth and maintains the collar-like hold around his neck, "I think you’re a fucking supernova or whatever it’s called–Henderson taught me a long time ago at a Hellfire Club meeting.”

And then, in a display of ultimate humanity, he compassionately kisses a line down Steve's torso and whispers apologies along the way. Stopping at each scar to pay his respects, to mend the carnage. Tenderly pecking at each of Steve's veritable missing pieces.

If only Steve didn’t have to breathe, he’d beg for Eddie’s hands to keep him on the brink of suffocation at all times. It’s better this way, the bad shit doesn’t hurt as much when all he can feel is the harshness of Eddie’s wicked affection.

Taking his time, Eddie moves back up to Steve's chest.

Lavishing over the hardening nubs of his nipples, Eddie circles and hums around them–a simple tune that makes Steve squirm and whimper like he’s trying to fight off a violent predator. He likes it this way, the implication of violence. As if reading his mind, Eddie taps him on the cheek with a reprimanding little smack and kisses the red that blooms beneath it.

Ice to a burn, always ice to a burn with him.

If he could properly speak, Steve would beg him to hit harder. Beg for the imprint of his hand to become permanent on his face.

“You’re the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before I go to bed and I dream of you,” Eddie removes his own shirt with his free hand and the chain around his neck dangles teasingly over Steve’s mouth as he tosses it aside, “God, I dream of you every time I close my eyes. No matter how much I drink, no matter how much I smoke–I can’t get you out of my head. I dream these horrible, filthy fucking dreams of you. It’s so fucked up. It’s so fucking fucked up. I'm so far gone for you, I told you."

Instead of being scared, Steve is intrigued.

Desensitized and enticed by the suggestion of squalor.

Wanting to roll in the mud and see what's it's like to have filth cover every inch of his body.

“What do I do in those dreams?” he coughs dryly, as Eddie releases his neck—hacking into his hand, “What do you do to me, Eddie?"

They’ve been inching towards this all along, since the beginning, since before it.

Since Steve's dad first told him about the illness that queer boys spread with leeching hands and parasitic defilement.

Since Eddie showed up on his porch and made his lips the tourniquet for every last one of Steve’s hellacious wounds.

“I make you choke on my cock until you can’t breathe,” he pushes his pants down to his ankles and shoves them off the rest of the way with his feet–completely bare except for the silver that adorns his fingers and neck. Dressed for the occasion.

“I fuck you until you cry. I tell you what to do and you obey my every command.”

The word makes Steve’s cock leak into his already damp shorts. Eddie laughs meanly and licks him over the fabric–reminiscent of their last illicit rendezvous. Squeezing him at the base of his clothed dick and warning him not to cum.

For good reason, because Steve is already aching for release.

“That’s the thing, Steve–in my dreams, you let me touch you and use you however I want. You don't complain, you don't say no, you let me hold you under as long as I want."

Eddie pushes Steve’s shorts down too, a delighted smile meeting his lustful gaze as he nods his approval at the lack of underwear he finds beneath. Kissing Steve on the tip of his cock and thumbing at the head until a bead of slick covers his finger.

He instantly shoves it into Steve’s mouth and orders him to suck. Plunging past his lips and rubbing over his gums, before settling on his spit-soaked tongue.

Steve does so gladly, just happy to have Eddie’s fingers inside of him. Pretends the thumb is Eddie's cock, rolls it across his tongue, and fucks his mouth around it. He knows Eddie likes mess, so he lets drool spill out of the corners. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he tastes himself. Bitter and tangy and putrid.

Eddie grins wildly and adds another finger. This time his index. Steve greedily latches onto it like a starved animal.

“But, it’s not just the sex that I dream of. Though, I’ll admit that’s a lot of it,” Eddie ruts his dick against Steve’s–dry and near unbearably painful with the amount of dragging friction the act creates.

“It’s all this everyday stuff, too. I don’t think I was kidding about making you my little housewife,” Eddie groans as Steve bucks up into him and flicks at his own nipples–putting on a bit of a show for the man hovering above him.

He tugs on them and pulls on the surrounding blanket of chest hair. Circling the buds and pinching intermittently. Moaning out sweet cries of pleasure and never taking his eyes off of Eddie. He’s so sensitive, wonders if he could cum just like this—grazing his nipples and letting Eddie watch him with rapt attention.

”That’s it, baby. Touch your pretty tits. So sensitive,” Eddie leans down to kiss the top of each bud and Steve sobs at the vulgar contact, “Making you feel good aren’t I? You like hearing how much I want to control you? Is your pussy getting all wet just thinking about it?”

“Yes,” Steve whimpers, shaking as he brushes a hand over his cock to further tease, “All slick and dirty for you. My clit hurts, 's throbbing so hard. What else did you dream about?”

“Hmm. Well, I make you eat and sleep on a regular schedule,” Eddie captures Steve’s wrists in one hand and sits down atop his bare thighs with the entirety of his weight, "You're right baby," he looks down thoughtfully, "Your clit looks downright pathetic."

He pinches the head of Steve's dick between two fingers and laughs as Steve mewls and kicks out his legs beneath him.

“I give you a bedtime and rules and punishments,” Steve gasps as Eddie reaches for a bottle of lube behind one of the cushions and douses his fingers in it, "I make you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth."

“I make you go to doctor’s appointments for your head and hold your hand when they do the x-rays," Eddie kisses him softly on the forehead and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Steve's ear.

“Gimme your color, baby or we can’t keep playing. Wanna play with my favorite fuck toy, really wanna play. But I gotta know your color first.”

“Green,” Steve yelps, as Eddie bites down on his lip, “Green. Green. Green.”

“Good girl,” Eddie says in that sickly sweet patronizing tone that Steve recognizes as his signature, “Such a good girl for me.”

He lifts himself onto his knees and instructs Steve to curl his legs against his chest. Then, scoots backwards to give himself space for what he's about to do.

What is he about to do?

Steve almost vocalizes the thought, but Eddie beats him to it. Ready with an explanation.

“Need to open you up, angel. Your pussy’s so tight, ‘s never been touched before,” Eddie uses the tip of his index finger to circle Steve’s rim methodically–slowly inserting it bit by bit, “I’ll talk you through it. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

It’s a strange feeling–this sudden intrusion. Eddie has an inch of a finger inside of his ass and it feels, good?

Strange and different and kind of painful, but overall good.

Steve’s never really thought to touch himself there and no girl has ever offered to, but he thinks there might be something to this. He wants more, wants to explore and play with Eddie until it all clicks into place.

But, despite the sensation being altogether foreign and odd at first, when Eddie eventually works him down to the last knuckle and curves his finger upwards—Steve swears he reaches nirvana. Stars burst behind his eyes and he practically cums on the spot.

What the fuck is that?

“Fuck. That’s–oh my god. Fuck,” he writhes and Eddie holds him down by the hips so he can slowly begin slipping another finger inside, “More, Eddie. More. Please, touch me. Touch me anywhere. I don’t care, just please don’t stop—fuck.”

"Cute. Looks like babygirl's enjoying getting her prostate fingered for the first time," Eddie licks a stripe up Steve's abdomen and sucks marks onto his hips, nosing alongside his weepy cock, "Just can't get enough of having my fingers in you, can you?"

Steve shakes his head somberly-borderline ashamed to admit it, "Uh, uh. Need you to keep me full. Wanna stay full. Please don't stop, Eddie. Please."

He adds a second finger, slowing sinking in, and working Steve open with gentle scissoring motions, edging him and licking up all of his wanton sounds.

“Let’s see where was I?” He feigns innocence and verbally ignores Steve's whining, but continues to press his fingers up against Steve’s prostate with increasing speed, “In my dreams, I make you do your laundry,” he rubs circles around that little perfect nub of pleasure that Steve never realized he had, “I make you give me a daily report of what you’ve accomplished and what you still feel you need help with,” he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of Steve’s hole at a punishing pace and the only thing preventing him from screaming is the vague memory that this is a man on the run and the walls are only so thick, “I make you take care of yourself in all the ways you don’t want to. In all the ways you think you don’t deserve.”

There are three fingers in his body somehow and it’s wet and messy and sloppy and gross.

He’s leaking profusely and swears he could cum from Eddie’s words alone. The control, the ability to submit fully, the offer on the fucking table–sends him into a state of irrepair. All of his senses converge to communicate the single fact that this is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Eddie Munson. Steve needs Eddie Munson.

He’s not the source of contagion, Steve’s dad had that all wrong.

He’s the cure–the narcotic sedative that may be the only thing capable of stopping Steve from unearthing the pistol in the basement and aiming it at his own head.

“And if I want all of that? If I agree to be okay with everything you just described? What then? Will you have me? Will you make me yours?” Steve secures his hands around Eddie’s neck in a binding clasp–lacing his fingers as a symbol of the oath he’s prepared to profess.

Locked in.

Permanent.

Eddie removes his fingers and furrows his brow in concentration, gazing down at the boy below him. Looking like he wasn’t quite expecting that answer.

“Then, I–I suppose we could do this, be whatever this is. But, Steve, I still don’t think you understand. Even if you are okay with a dynamic like that, I’m never going to be able to–”

Eddie’s doubts are silenced by another kiss. Steve doesn’t need to hear them, he already has them memorized like the back of his hand and he’s ready to battle them along with his own.

If the house was on fire, if the world was ending, if a bullet came spinning through the air and only one of them could survive–Steve would save Eddie every single time.

He’ll choose him in this universe and every other one. Born back again and again into his arms through time and space.

“You’re the moon,” he says, unable to put it into words, terrified of how lucid he feels when he looks into Eddie’s midnight eyes.

“What?”

“You’re the moon, Eds,” he kisses him unapologetically and thinks of how he got here-following the moon with nothing but Eddie on his mind, “You’re the light surrounded by darkness and I choose you, regardless. I don’t care about the consequences, as long as it’s you. As long as it’s you.”

“Steve, no one’s ever–I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me–” Eddie blinks back tears and everything is worth it–the pain, the risk, the unstable future.

It’s a disease, y'know. It can be passed from person to person. Make sure you stay away from boys like him, Steven.

Boys like him.

Boys with eyes as dark as the midnight sky.

Boys with quick wit and sarcastic bite.

Boys with bruised knuckles and scarred skin.

Boys like Eddie.

Boys like Steve.

“Ruin me,” he whispers brokenly, “Make me yours and ruin me.”

With that, Eddie rolls a condom onto his cock–retrieving it from behind the same cushion, as if he’d anticipated this very moment.

“Beg, babygirl,” he teases the head of his dick at Steve’s entrance and fists a handful of hair into his hand, “Tell me what you want with your words and maybe, I’ll give it to you.”

Steve cries out at the way Eddie prods against him, trembling and mewling in a fragmented cacophony. A fitful melody that could only ever appeal to a seriously fucked up audience of two.

“Need you inside me, Eds. Need your cock to fill me up, need you to make me forget about everything else,” he groans and tastes blood from where he’s been biting into his own cheek, “Please.”

“You’re learning,” Eddie grips the arm of the sofa with his free hand and Steve inhales the musky scent of him–trying to get high on it, “look at that,” his eyes are trained on where he stretches him out on his cock, “my bashful little virgin is going to get turned into a needy cockslut in no time.”

Steve fucking purrs. Greedy for more, desperate to feel himself split all the way open by Eddie’s dick. Wanting Eddie to break him all the way, sink his teeth in and never let go.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie sinks further into the clutch of Steve’s ass and groans deeply–primal in essence, “Your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, ‘s so warm too. Gonna stretch you out so good, make you nice and loose so I can fuck you easy whenever I want.”

“Wanna be yours,” Steve arches his back and sucks in a sharp breath as Eddie bottoms out inside of him–closer than ever, two becoming one, “Wanna be yours and make you proud. Wanna behave.”

“I know you do, princess. Can tell how good you are, how good you wanna be,” he stills his body, allowing Steve to adjust to him and pets at his face lovingly, “Of course you’re mine, baby. You’ve been mine since the day I first laid eyes on you. You belong to me.”

Fuck.

Steve cries out for a God he’s long since stopped believing in.

No one’s ever wanted him like this. No one’s ever wanted to claim him as theirs. To build a foundation atop his decimated grounds.

“Yours,” Steve replies weakly, rocking his hips and indulging in the painful stretch of his gaping hole, “yours, yours, yours.”

“Mine,” Eddie begins thrusting sloppily–with no rhyme or reason, other than the overwhelming need to reach his own end and take Steve down the rabbit hole with him, “You and your perfect pink hole. All mine. All fucking mine. Gonna ruin you, baby.”

Eddie presses his knees further into his chest beyond what should be naturally possible. But for Eddie he’ll do anything, bend and contort into any position necessary.

He slams into Steve, holding his ankles next to his head, and pistoning his hips.

“Mmmm,” he mewls and gawks at the bulge that pumps in and out of his lower abdomen, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Feels too good, pussy’s gonna be so sore tomorrow. So full, so fucking full. Don’t ever want you to leave.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie takes one of his hands and flattens it over Steve’s pelvis, covering it with his own, “Do you feel that? Do you feel how deep you're taking my cock, princess?”

Eddie smacks his hips into Steve’s–whining high in his throat at the sight. The two marvel at the shape of desire, how Steve’s body molds to fit Eddie seamlessly. Like the cocoon of a dormant butterfly, shaping unique perfection.

“Next time, I’m gonna fuck you raw,” he sucks a hickey onto Steve’s neck–more purple to poke at in the morning, “Gonna make your belly all fat and pregnant with my cum. Breed you like the slut you are until it’s dripping out of every hole.”

“Yeah,” Steve moans sharply, canting his hips to meet Eddie in the middle–deepening his own pleasure and edging ever closer to a mounting orgasm, “Want that. Wanna be the mama to your kids, Daddy.”

I see myself as much more of a ‘Daddy’ than a ‘Mommy’—for your information.

It slips his mind, runs the length of his tongue by accident, and exits his perverted lips before he can comprehend the gravity of the situation.

But it scratches an itch that Steve hasn’t been able to reach since Eddie first spoke those words aloud in the produce aisle of the local grocery store. And he can’t take it back.

He doesn’t want to.

Daddy.

It feels right.

It suits him.

And, well, he doesn’t exactly seem too unhappy about it-

“Oh fuck,” Eddie trembles and fights for air, fucking into Steve with no remorse-balls slapping against his body rapidly,“Say that again,” he takes Steve by the throat and squeezes harder than ever before as if he actually plans on suffocating him right here on the couch, “Fucking say it, Stevie. Right fucking now, I swear to God–”

“Daddy,” he leans up to capture Eddie’s kiss-bitten mouth in his and smirks at how much the simple name affects the man’s composure, “Your wife, Daddy. No one else gets to play with my pussy and make me cum. Just you. Only you. Love being your pretty toy, want you to use me until I cry. Make it hurt Daddy, make me bleed.”

Stuttering in his rhythm and cursing relentlessly, Eddie slaps the outside of Steve’s thigh with a heavy hand and unsheathes himself.

”Fuck-what are you-“ Steve whimpers at the loss, desperate to get Eddie back inside him.

“Turn over, baby. Hands and knees. Wanna fuck you from behind so I can spank you while you cum all over my cock.”

Steve’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life. He scrambles into position-ducks his head between his elbows and teasingly wiggles his ass back and forth for Eddie to see.

“Gimme spankings, Daddy,” he pants, dick spilling out more slick onto the pillows, “Hit me hard so I feel it tomorrow.”

Steve’s never even spanked one of his girlfriends. Let alone gotten spanked himself. But there’s no doubt in his mind that this going to become a fast forming addiction for him, the second Eddie’s palm makes contact with the roundest part of his ass. He cries out at the overwhelming sting and hears himself pleading for more.

“You’re beautiful, Stevie,” Eddie says softly and tugs his head up from the pillows by the hair as he slides back into him, “I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I’m sorry I asked you to leave. Don’t ever wanna let you go, don’t ever wanna say goodbye.”

” ‘s okay, Daddy,” Steve moans out as Eddie pounds into him and lands another harsh spanking on his ass, “I got scared too. Don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. Wanna keep you safe.”

“You’re the sun, Stevie. You’re the sun,” Eddie repeats in pure religiosity and closes out the prayer with a final, gorgeous virtue, “Gonna fuck you slow and cum inside you. Gonna take my time. Gonna savor this and never forget it.”

Tears fall when Steve hears him say this. He wants to promise the same. So badly. But he knows it’s one of the only things he can’t say back. He can’t give Eddie the blessing of his memory and it sends shrapnel flying into his heart.

“You’re the moon,” he says instead-figuring it’s the next best thing he can supply, “You’re my moon. Mine.”

“Yours,” Eddie says on the edge of a breath, “Always, yours.”

His hips stutter, slowing, and rhythmically brushing against Steve’s prostate which sends them both into an overwhelming orgasm in no time at all.

Steve spurts over his stomach and Eddie cums while still pressed deep inside him.

Twitching from oversensitivity and the aftershocks of pleasure, as he collapses onto Steve’s chest to bury his face in his neck.

Steve knows Eddie’s crying, can feel the tears pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Opalescent in the moonlight.

Trying to make him whole, even now, even there.

Trying to save each other the only way they know how.

Within a matter of breathless minutes, stolen kisses, and mindless pillow talk; they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

”Need you to cut my hair tomorrow,” Eddie softly snores atop Steve’s chest and speaks through a half-formed dream, barely a whisper in the dead of night, “All of it.”

He almost asks, almost wakes him fully, but decides—without council—that the rest can wait ‘til morning.

When the sun will rise again.

53 notes · View notes

nathank77 · 8 months ago

Text

4/13/24

12:18 a.m

Talk about driving me fucking crazy. Can you just tell me? Cause I want a retest if it comes back positive.

At this point I'm just accepting I have HSV2. Do I know for sure? Absolutely not cause quest won't finish the fucking test and I've had absolutely no symptoms but- pretending it's a positive will make a positive less traumatic.

I haven't talked to my mother yet but for some reason, I know damn well if I have it, it's from her giving birth to me vaginally.

How do I feel about this? Well if I pretend it's def positive, even though I know I have HSV1....

1) Well I've been asymptomatic for 16 years to 33 years depending on if it was from my Mother or my two sexcapade so who really cares when it comes to my body? I'm not going to ever get symptoms.

2) Obviously I'll be worried I'll get symptoms one day bc they can be a horror story but I have to use time as a reference and psychosis as the most traumatizing event cause it is and then all my other shit that didn't trigger it.

Also there are treatments for it, if you end up being someone very symptomatic that can stop infection frequency. Katelyn had to do it cause she had many outbreaks.

I can avoid certain things that cause outbreaks and otherwise I can just assume I'll never have symptoms and only worry about it if I do.

And if I ever do I won't be surprised bc I'll know.

3) I feel bad for all my exes. Cause I'm telling 2 or 3 out of 4 of them. If I can reach Cecile. I mean I'd want to know if it was the shoe on the other foot so I could get tested. I can't tell Jon cause he won't talk to me but I would if I could.

They'll also low key hate me-its not my fault planned parenthood only tests for HIV, syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia..

I've gotten all my tests done at planned parenthood after every partner since I was like 18 years old and I was over here thinking they screened for everything but they don't. They do not do a full panel like my primary care did. They don't even test for Hepitas for christ sake.

-I'm over here thinking I only have two things, one that isn't even a std:

1] HSV1- My cold sores make it undeniable and I've told everyone I dated.

2] I have Pearly Penile Papules, I've had those since I started testosterone. They aren't sexually attractive, they line the head of my dick and they are ultra tiny. However they increase sexual pleasure and they aren't contagious. They don't do anything. They just exist. They are harmless. I've always told my partners about them bc everyone freaks out about bumps down below and I actually went to Planned Parenthood and had them look at my dick and diagnose it years ago, so it's actually what they are.

3) My main concern is that no one will date me bc I will tell everyone that I get serious with. Not right away but well before sex.

- I wish she hadn't done the blood test. They say needless suffering for a reason. Cause they aren't very accurate and I'm over here saying, "Nathan idc if it's in progress you have HSV2, in order to soften the blow if it comes back positive."

- Either way I wait. I'm mostly concerned that no one will date me. I can't blame someone for not wanting it.

- I mean I'm a transguy. I'm disabled. I'm very mentally ill. I'm a low life. And If I have HSV2 good bye to any chance of me finding a partner.

-Either way it's still in progress. It could come back negative, I just got to prepare for the worst case scenario. And if it comes back negative I'll be happy as a pig in shit. If it comes back positive, then I'll feel all the things I wrote above and I'll get retested and I'll start looking at test accuracy rates.

0 notes

saratogaroadwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Adamantus (1/12)

Adamantus | saratogaroad rating: G+ total wordcount: 15,328 characters: Aulea Lucis Caelum, Regis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ardyn Lucis Caelum relationships: Aulea/Regis, Aulea & Noctis other tags: Mother-Son Relationship, Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence warnings: Character Death Starts The Plot

When Noctis is three years old, Regis takes ill. The doctor tells her that he will recover, that all will be well.

It isn't.

Aulea Lucis Caelum is left to raise a son on her own, knowing that a Kingdom depends on her strength and will to survive.

She will not lose him, too.

When Noctis is three years old, Regis takes ill. The Citadel Physician says it is simply stress that makes him cough, that he will recover with rest and time and plenty of love from his family.

Aulea wants to fire the man for lying to her.

Regis does not get better. He gets worse, the cough becoming a hack that steals all his energy, that keeps him contained to bed. Aulea, deep brown hair just beginning to streak through with gray, sends for doctor after doctor. They come from as far as Accordo, but none can find the cause.

None can find a cure.

She writes to Queen Sylva of Tenebrae, begs not as Queen to Queen but Wife to Widow, please help me, and though Sylva's reply is full of her own love and sympathy and desire to help, there is nothing she can do. If it is not the Scourge--and none of the worsening symptoms Aulea has described in detail speak of the Scourge--then there is nothing she can do. Tenebrae remains a staunch ally to Lucis, and Aulea gains a true friend.

This does not prepare her for losing her husband.

One hot summer night, the desert heat of Leide all around them, Aulea sees a trail of golden light in the air above Regis' bed, which she sits beside with Noctis sleeping in her arms. She looks up, and her eyes well with tears.

Etro's gate hovers, wavering like a desert mirage, above her coughing husband.

He is not long for this world. She has not long to say goodbye.

She stands, and across the room, Cor Leonis walks to her.

"Your Majesty--" He doesn't have the time to finish as she presses Noctis to his chest. His arms come up automatically; Cor has helped change Noctis' diapers, kept him from trouble. She can see no better man to watch her son in this trying time. Still, she thinks, he deserves the truth.

"Regis," She whispers, "is passing. Please, take Noctis away from here."

Cor, barely into his manhood and yet stronger than even he realizes, stares for a moment as if she just told him the sun is going to disappear. But then he draws a breath, and though his eyes are welling with tears, his lower lip trembling, his grip is firm and he salutes her with a hand across his chest, across Noctis' back.

Then he strides from the room, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.

Aulea lets out a shaky breath and returns to Regis' side. With skirts rustling, she pulls herself up onto his bed, ignoring the scent of sick and the way his breath rattles in his chest.

"'Lea?" He whispers, skin cold as he turns his head against hers. She pulls the blankets up a little higher.

"I'm here." She tells him, not telling him about the gate that strengthens with every passing moment. He knows of her talent, her curse to see passing souls as they make the journey from the living to the dead.

He likely knows this is his time, but his body is failing him. He has no strength left to speak, but there is nothing he could say that she doesn't already know. She lays beside her husband, holding his hand as tightly as she can. His returning squeeze is faint, barely there. She lays her head beside his.

"It's alright, my love," She tells him in a voice that wavers but does not break, "If you need to...you can go."

His eyes open slowly, gray-blue that has passed to their son. She meets his gaze, smiles, and knows that he knows she loves him. It is enough.

It will never be enough.

"I will...await you," He whispers, eyes fluttering closed. "In the Beyond."

His grip on her hand goes slack. Aulea turns her head, hides her face in his neck, and cries. For a few minutes, she is not the Queen of Lucis, nor is she Noctis' mother. She is Regis' love, his partner, his confidant.

His widow.

She allows herself to mourn, great heaving sobs that only the walls will hear as she clings to the blankets, his silken sleepwear, and refuses to let go. Her breath comes in pants, her heart a broken thing 'neath her breast that beats even when she doesn't want it to, because how is she supposed to live without him? How is she supposed to run a kingdom and raise a child without him? She has none of his powers, none of his talents. She can run a house, can sew a dress in a day, can fight as well as Cyril Scientia with a lance and the Elemancy Regis had taught her to use, but a kingdom? As a single parent?

Gods. She can't do this.

She has to do this.

For what feels like forever, she does not move. She sobs and holds on, refuses to let go, only then...she does. With a decidedly un-ladylike sniff, she pulls back. Straightens out the soaked shoulder of his top and pulls the blanket up. She reaches out, putting a hand to his still warm cheek. His beard rasps against her palm; were it not for his stillness, he could be merely sleeping.

She knows he is not.

Eyes welling with tears once more, Aulea bends forward and presses a kiss to her beloved's forehead.

"My heart will be with you," She repeats from their vows, "Until even the Beyond is no more."

Then with a strength she did not know she still had, Aulea Lucis Caelum stands from her husband's death bed, straightens her skirts, and walks tall from the room.

Three days later, though all are dressed in mourning black, Insomnia rings with a single cheer:

Long Live The Queen.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #fifxv fic #!fic #series: crystalline shards #fic: adamantus

1 note · View note

g-kat423 · 2 years ago

Text

Tw for ED stuff under the cut including numbers

So I haven’t had an actual binge since May and tonight I feel I got pretty damn close. It was definitely in the compulsive overeating category. I didn’t feel like I was in control. It was a really upsetting day. I woke up late from all the Xanax I took to keep myself calm and then got into one of my usual fights with my parents over my chronic illness since they’re still convinced it’s laziness/unwillingness to try to get better….like if I could flip a switch and be better I fucking would! And I am trying to get better why do you think I’ve been to the hospital and have gotten referrals to specialists?? The problem is the referrals to specialists always wind up being dead ends since there’s MONTHS of waiting and they never get back to me even when I’ve called they’ll say my referral has not gone though yet. ANYWAY, that’s beside the point. So I woke up and had a banana, was upset and didn’t eat a proper meal for hours and then my parents left and I ate a bunch of lunch meat instead of just making a sandwich, then I ate Cheetos, then potato chips, and then candy out of the dishes my mom keeps for display. Candy I don’t even fucking like just to fill that insatiable urge. Then my parents came home and brought me food since they’d gone out to eat and felt bad about the fight earlier and I really should have just saved it but I ate all of the fries and there was a shit ton and half of the grilled veggie sandwich. I nearly forced myself to eat the whole thing but I was so full. I probably could have pushed myself into finishing it if I still purged, but I don’t purge anymore since I feel like my body just can’t handle it anymore with how high my heart rate has gotten from throwing up while genuinely sick. After counting all of the calories for the day it was a little over 2,000 which is normal and I shouldn’t gain weight but it was the feeling of losing control and eating that much in such a short window when I generally eat around the low 1,000’s spaced out throughout the day since I generally don’t have much of an appetite and I’ve also lost 71 pounds since last year and obvi my body isn’t used to accommodating as much food anymore. I feel kind of sick and disgusted with myself. All I can do is keep in control tomorrow since I can’t change today. I know it wasn’t a real binge, just overeating but ugh. It was too close to home and reminded me a lot of my out of control binge days.

1 note · View note

kwynoodle · 7 years ago

Photo

the boy likes to make Em blush

#dragon age origins #Cousland #FemCousland #da: origins #hero of ferelden #Warden #Grey Warden #my art #Emmara cousland #not 100 percent sure she wont beat him up tbh #im tellin ya #teeth suck #and at this rate ill never finish a full body #but i finally finished a photo of em so thats c00l #dragon age

1 note · View note

renstardust · 2 years ago

Text

Daddy Lessons

Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,103

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mentions of Non-Con, Mentions of Kidnapping, Brief Mention of Vomit, Oral Sex

***********************************************

AO3 Link

***********************************************

Kylo Ren was a patient man.

Patient enough to keep a straight face beneath his mask whenever you swung at him, when you screamed, when you protested, when you threw various items. He was a man who had a bite bigger than his bark, with the ability to pin you against the wall or have you face-down on his bed without making a sound.

He knew that you’d be difficult for the first few weeks, it’s not like you came here willingly. And he was willing to wait until you finally fucking admitted that your life on the Supremacy was a thousand times better than your life back on the cesspool that was Daiyu.

The first few days sucked when he had you leashed to the headboard of his bed, the beskar chain just long enough for you to use the bathroom when you needed. He hand-fed you meals you had never heard of, expensive, incredibly seasoned foods. The same hands that stroked your hair, that squeezed your throat when you would talk back or spit at him, that violated you several times a day, sometimes even in your sleep.

You often wondered what he looked like behind that mask - you knew he was human at least, because of those warm, alabaster hands with long, thick fingers that stuffed your pussy and kept you feeling full for hours.

All you knew was that Kylo Ren was fucking ruthless, a man who didn’t take no for an answer, a man who took you for the sake of his own entertainment, who killed for work and for sport. He was sick and he knew it, shameless whenever he fucked you and shut you up with a Force compulsion.

But the worst part was that you were starting to like him.

And then, he was gone.

A three-month long mission, he explained, leaving you in his quarters with nothing but a holotv and two of his knights who stayed behind. Ushar and Kuruk took turns checking on you several times a day, bringing you meals and updating Kylo about you on the daily. At least you weren’t leashed, and you could finally take bubble baths without worrying about him storming in and groping you beneath the water.

Your mind often wandered, curious as to what your fate would be if Kylo’s mission failed and he never made it back home. You worried about the future, unsure of what was to become of you even if he did make it back. Would he eventually get bored of you and drop you off on some desert planet? Would he ever take off his mask, and when? Was he planning on having a future with you that would ever be…normal?

Sixteen days after Kylo’s departure, you woke up in the middle of the night, immediately finding yourself rushing to the toilet as you leaned over it and emptied your dinner’s contents from earlier. As if on cue, Ushar let himself inside, standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you lowered the toilet’s lid, resting your cheek against it.

“I’ll have Medbay send a nurse,” Ushar spoke lowly, watching you with the same impossible-to-read expression behind his mask as Kylo would.

“No, it’s fine,” You whispered shakily. “Just…give me a few minutes.”

Ushar sighed, pulling out his datapad and typing away, ignoring your request.

“Ushar-“

“Master Ren said to have a nurse check you if you exhibit any signs of illness or injury, Miss Ren.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, both at his statement and at the name he often addressed you as despite your protests.

A few minutes passed, your nausea finally fading away, your body feeling surprisingly normal again once you had gotten yourself up from the bathroom floor and brushed your teeth. You made your way out of the bathroom, Ushar sitting in one of Kylo’s lounge chairs as a nurse finished setting up a scanning device.

“I’m going to check your vitals, ma’am. You may sit wherever is most comfortable.”

You nodded at her words, finding yourself back on Kylo’s bed, sitting comfortably near the pillows. The nurse held the scanning device in her hand, running it over your forehead and down to your navel a few times, the blue holographic light on it drawing your attention. You missed seeing colors, the Supremacy was constantly drowning in dark slates and Kylo’s quarters were no exception. His black silk sheets, black leather chairs, black marble bathroom and black wardrobe of clothing were nearly identical in hue to the expanse of deep, dark space just outside of the windows.

A few soft beeps sounded in the silent room, the nurse glancing down at her datapad and looking over the results.

“You seem to have a normal temperature, nothing seems to be out of the ordin- oh.”

You spoke up as her face paled. “Oh?”

“Is there a problem?” Ushar watched like a hawk from his seat, cocking his head. The nurse’s hands shook as she gave him the datapad, letting him scan over the results as well.

A beat, then a deep chuckle.

“I see.”

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows, throwing your hands up. “I would like to know what’s wrong with my body.”

“Well, it seems that you are, um…” The nurse hesitated, gathering her words.

“You are with child, Miss Ren.”

You could already feel the smirk behind Ushar’s mask. You could have sworn your heart stopped. You couldn’t recall when you had last taken a breath of air.

“I’ll alert Master Ren immediately,” Ushar stood up, unlocking his data pad as you finally choked out a word.

“…No.”

Ushar’s gaze snapped up at you as the nurse began packing her things, making a quiet exit.

“No?”

“Don’t…h-he just left- it’s only been two weeks-“

“This would be far more important to him than the mission, Miss Ren.”

“Ushar, please,” You begged, your eyes beginning to fill up with tears. “Just let me have this one thing. I’ll tell him when he’s back.”

“We cannot keep secrets from Master Ren. Especially regarding your health-”

“Please.” A single tear began rolling down your cheek, stopping at your jawline and dripping onto the soft comforter below. “I haven’t had control over my life in months…my body, this… baby, is the one thing I have left. Let me tell him after the mission.”

A beat. Then, a deep sigh.

“Okay.”

Three months passed by rather quickly.

You had taken two more pregnancy tests immediately after your revelation with the nurse and Ushar, just to be sure. Both of them came up as positive, but you still struggled to comprehend that there was a living thing growing inside of your womb.

A fetus that was half of him.

You started to believe it more by the second month of Kylo’s absence. Your breasts were extra tender and were beginning to get more swollen, you had mood swings that Ushar and Kuruk had to unfortunately deal with, your period stopped showing up, and you felt more tired than usual despite the fact that the only physical activity you did in Kylo’s quarters was an occasional set of sit-ups, push-ups, or masturbating.

Not that your fingers could satisfy you the way his would. Or his mouth. Or his…no, gross. You’re still a hostage, remember?

Loneliness began settling in by the third month, and you loathed it. Your pregnancy hormones made you feel extra sensitive, extra needy, and you couldn’t stand the way you somewhat craved his presence when you laid alone in that ginormous bed each night.

But one morning, after you stepped out of the shower, you saw a change in yourself as you glanced at the mirror that you hadn’t noticed even just the day before. Your skin had an extra glow to it, warmth touching it and making you look healthier than ever. Your lower abdomen had a small, but noticeable bump that you could have sworn wasn’t there a day ago. Your breasts were fuller, as were your lips, and your hair was shinier, longer.

You felt…. beautiful?

That heavy feeling of loneliness lifted just a smidge as you placed the palm of your hand on your little baby bump, chewing on your bottom lip. You remembered that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

“You’ll be able to find out the sex in a few weeks, Miss Ren.”

The nurse, who’s name you’d discovered was Alaia, scanned your belly carefully as you sat on your usual place on the neatly-made bed, a form-fitting but comfortable dress clothing your body. The soft, grey fabric accentuated your curves and your bump, stopping at about mid-calf on you.

“That’s really…wow,” You trailed off, eyeing the datapad in her other hand at the ultrasound. You could see the growing fetus, so small but already developing so quickly. “I can’t believe that twelve weeks have already gone by.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I was carrying my son either,” Alaia chuckled, eyeing the ultrasound carefully. “It’s even crazier when you see them go off to college.”

“Oh gods, don’t make me think about that,” You furrowed your eyebrows, placing your hand on your belly instinctively. “One day at a time.”

She smiled softly. “Exactly, there is no need to think that far ahead, dear. Take it one day at a time and savor every moment.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Ren. And I’m sure that the Supreme Leader is just itching to get home to you.”

Your face fell slightly as her words, almost forgetting the inevitable that was constantly lingering. The obvious tension that continued to float in the air between you and Ushar. Kylo still doesn’t know.

“He, um,” You whispered softly, wringing your hands together. “I still haven’t told him.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened.

“You…you won’t tell him, right?”

Alaia gave you an empathetic look, shaking her head.

“Of course not, Miss Ren. That is between you and him. Besides, breaking patient confidentiality would cost me my job, possibly even my life. That rule applies for all of my patients.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Alaia smiled, giving the ultrasound and your vitals one last lookover.

“The baby looks very healthy, as do you. Keep taking those prenatal vitamins and try not to stress too much.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, the door to your quarters swung open, heavy footsteps storming into the room. Kylo stopped in the threshold that separated the bedroom area from the kitchen and living room area, his chest heaving.

“Get out. Now.”

His voice in the vocoder of his mask spat like venom as he addressed Alaia, who was quickly packing her things, making her exit. Hearing him again felt unreal - the sound itself brought chills to your arms and to the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered involuntarily as you took in his appearance for the first time in three months, and it was somewhat comforting to see that he looked pretty much the same as he did when he left, not that the mask could look much different anyways.

Kylo’s body looked exhausted, and depraved, his hands in tight fists, knuckles white from the tension begging to snap. Your lips parted and you scrambled to stand up, Ushar rushing in behind him a few seconds later, coming to a screeching halt at the entrance at his Master’s presence.

“Master.”

“Make your exit, Ushar. We’ll discuss this later.”

You stared at the two of them incredulously, your hands grazing your bump, a comforting habit you had. Ushar turned hesitantly, knowing not to push his Master’s orders any further, shutting the door behind him as he went out into the hall.

“You didn’t think,” Kylo began, taking his steps in your direction. “That the moment my ship got back into this fucking region of the galaxy , I wouldn’t sense you?”

Your body shook like a wet kitten.

“I-…I was going to-“

“Tell me? But it what, slipped your mind?” Kylo stopped just a few feet in front of you, mask looming down, towering over you as he drank you in. “It slipped you, and Ushar’s , minds that you were fucking pregnant? With my child?”

That, was precisely what made you snap.

“Your fucking child?” Your eyes narrowed as you feebly attempted to stand your ground, staring deep into the metal ridges of his mask. “The child that I’ve been carrying, that I’ve been developing, inside of my body?”

“Watch it.”

“Or what?” You challenged him, stepping forward. “You’ll smack me around, you’ll fuck me against my will again? You don’t scare me anymore, Kylo. I kept this fucking secret because it was the one thing that I had for myself. You have the entire kriffing galaxy in your hands, including me, and I don’t even get choices anymore!”

His fists relaxed at his sides as you took his unusual silence as a notion to continue.

“So yes, I kept it a secret. Because for the three months you were gone, I wanted to feel like I had the smallest, tiniest bit of control over my life again. And I am certainly not going to let a man whose face I haven’t even seen, by the way, disrespect me for wanting to feel human again.”

Kylo stared at you, a moment of silence happening between the two of you as you briefly pondered if you had just spoken your last words. The dull, comforting sound of the Supremacy hummed like white noise, before being disrupted by the clicking sound of an air release, which you quickly realized was his helmet.

Coming off of his head.

In front of you.

Your shoulders slumped and your eyes widened as you drank in his appearance for the first time, a thousand realizations flooding into your mind. Realizations about the fact that you’d been fucked by this man, about how beautiful your child was going to be, about how grateful you were to know that he truly was human.

His whiskey-colored eyes held a warmth that made your chest ache, full, pink lips, an aquiline nose that made your thighs threaten to squeeze together. His hair fell close to his shoulders, dark waves of onyx that looked incredibly well-maintained, soft, even.

Kylo Ren was fucking unbelievable.

“I figured that some time apart would have been good for us,” He finally spoke, his unmodified voice softening, making your lashes flutter. “That’s why I accepted the mission. To give you some space, to let you be with yourself for a few months so you’d feel less, less-“

“S- um, suffocated?” You stuttered, already irritated at yourself for feeling nervous around him now. Gods, get yourself together.

“Yes. I should’ve considered the probability of this happening, though…” Kylo broke his stare from your eyes and directed his gaze to your little bump.

“You would’ve cut the mission short if I’d let Ushar tell you.”

He focused on the bump, his fingertips gently grazing it through your dress fabric.

“Of course I would’ve.”

“I wasn’t going to let you do that.” You whispered, your voice trembling as he stroked you, closing his eyes for a moment. He was doing something with the Force, probably reaching out to your kid who was currently floating idly in amniotic fluid. Sensing them. A bit of jealousy tugged at your hormonal mind.

“You better not be securing your place as their favorite parent with that mind stuff you do.”

Kylo chuckled, his eyes blinking open and locking onto yours. “Relax, little one. I was just getting a feel for them.”

“So,” Your eyes involuntarily darted between his and his lips. “You’re not mad? About…this?”

“The only thing I was upset about was that I couldn’t be here to watch over the two of you for the last few months.”

“Well,” You whispered, watching as he lowered down to his knees, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your chest from the sight of him this way. “You’re here now, and I’ve had a great nurse, and the knights have been helpful, and…I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

Kylo’s hands cupped the sides of your bump as he pressed his lips against it, digging his nose into you. Something about the sight of you pregnant, the feeling of his child growing inside of you, had the scariest man in the galaxy on his knees, in a daze of absolute awe.

“Let me make it up to you for storming in earlier.”

He mumbled against the fabric of your dress, toying with the hem near your calves and slipping his hands up, pulling the bottom of your dress up. You hated how easily you ached for his touch now, not realizing how horny your hormones could make you until his hands felt like fire on your skin.

“D-don’t you have to speak to Ushar- fuck, ” You whispered when his hand reached your panties, his thumb pressing against your clit through the cotton.

“I’m p-pretty sure he’s waiting outside the door-“

Kylo hummed, lifting your dress high enough to drape over his head as he tugged your panties down, exposing your cunt.

“Ushar can wait.”

His thick fingers gripped your thighs, guiding you to take a few steps back, until you were forced to sit on the bed, leaning back into a lying position.

“I- um- ohhh…”

You scrambled to move your dress fabric more as you tugged at his soft hair, a moan slipping out of you as Kylo sucked on your clit, his tongue swiping along every bit, every crevice of your lower regions. He growled against your cunt, the vibrations in his throat making your hips buck.

“You look so fucking pretty, your tummy getting full with our baby, don’t you?” He groaned against you, eliciting a sweet hum of confirmation from your lips. One of his hands slid north, pawing at your breast, the tenderness making you dizzy.

“A little dream, all for daddy?”

“Mhmm…” You whimpered again, gasping as he went down on you, savoring every bit of your cunt like it was his first meal since the mission. It probably was.

Ushar left his waiting post outside of the door the moment he heard your muffled whining and Kylo’s hips slapping against you. He decided to send Kylo a quick text instead, making his way to the cantina that was a short elevator ride down.

DATPD 08179:

Congratulations, Master.

We knew you could get it up.

Sent 17:36

The dress: https://skims.com/products/soft-lounge-long-slip-dress-heather-grey?variant=34535377404036&glCountry=US&glCurrency=USD&gclid=CjwKCAjwrZOXBhACEiwA0EoRD7a9iyzIX0-ZA9eRbgyADJqz4OLPMJglsAPYqERw6ZqVImp-MvGrqxoCeVUQAvD_BwE

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #adcu #kylo ren x you #ao3 #kylo x reader #adam driver fanfiction #adam driver #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars smut #kylo ren x y/n #ben solo #star wars fanfiction

562 notes · View notes

jreads · 2 years ago

Text

Unexpected Constellations (Part 09)

Rating: M (18+, minors get gone)

Word Count: 10.3K

Warnings: (in an effort to not spoil) Canon-level violence, Mentions of blood, Mentions of death, Foul language, Sexual content, Emotionally $lutty Mando

A/N: Oh my days, finally. So actually, this scene was what inspired me to write the whole darn fic in the first place, so I really wanted to get it close to perfect (which is partially why it took so long). On top of that, I just finished my last exam of my undergraduate degree! I do not feel happy or relieved because I am insanely ill and need to get surgery before I can get a job! YAY! On a more positive note, i hope you enjoy this part and I hope my first attempt at smut is acceptable. If you reblog, I'm positive it will cure me. Comment on this post or the masterlist to get added to the taglist!

Night had fallen, and there was already blood on his gloves.

It was green, viscous, and slimy, and he wiped it carelessly on his leg before reaching for the hunter’s long-distance rifle. He wasn’t usually the type to rob a dead man, but he figured it might be of use on the rooftops.

After all, it wasn’t like its old owner was going to need it any longer.

Rising to full height, he swung the cape back over his shoulder, where it rested between the back of his cuirass and the jetpack.

By some mercy, the picturesque town had managed to maintain a sense of quiet serenity, but countless bodies were already beginning to pile up in backstreets and darkened crevices. He had landed the Crest right on the eastern border, atop the cliffs, and flown the rest of the way in. Unfortunately, the thrusters had drawn quite a bit of attention, and he had only spent about a minute on the ground before he was being engaged. He could only hope that your luck had been better.

You had spoken to him one last time before you left your suite, simply to notify him of your movement and to ask again about his time of arrival. At that point, he had just entered Cantonica’s orbit. Despite the way your voice in his ear had sent pleasant electricity down his spine, he had told you not to contact him too frequently once you were in the casino. Messing with the earpiece or communicator could draw unnecessary attention. You had agreed. Since then, the connection had been silent. He fluctuated between thinking it was a good thing and worrying impulsively.

But as he had been taking blaster bolts in the beskar, the impact hissing and expelling smoke, his thoughts were entirely elsewhere. And they all had to do with you. He felt somewhat like a young boy in hyperspace for the first time.

Din reached the beginning of the path you had scouted for him earlier, a maze of scalable slates and moonlit chasms. The night vision on his visor picked up nothing out of the ordinary, but he knew it was unlikely that he would be so lucky. The casino’s domed peak was a looming presence in the distance, and he was instantly glad for the jetpack. He wouldn’t have wanted to climb it with cables. Still, his mind wandered, constantly drawn back to you. Like a magnet.

The Armourer had done a magnificent job on your gauntlets. The Mudhorn signet was proudly imprinted on the inside of each wrist, and some long-buried part of him smiled in satisfaction at the thought of having his mark on you. Especially in such a solid, inerasable way.

She had included a few extras as well, ones he couldn’t wait to show you how to use. Weapons were an important part of the Mandalorian creed, but outside of other Children of the Watch, he had never seen someone as admiring of fine weaponry as you. He could practically see the grin on your face as you took in the additions to the inner forearms. In all honesty, he was almost a bit jealous.

What a pair the two of you would make, and everyone would know that you were with him.

That you were his.

He saw movement in his periphery seconds before the hunter advanced. The man lunged for him. Not even bothering to draw a weapon, he expertly sidestepped, using his momentum to shove the man forward, off the thin expanse of roof. His footing gave way, and with a yelp, he desperately grabbed onto the high ledge.

It seemed, despite being nowhere near the bounty itself, people just wanted to attack him. It could be the beskar, or the weapons, the idea of a Mandalorian, or just to prove to themselves that they could. Frustrating as it was, it meant that for every hunter he took down, there were less eyes on you.

Lifting the newly acquired rifle from his back, Mando took aim, blasting the man’s fingers from where they were grappling at the smooth stone. The recoil was strong, and the impact sang through his armour. It was no Amban phase-pulse rifle, but it would do for tonight. There was a crunch as he fell. He likely wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be in any fit shape to continue his pursuit. Good enough.

Mando continued down the path in a light-footed run, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he went. Minutes later, after a minor crumb trail of about five other bodies and a quiet ascent onto the casino canopy, he was in position.

A warm, golden aura poured from the skylight, momentarily blinding him as he adjusted the visor’s exposure settings. Faint jazz music wafted up along with a shrill singing voice. They had paid for a Pa’lowick, clearly sparing no expense in the lavish event. He sighed softly. He had always found their voices to be too nasal. He preferred deeper tones, low melodies, vibrations he could feel through the thick steel of his armour. He realized he had never talked about music with you. He wanted to know what you liked, whether your tastes aligned with his own. Given your past, he wondered if you had even been able to experience much music. He made a mental note for later, returning his focus to the task at hand.

There were people everywhere. More than he could count. Of all species and all sizes.

He had your features saved in the helmet’s databank, and he referred to them now to help identify you in the crowd. However, after a few minutes of scanning, he realized it would be futile. From this vantage point, he could really only see the top of hundreds of heads. He’d have to find you himself.

It was a gloriously garish scene, a dizzying mix of delicate silks, sparkling jewels, polished surfaces, and gilded bodies. He wondered for a moment if you felt out of your element, before realizing that the civilized and sophisticated nature of this casino was likely more familiar to your upbringing on the Death Star.

He decided he didn’t like that idea. Your place was beside him, in the Crest, amongst metal and scum and swirling constellations. Not in this throng of fraudulent people and bloodied riches. Perhaps if he repeated it enough, he would eventually believe it.

Something solid made contact with the back of his helmet, and he heard the near inaudible click of a loaded blaster. He fought back a groan.

“Get up. Slowly.” The voice was female, raspy. He lifted both hands and, for once, did as he was told. You would have been proud.

She was a Palliduvan, barely older than an adolescent, though her slender fingers rested comfortably on the trigger. Clearly, she didn’t know how beskar worked.

“I’ve never seen a real Mandalorian before.” Well, that explained it.

He was only slightly exasperated. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

She motioned her blaster to the side, an indication for him to approach the edge of the roof. “It’s nothing personal Mando… just business.”

Just business. He allowed himself to be led to the precipice, hands behind his head as she came to stand behind him.

“Jump.”

So she was young and unwilling to kill, not a great combination for anyone in this line of work. He sighed again, louder this time, before he followed instruction.

The Mandalorian stepped off the rooftop ledge. And fell.

The jetpack thrusters ignited with full force, and he felt the sharp impact through his whole body as he shot upwards and back, executing a full flip before coming to land behind her.

And then she was trapped between him and the rifle barrel, twisting towards the skylight, struggling to no avail. Her hands dropped the blaster in favour of trying to create any sort of space between her windpipe and the weapon. He held his ground, putting pressure on her neck.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he managed to grit out. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favour.” The woman’s jerking movements became weaker, and he focused ahead, on the warm light flowing from the casino down below, anything but the way she trashed about in his hold… like a frightened animal. Finally, she began to go limp in his arms. He held on until she stumbled, and then eased her to the ground.

But his eyes never left the glass.

Because what he beheld within it was robbing him of coherent thought.

With predatory execution, Din flipped the rifle, stabilizing it over his shoulder, visor to the scope. He slid to the ground, right beside the now unconscious body of the Palliduvan girl and edged to the lip of the glass. His breastplate scraped uncomfortably across the stone. He barely noticed it.

He had become used to you aboard his ship, in dark gear stained with grease, dirt and sometimes even blood. Your behaviour had changed as you lived and travelled together, sharp edges softening, and your free laugh and casual mannerisms were now as familiar to him as the controls of the Crest.

But he saw none of what he knew in the woman below.

The sharp edges were back, and every move… every smile… every sip of the sparkling drink in your hand was refined. Calculated.

You were beautiful. Lethally so.

This was the woman who had drawn the Emperor’s attention. The woman who had come face-to-face with death and darkness and bared her teeth at it.

He was very suddenly overcome with the urge to have you. To run his hands over the delicate fabric of your dress, the soft curves and planes of your body. To trace you with his fingers… and then with his tongue. To break you apart so thoroughly that you returned to the relaxed and natural version of yourself that he recognized. That he loved.

You were speaking to a trio of Nemoidians and all he could think about was the fact that they were standing too close, that they were looking too intently. But despite being half their height, you stood with the posture and self-assuredness of a queen.

A vivid image flickered behind his eyelids. Something he had never imagined, never thought he even desired. But he is there, seated comfortably on a cold, stone throne, the thick cape and pauldrons of the Mand’alor hanging from his shoulders. And draped across his legs is you, the picture of quiet strength and fatal power. The two of you… unbreakable.

He was wound so tightly he thought he might snap.

But then your companions were turning from you and, even through the open space, through the pane of glass separating you, your eyes flickered up and landed directly on him. As if you could feel him. And he recognized the faint softening of them, the hint of a smile that showed only for a second before you schooled your features back into nonchalance. Your stare dropped from his almost immediately.

His inhale was shaky.

He was here.

Maker, he was here.

Excitement, nervousness, and something else had you flexing your fingers. In the midst of your conversation, you had sensed his presence suddenly, like a shockwave, and had sought him out right away. A faint glint of beskar was visible from where you stood, and you could just make out the outline of him, equipped with a rifle that most definitely wasn’t his. For once, the emotions from him were clear and you could read him as easily as anyone else, even with the distance… and even with the helmet in place.

But what you had expected from him was apprehension and unease. The stiffness of stress that came with being on the job, out in the open. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He was on edge, but the overpowering feeling that floated around you, through you, it was hunger… craving.

You bit down on your lip, hard. A much less sensible part of your brain considered it for a moment… just walking out right then and there. Damn the bounty. Judging by what you felt from him, you doubted he would have cared much either.

But then it tugged at you again, as it had countless times throughout the night. A light pressure in between your shoulder blades. Like a tap on the back. The crystal still beckoned to you. So you pushed the heat away, of his gaze, of the feeling now ever-present between your legs, and refocused on the target. Or, at least, you did the best you could. Smoldering lust, both his and your own, settled in your chest like the most dizzying sip of spotchka.

The red stone, barely smaller than your thumb, lay in a display case at the front of the room, along with an eclectic collection of other valuables, identifiable only by small placards at the front of each. Getting to it without drawing attention would be hard, near impossible, and you had caught many guests eyeing it throughout the night. You were not alone.

Which would have been a problem if not for the powerful pull in the opposite direction. You had scoped it out casually, while chatting with a visiting Pantoran couple. A storeroom with another exit, given that many employees had entered the door throughout the night, and not reappeared. It required a keycard to access, which had seemed to be the only snag.

But it had been all too easy to engage in conversation with one of the serving staff, him leaning over to hear you better over the loud chatter of the main room. You had taken a flute of champagne from him, as well as the card from his side. He had been too busy looking at your chest to notice.

Now, you had simply been trying to find a moment to get away. The Nemoidians had complimented your dress, as many others had throughout the night, and you had willingly launched into a glowing review. Hopefully, if the guests were left breathing by the end of the night, some of them might pay Maya’s boutique a visit.

Downing the remnants of your glass and savouring the last taste of dry sparkling, you set it upon a table and turned, weaving your way through the crowd. One thing you had learned from your time with the Mandalorian was that it was much less suspicious if you walked around like you owned the place. The steady buzz of the alcohol also seemed to make it much easier to pretend. After scanning the keycard and watching with bated breath as the light flickered green, the door slid open on smooth hinges and closed behind you soon after. The sound of music and chatter was silenced almost completely.

It was as if you had entered a different world.

The room within was dimly lit and lined with shelves. There was no glitz or glamour here, just row upon row of boxes. You had been right about the alternate exit; it remained shut against the far wall, illuminated by a halo of red from the control panel. A quick scan yielded nothing out-of-the-ordinary, but as you stopped in the center of the area you felt it again, a tap on the shoulder.

You’ve come for me.

It wasn’t a question. You whirled.

Silence. And then… Come closer.

You knew it then. The worn wooden case seemed to thrum with life from its position on the shelf in front of you. To the average eye, it would be indistinguishable from any other, but you knew better. Cautiously, almost in a daze, you approached it.

I had hoped it might be you.

There was absolutely no sense in resisting its allure. Your fingers snagged over the splinters in the lid and your hands shook slightly as you lifted it.

It was exactly as you had seen it in your dream, except somehow the veins running along its surface seemed deeper, in stark contrast with the bright scarlet of the stone.

And as you touched your fingers to it… lifted it from its bed of satin, it sighed in contentment. It felt right, and that worried you.

We are one.

It was wrong, of course. Once you got out of here, you’d chart course to Nevarro, hand it off to Karga and never have to think about it again. It seemed to chuckle at your naivete. You shook it off as best you could, going to tuck it into the tight fabric of your dress.

In that moment, the exit opened, and a human man walked in. You froze.

He noticed you almost immediately, surprise crossing his features before concern set in. “Hey. You’re not authorized to be in here.” His brow furrowed even more as he noticed the crystal in your hand. “You shouldn’t have that.”

There was no time to contemplate the morality of your actions. You had his mind in a snare within seconds, doing your best to ignore the fleeting pang of guilt.

“I’m meant to take this.” There was a slight wobble in your tone. That wouldn’t do.

You tried again. “You want me to take it.” The words were more determined this time. You, however, were not.

You watched him carefully, but his caution remained. Anxiety started to creep up your spine, into your neck. He just looked at you, unmoving.

Fingers had already reached for the dagger at your side before his face finally relaxed. “Yes, go, take it.” He nodded furiously, swinging his hand toward the door leading back to the casino. You didn’t wait for him to change his mind or break free from your control, making haste towards the entry, tucking the crystal into the fold of your dress. He muttered from behind you: “Though, I’m sure the buyer will not be very pleased.”

You were out of the storeroom before you could question that tidbit of information, the golden light so bright you had to squint as your eyes adjusted.

Legs still weak from your moment of panic, you pressed a finger to your ear and activated the communicator. The strides you took were long and fast and you ached to get out into the open air, back to the Crest… to Din.

“I’ve got it. I’m headed to you.”

You barely registered his response. As you lowered your hand and stared ahead, you made direct eye contact with a familiar face. And it wasn’t one you had wanted to see today. The Weequay from Tatooine stared back at you, hints of recognition flashing through his own features.

Shit.

He had his blaster drawn before you could even get a gulp of air down, and you just managed to duck behind one of the gambling tables before the first shot rang out.

The room descended into chaos.

There were screams from every direction, replacing the upbeat melody of the band as it ground to a halt. People rushed the front of the room, and you barely had a moment to register just how many of the guests were being paid before he was in front of you once more, weapon aimed directly at your head.

Your own name blared through the earpiece, along with a string of curses. You just had to get out of here and get to Mando. You’d figure a way out of this, as long as you were together.

Pushing out with the Force, his blaster shot went wide, and the gun flew from his grip. He didn’t miss a beat, engaging you hand-to-hand. His punches were powerful, but you had the speed and technique. More shots rang out behind you as you caught the fist he flung and twisted it until he shrieked. The injury from a few days ago was still fresh, and so you rebroke the man’s the arm in the exact same place. The pain sent him sprawling across the pristine marble tiles, but you didn’t linger long, moving through the crowd towards the large double doors.

There were bloodstains on the floor, on the tablecloths, on a scattered deck of cards. Your mind seemed to blur out the background noise, falling into an alert, violent calm as you dodged bodies and weapons.

Something blunt hit you in the side and you went down hard, the impact just barely broken by your hands. It was a Bith, or rather the body of a Bith, one of the players in the band that had hurled into you. You took in the looming figure of the man who had felled him, human, before you realized that his attention was squarely on you. On what had fallen from your dress as you tumbled. He looked again towards the front of the room, to the decoy that was caught in the midst of a bloodbath. Then back to you, headed for the exit.

He lunged and you rolled. You felt the tips of his fingers grasp at the edge of your heel, but you were pushing up, up, fighting through the weight of the unfamiliar skirts of your dress. A well-placed hook kick had him doubling over, and you used the gained time to bolt for the doors once more. Your heels slipped incessantly on the smooth marble, some areas now thick with different shades of blood, and you almost sighed in relief as they found purchase on the rough cobblestone of the street outside. People still fled in all directions, and you melded into the pandemonium. There was no time to check over your shoulder, to make sure that you were not being followed by the only hunter who knew what you carried.

You headed back towards Maya’s shop, only because you were somewhat familiar with the winding streets that surrounded it. Again, the lanes quieted the further you strayed from the casino, and you weaved, a right, a left, two rights, and doubling back on yourself. Only once you were confident you had lost your pursuer did you press your back against concrete and breathe. Fast, heaving, gasps. You pressed a hand to your forehead, slick with sweat. Blaster fire could still be heard in the distance.

It had gone so wrong, so fast. A quiet escape might have been possible, if not for the Weequay. Clearly, your mind rubbing skills still left much to be desired. But at least the plan had been a success. You felt the jagged edges of the crystal through the cloth of your bodice, just to be sure it was really there.

As if you could forget.

It still hummed to you, less words now and more sounds, perhaps akin to the purring of a lothcat. It was unnerving. A larger part of you couldn’t wait to have it as far away from you as possible.

Right.

You had to get back to the Crest. In case the two of you were separated, you had planned to meet back there.

It was going to be one hell of a walk. You debated taking the heels off. Pushing off the wall, you strode for the east end of the street.

Yes, you would be taking the heels off. They tapped against the cobblestones in a pleasing tick, all but announcing your presence to anyone who might be close by. You stooped to fuss with the buckle. The first one snapped free before a hand closed around your neck, slamming you up against the wall. You saw stars.

The human hunter stared you down, green blood splattered across his angular face, lips pulled into a tight sneer.

“Where. Is. It.” He shook you, a crazed look building in the depths of his pupils. Bloodlust. It would have been easy enough to recognize on his face, even without the pure violence that emanated from him. You had seen the Bith, the way he had felled it without a single ounce of remorse.

Finally. That part of you shrugged free of restraints as if they were wisps of cobweb. Your self control had been teetering on a dangerous edge since that night on Rishi, and if you were completely honest, holding back had done you more harm than good. Your thigh twinged as if it wished to remind you.

Besides, this wasn’t the type of man you let live. And what a relief that was.

You might have been laughing as he thrust you back into the stone again. It only fueled his ire.

“Crazy bitch,” he spat. “I’ll kill you and find it myself.” He missed the way you reached for the vibroblade beneath the silks of your skirt.

“Try it.” You hissed, before plunging the knife into his upper thigh. He roared, the hold on your neck loosening just enough.

You shouldn’t have been using the Force when you didn’t need to, but it was oh so satisfying to blow him back and feel his bones creak under the pressure of it. It was a marvel he even managed to stay upright.

Leisurely, you pushed off the wall, walking on the toes of your left foot to balance with the heel still on your right. He was too focused on prying the blade from his leg, the metal hitting the cobblestones with a clang. There was pure rage in the air. Oh, you wanted to take your time with him.

He was livid, so laser-focused on you that he didn’t think to check behind him. If he had, he might have seen the looming shadow before it struck. If he was perceptive, he may have noticed the blade that ignited at his back, may have seen the faint aura it cast on the ground and walls of the otherwise quiet street.

But all he saw was you. And as he swung forward, the heat of the darksaber broke clean through his sternum. He only managed to gasp once before it retracted, and he crumpled.

You furrowed your brow, nose crinkling as you beheld the armoured giant who stood in his place. The cloak was off-kilter, half draped over one of his shoulders.

“Show-off,” you muttered.

The saber extinguished and he returned it to its spot on his belt, leaving the Mandalorian bathed in warm lamplight. “Did I ruin your fun?” His voice was low. Your lost shoe dangled from his other hand.

Holy maker. You hadn’t considered that the distance between you earlier might have dulled what you sensed from him. But as you stood now, mere inches from the breastplate that rose and fell with heavy breaths, it curled around you like sweet-smelling smoke.

It wasn’t just that he wanted you.

It felt as if he wanted to devour you. The realization was electrifying.

You closed the gap, the earlier promise of bloodshed shifting into something arguably much more deadly. Your eyes never left the visor.

“And if I told you that you did?”

An arm came to rest lightly on your hip, and you marveled at what such a simple touch could do. “I’d find you another one.” There was no hesitation. If it was what you wanted, he would capture you another hunter, sit, and watch while you took them apart.

And what if I wanted to take you apart instead?

You pushed the edge of the cowl down, dragging a nail over the sliver of skin along his neck, over the pulse that jumped there. “I know you would.” His breath hitched and he groaned, so quietly. It may have been the most delicious sound you had ever heard.

Quite similarly to the dead man, you were so engulfed in him, his sounds, his scent, his emotions, that you barely noticed the presence down the street until it was too late.

A blaster sounded and you twisted. The bolt stopped in midair, spasming as it fought against your hold. Din had his own drawn in a split second, firing back one single shot. It struck the IG-86 unit through its central processor, and it went down with a loud clank. You pulled him by his pauldrons to the side, finally releasing the red blast. It zipped past the two of you, blowing chunks of stone off the side of the building across the street.

You couldn’t help it. A delirious laugh escaped you.

He studied you seriously. “Are you drunk?”

A large hand was splayed against the small of your back, pressing you into him in the most pleasurable way. A hard edge of protectiveness now coated the desire that was still ever-present in the small space between your bodies. So no, the intoxication you felt had absolutely nothing to do with the champagne you had consumed earlier.

All you could do was shake your head, still gasping in laughter. You weren’t sure you could trust your voice to be steady right now.

“Okay…” It sounded dubious. He didn’t move, just kept looking at you. “We need to get back to the Crest.”

Always right to business with you. Castann’s accent echoed faintly through your mind.

The pout was inevitable. The last thing you wanted to do was make the trek back to the ship right now. You wondered if he’d be opposed to just finding a quiet corner.

“I really don’t want to walk right now.” Come on, come on, go with me here.

You could have sworn you heard his grin as he replied, “Who said anything about walking?”

The press of a button had the jetpack thrusters extending. Your jaw dropped.

Absolutely not happening.

Backing away, you lifted your hands. “No, no, nope. No way.”

He didn’t let you get far, advancing like you were a scared Blurrg before he caught you around the waist. His grip was firm, the feel of his body almost making you forget why you were retreating in the first place. Damn him.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is.” He was relentless. “When have I ever led you astray?”

“Uh, maybe the gigantic ice spiders on Maldo Kreis? Or, how about, come on let’s go wrangle a Rancor!” Your imitation of his modulated voice was badly executed, but in the moment, you couldn’t have cared less. “I could keep going!”

The pauldrons were shaking with silent laughter. “We got out of all of those alive, didn’t we?” You inhaled sharply, fully ready to argue when the helmet dipped low, to the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“Trust. Me. Mesh’la.” You trembled slightly in his arms.

Oh, that was extremely unfair. You exhaled in defeat.

When he drew back, you hoped your eyes still held some hint of menace. “Do not drop me, Din Djarin.”

He swept an arm under your knees before igniting the jetpack.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then you were shooting upward, leaving the rooftops far behind. On instinct alone you clung to him, face buried in the scratchy fabric around his neck. Wind ripped at your dress.

He might have been laughing. You couldn’t be sure over the roaring in your ears.

But his glove was pressing against the skin behind your knees and the vibration of his voice radiated through his armour, all around you.

“You really don’t want to miss this view.”

It was terribly dangerous. Not the flying… not the height… no. The fact that he knew you’d do practically anything he asked, as long as it was delivered with a low voice and ghosting touches. And you could tell that he knew it too. Asshole.

You had to squint against the wind as you turned away from him. Arms curled tighter around you frame as you shifted you weight. But maker… he was right.

The lamplight twinkled down below like the warmest stars. And beyond it… Your breath caught.

The sea, accented with choppy whitecaps, lapped up against a sandy shore, and the moonlight cast a bright track across its surface. Just ahead, a sharp cliff face jutted towards the water. You could just barely make out the tall grasses that swung in the night’s breeze. Beneath you, the lux of the town was a stunning vista, the absolute portrait of wealth and class. That is, if you looked past the occasional sharp flash of blasterfire.

It was mesmerizing.

“See… not so bad right?”

You cut him a snarky glare. If you weren’t so terrified of loosening your grip so high up in the air, you might have smacked him on the shoulder.

But then his arms slackened, and you catapulted downward. The air was ripped right from your lungs before he banked and pulled up sharply. Somehow you still managed to yelp, hiding blindly in his cowl.

He was laughing in earnest now, and if you had been able to look past your moment of panic, you would have dwelled for longer upon how genuinely beautiful the sound was.

Instead, you hissed, “Djarin, I am going to kill you when we land.” You managed to drag your face towards the view once more, if only because, despite your anger, the masculine scent of him was making your thoughts travel down more explicit avenues.

Somehow, the hand on your knees had managed to travel up towards your thigh, curling around the inside. He squeezed once. “Can’t wait.” Farrik.

Finally, the cliffs rose to meet you, succeeding in lessening your perturbation only slightly. He skimmed lower to the ground and, had you been brave enough to let go of him for more than a moment, you might have been able to brush your hand through the wispy stalks of grass.

The ramp lights of the Crest were just starting to become visible, and it struck a chord in your chest. It felt like home. And despite only being away for a night, you found you missed the telltale ticks and clunks of the old ship, the interspersed beeping of its processes, even the lumpy uncomfortable mess of blankets atop a wiry cot that had become your bed.

Waking up to the smell of caf—the way Din would wordlessly hand you the cup as soon as you entered the flight deck in the morning. Both of you so familiar with each other that he knew to wait until you had a few sips before launching into the day’s events.

Dragging bounties back into the hull, bodies sore and aching.

Falling asleep in the jumpseat as he flew, waking hours later to find your bones actually hurt even more than before.

Playing with Grogu, the child having figured out all of the Crest’s good hiding places. Din had initially advised against letting the kid worm his way into small crevices, but it turned out to be a good way of finding where the ship had loose bolts.

Tucking him into his floating cradle at the end of each day, and seeing the adoration in his depthless eyes, even with the lack of light in the hull.

It dawned on you that most of what you considered to be ‘home’ wasn’t tied to the place itself, but rather to the people you shared it with. As if that were surprising in the slightest.

The thrusters puttered out and Din landed lightly on his toes, swinging you down so you could stand. You didn’t move to distance yourself from him.

You were staring, and there was absolutely no effort to hide it. His stance grew slightly awkward, as it so often did under your close scrutiny. You loved that about him.

“What?” He seemed sheepish.

You were smiling wide. “Nothing.”

“I thought you made some sort of comment about killing me when we landed?”

You laughed breathlessly. His arms seemed to tighten around you in response. The breastplate rose and fell. You matched his rhythm.

“I like that.” He seemed to sigh.

“Like what?”

“When you laugh.”

You cocked your head at him. “I laugh all the time.”

“I like it when you laugh because of me.” It was far from the declaration he so desperately wanted to give, but you melted at the way he bared a bit of himself to you.

“I’m not going to kill you.” He huffed in response. You traced the emblem in the center of his armour. “I still need someone to fly us out of here.”

“Anything to worm your way out from under the controls.”

You had planned a perfectly sarcastic comeback, but it was abruptly cut short as blaring lights cut over the face of the cliff.

He twisted you towards the ramp, pushing you ahead of him. “Police. We’ve got to go.”

“What? Why are they after us?” You made it into the hull, and he followed close behind, the door already retracting in your wake. “They can’t possibly know—”

He cut you off. “Honestly, it’s probably parking enforcement. But I don’t want to stick around and find out.”

Nevertheless, he took a second to help you up the ladder to the cockpit, the simple sliding of fingers enough to rekindle that fire between you.

He jerked away, twisting, and busying himself with the buttons and switches, as if the touch had stung. You couldn’t help but smile at it, taking your respective seat to his right.

Din had layers to him, you had noticed. Especially when it came to intimacy between you. The first was feigned indifference which, naively, you had taken as the truth for much of your time together. Months ago, you would have perceived him pulling away as such, but you knew him better now. Megaphones blared from outside the ship, but you barely noticed them.

“You are on private property. Please relinquish your craft, or we will shoot it down.”

You were zeroed in on the way his hands manipulated the controls, the deftness of each press, flick, pull. The roar of the engines was music to your ears.

Past that top layer lay the confidence and assertiveness of a hunter. The burning hot desire communicated clearly through the press of his body in all the right places. You had seen that firsthand when he had you up against the wall on Rishi, and again in the hull of the Crest. And you felt it, maker, you still did feel it radiating like tangible heat from his mind.

You crossed your legs, just to relieve some of the ache as the ship rose from the ground, the grass blasted back in its wake.

“I repeat, please relinquish your craft, This is your last warning.”

He flexed his hand once before resting it on the lever.

But beyond it was what you loved most. For when you reciprocated that desire and touched him in the ways you so desperately wanted to, you could easily sense it. The bashfulness, a shy temperament. Somehow, you knew his cheeks would have a pleasant rosy tint to them. There was something so precious about it, the fact that you could bring a blush to the deadly creature in front of you. Oh but you wondered what would lie beneath that layer.

“Hold on.” It was the only warning he gave before the ship shot forward, the force pressing your spine into the worn leather of the seat.

And he was magnificent when he flew.

The ship skimmed low to the ground, the sound of stun blasts striking just out of range.

And then the ground dropped out from beneath you. Mando sent the Crest into a freefall, your stomach flying into your throat. But when you squealed this time, it was in delight.

Stars, you loved this ship. Almost as much as its pilot.

His fingers pulsed against the centre stick, and you watched as the choppy ocean water loomed closer and closer. In typical fashion, he waited until the very last moment to pull up, metal creaking with the effort. Some small part of you wondered if he was showing off… maybe just a little.

It took a few moments, but eventually the police speeders fell back, accepting the fact that the Crest was much too rapid to pursue. And so you flew, faster than the wind itself, across the glass surface and up… up past the white puffs of cloud, illuminated with eerie, cold moonlight, and back into the stars.

He slowed slightly, only to punch the coordinates of Nevarro into the navicomputer. As the ship shot forward into the comforting embrace of hyperspace, you saw him visibly relax.

You, however, were still out of breath, almost giggling.

He turned to face you, punching the autopilot button and relinquishing control of the ship. “Hi.”

“Hi.” you repeated. Your mouth had widened into a broad, silly grin.

A moment of silence passed as he seemed to take you in, discernable only by the slight trailing of the visor down your frame.

“You look…”

You stood animatedly from the jumpseat, executing a graceful three-sixty spin to show off the dress. The fabric brushed against the steel floor with a hiss and you twisted, dizzy from both the movement and the overpowering sense of being alone with him. Finally. You felt as if there was golden glitter behind your eyelids.

Despite your excitement, when you came to face him again, the muddled emotions you usually sensed from him were back, serious… almost somber. Your smile faltered. For a beat, there was no sound beyond the beeping of the Crest, and the low hum of the engines, the whisper of the stars.

Had you missed something? Misread the situation? Was he injured? Oh maker, if he had gotten hurt and you hadn’t even realized because you were so distracted by—

“Come here.”

His voice was lethally soft, and you broke out in goosebumps at the simple sound of it. Albeit slowly… carefully, your body obeyed of its own accord.

Ah, there it was. You were getting better at reading him. Din’s mind was a stage, used to putting up a front, a performance. But if you were to lightly push back on the velvet curtain…

A molten volcano lay behind it.

He parted for you, and you stepped into his space, hands finding his shoulders as his own came to rest on the back of your legs. Through the thin fabric, it felt as if there was nothing separating you at all.

For once, he had to angle his head up to look at you. You liked how it made you feel. The last few hours had been chaotic and dangerous, and you knew you’d be absolutely exhausted tomorrow. But for now, there was adrenaline coursing through your veins and all you could think about was how you wanted more… more of this… more of him.

Using his shoulders to stabilize yourself, you sat sideways across his lap. His arms came up to cradle you, but he said nothing for a long moment. It made you nervous.

“Is this okay?”

Since that evening on Rishi, you had been toeing a line, testing boundaries, never quite setting foot beyond what had happened then. This was all new territory for you, especially with him, and you had never been so afraid to mess things up.

“No…,” he replied.

No.

You stood abruptly, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. “I’m sorry, I—"

But he was up just as fast, reaching for you as he was afraid you might bolt. “No, I just… Please.” You had never heard him sound so… desperate.

“Please what?”

He guided you in a circle, until you were sat in his seat, back facing the window. It was still warm from the heat of him. “Please just… let me.”

You needed clarification… needed it so badly, but he simply knelt in front of you, took off his gloves, as he had done so many times.

You were reminded of the fact that you only wore one heel when he reached for the strap at your ankle, calloused fingers brushing ever so gently at the skin there. You were rendered immobile by the softness of the movement, so at odds with the red-hot emotions that burned around the edges of the room.

It came free and he slid it off with preternatural stillness. You could barely take it anymore, the quiet, the holding back.

“Din.” He looked at you, as if jolted out of a trance. Just out of reach.

For the millionth time you tried to move beyond the opaque darkness of the visor, to see a glimpse of what lay behind it. “You’re not going to scare me away.”

He didn’t reply. But you could feel him, contemplating, weighing his options… and the consequences of each. Your calf was tingling where his fingertips still connected with bare skin.

Maker, you were tired of waiting. It was a sharp movement, the way you leaned forward in the captain’s chair and grasped him, hands nestling in the indents on each side of the helmet.

“I want this.” The whirling stars reflected in the glossy surface of his armour. He was breathing deeply, and you might have matched his inhales to your own. “I want you.”

Wide, tan hands curled over your own. And then he was standing, pulling him with you, ever so gently. Nothing from him, absolutely nothing. No conflict, no warring emotions, no confusion. Just quiet.

“Close your eyes.”

You did so immediately, still drawing warmth from the feeling of his hands against your own.

Don’t you trust me?

His words from earlier came floating back on a phantom wind. The answer, of course, was yes. Undoubtedly. Always. With anything. With your life… with your heart.

You almost whined when you sensed the distance he put between you. When his callouses slid against your palms. The cockpit door opened… and closed. It was silent for a long moment.

Quietly hyperventilating, you were rooted in place, staring into the endless darkness behind your eyelids. Nervousness trailed fingers up your spine and dug nails into your palms. You were so sure of this, sure of him, but there were aspects you hadn’t yet considered.

Was this the right choice? Would it ruin the way things had been between you? What if, after seeing you… all of you, he decided there was something he didn’t like? What if he tired of you? What if you simply weren’t enough?

The door slid open sharply and you couldn’t help but jump at the sudden sound. Your entire body was buzzing, fear, adrenaline, desire.

Boot soles against durasteel brought you back to the present. You could sense him mere paces away. Why wouldn’t he come closer?

You were wracked with a moment of self-consciousness, becoming hyperaware of the dress you wore, the way the circulated air brushed against your neck, arms, legs.

“So beautiful.” Din’s voice was husky in a way you had never heard before and instantly everything melted away. You may as well have been a puddle at his feet.

You felt him first against the backs of your hands, trailing up your arms to your shoulders, leaving goosebumps behind. He spun you slowly, so your back was resting against his breastplate. Starlight bled through your lids, creating the most pleasant kaleidoscope of colour.

Confusion bled into bliss as he curled a hand around your neck, tugging back just slightly, careful to avoid the places that will still tender from when you were attacked. Always gentle. But then there was movement, a rustling, and something scratchy settled over your eyes, blocking out the aura of hyperspace. A blindfold. He tied it off with surprisingly nimble fingers at the back of your head.

You couldn’t help but exhale a light laugh. “You don’t trust me?”

But any humour evaporated into nothingness as you heard the faint hiss of a disengaged helmet. And a breath. A real, unmodulated breath.

Maker, save you.

The first press of his lips against your neck absolutely undid you. They were soft, warm. You were barely holding yourself up anymore, pressed up against him, neck lolling back. Din’s deep voice traced the shell of your ear.

“I trust you mesh’la.” A hand splayed low on your stomach and travelled across to your waist. You could feel the ammunition on his belt digging into your spine. “But what I’m about to do might make you lose control a little…” He kissed you again, in the hollow of your collarbone. “…and I can’t take any chances.”

You might have exploded right then and there, in his arms. If you had, he likely would have pieced you together with open-mouthed kisses, back up the side of your neck and along the edge of your jaw. He would have spun you back to face him before finally giving you what you wanted.

Wait… perhaps you had exploded. Perhaps you were dead, all over the floor of the cockpit. Perhaps this was heaven. It sure felt like it, the way he claimed you like you were made for him.

You moaned into his mouth, an absolutely pitiful sound and he answered it with his own, feral and animalistic. You weren’t able to see him, but stars, you could feel him. The bridge of an angular nose, rough stubble under your fingertips and as you dragged your hands upwards…

You laughed into the kiss, and he finally tore himself away. You were both out of breath.

“What?” he asked. Oh, he sounded flustered. Good.

You tugged on his hair for emphasis. “Curls… I knew it.”

And then he was laughing along with you, and without the helmet… it was magical.

But he was wearing so much, and you were wearing so little. You couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it.

There was no guilt. Not a second of it as he blurred the lines of the creed he had remained loyal to for as long as he could remember. It was worth it. For even a second of this, it was worth it.

Din kissed you like he had always yearned to. This time hard, with no restraint. And you matched him, beat for beat, hands fisted in his hair. A livewire in his arms. Firm pulls on the unruly curls sent shivers down his neck and when you bit down lightly on his bottom lip, he twitched.

He was already painfully hard, straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his trousers. All the sexual experiences he had in the past were in pursuit of his own pleasure, transactional, simple. This was anything but.

The little sounds you made drove him crazy, sending jolts of pleasure through him as if you had actually touched him, grasped him through the rough weave of his flight suit. There was nothing he wanted more than to keep drawing those moans from you, to know that you were incoherent, past the point of words, because of him.

But when you reached for the buckle on his weapons belt, determinedly pulling on the strap to free it, his brain went completely fuzzy. How many times had he dreamed of this, imagined the way you would feel against him, over top of him, underneath him, around him. Somehow it was better… so much better than anything he might have conjured up in his mind.

When you pulled away this time, he relished in the way you gasped for breath, lips parted, slightly swollen. You were tugging at him, skin positively feverish, and murmuring. “Please.”

He stole your words from earlier. “Please what?... What do you want?”

“Something. Anything. Just touch me… please.”

He was going to go insane.

Din eased you back into the pilot’s chair and you went willingly, leaning into the worn leather. He had to stop for a moment, just to look at you, resplendent in silver and black. His seat might as well have been your throne. It was then that he noticed it, the delicate whorls of dark grey that adorned the silky fabric. He studied a piece of your skirt, running the fabric through his fingers… and smiled.

You were impatient, grasping at air while he stood just out of your reach. “Come back.” But he dropped to his knees instead.

In the moment he knew that this was it for him… you were it, and he wanted to do it all right. Take it slow. Worship you thoroughly, the way you deserved.

He grasped at your ankle first, the fabric sliding as he pressed a kiss to the inside of it. The armrest groaned under your nails; it was music to his ears. “Tell me if it’s too much…” He travelled upward with his lips, to your calf, eyes never leaving your face. “…or if you want me to stop.”

He reached the inside of your knee, and you were already panting. The fact that he had this effect on you… it was everything. His lips trailed up to your thigh next, the skirt parting even further to reveal the sheath tied there. It bore only one dagger now, the rusted one from Sorgan. Din had retrieved the vibroblade from the cobblestones in Canto Bight, though you seemed to have forgotten that you lost it. Could he blame you? You were more than a little distracted.

It was impossible to stop from smirking against your skin as he found the clasp for it, popping it free and carefully unwinding the leather from around your leg. He had some unholy ideas for how to use your knives… but now wasn’t the time for it.

You were bared to him now, legs spread wide, and he thought he might pass out at the sight of it. But when he reached for the waistband of your underwear you tensed, inhales growing sharp. Din paused.

You may have been able to use your mind tricks to read him, but Din had needed to become well versed in your behaviour and body language to be able to gauge your own emotions. And now he recognized your reaction for what it really was. You were nervous. He loved that too.

But you had absolutely no reason to be… not around him. He ghosted his lips over your hip. He’d tell you. He’d show you.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this?”

“How long?” The question hadn’t exactly been rhetorical, but he hadn’t expected you to actually ask. Nevertheless, he gave the absolute truth.

“Since the day I met you.” You huffed and he felt you relax again, a wry smile painting your lips.

So he continued. “Since you fought beside me.” He tugged lightly on the elastic again, and this time, you lifted your hips for him.

“Since you asked to stay with me.”

You were so wet he thought he was going to die. All this time… all these months when you had tiptoed around each other, he could have had you up against the wall of the Crest, on the storage room floor, over the flight deck dashboard, on the ladder, in the fresher, on the cot.

Fuck, he was an idiot.

But he had you now, and he intended to make every second worth it.

He kissed you at your apex, eyes always on your face, and you shivered, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

Din could tell you were holding back, and as he bit down lightly on the flesh of your thigh, just shy of where you wanted him most, you clapped a hand over your mouth to smother the sound of your moan. He paused once more to reach up and pry your fingers away, whispered your name.

“Don’t. I want to hear you.”

He left your fingers intertwined against the armrest, because he wanted to feel the way you would clutch him when he kissed you…

There.

“Holy shit, Din.” You back bowed off the chair, and he had to place his other palm against your abdomen to keep you in place as he continued. Something about the way you said his name sent waves of pleasure through him, the seam of his pants adding friction to his already aching erection.

He ate like a man starved, feeding greedily on your gasps and moans and the way you tightened your hand under his own. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of you against his tongue and he wondered for a moment how—now that you were past the point of no return—he would ever get himself to stop.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he looked up through his lashes at you again, and almost came at the sight before him.

Your head was leaned back against the headrest and your lips were parted, chest rising and falling at uneven intervals. But you had started to roll your hips against him, seeking more pressure, more pleasure. He chuckled lightly, the vibrations making you sigh.

He’d always give you what you wanted.

Detangling your fingers was a herculean effort. With his freed hand, he hitched your leg up over his shoulder, and it rested comfortably between the cowl and his pauldron. Just like he had imagined.

He teased you for a bit… as if you even needed it. Truthfully, he enjoyed it, revelled in it, his control… your reactions. But when he finally slid a finger into you, he felt the way you tensed around him. His eyes almost rolled back at the sensation. But this was all about you.

Slowly. He would have to take it very slowly.

“You still with me, cyare?” The Mando’a name flowed easily off his tongue. “You have to tell me how it feels.”

He moved just enough, curling his finger, and feeling you relax, a fraction, little by little. You were gripping at the armrests with both hands, loosing the most erotic little noises he had ever heard. He could get high off them, he thought.

“Keep going. Fuck, keep going.” Another jolt of ecstasy speared through him at the low sound of your voice, travelling straight to his cock, and he hadn’t realised just how close he was.

Just from this. Just from touching you, tasting you.

Din obliged your request and wondered whether he would even last a second once he was buried in you. Stars, the way you clenched around him… it was dangerous to imagine what it would feel like.

He fucked you with his hand, slow and lazy, brushing his thumb in circles around the place that had you cursing like a pirate.

Time may have melded together like that, out between the stars. It felt surreal that this was happening, after he had pined for you for so long. Real, not a dream. He repeated it in the back of his brain, afraid that if he stopped, if he forgot, he might wake up alone in his pile of blankets in the hull.

But he was finally convinced when you choked on his name, the sound urgent and desperate. Your back arched off the seat, and on instinct alone, he circled your waist to steady you.

“That’s it… I’ve got you.”

You were half gasping, half whimpering through your orgasm. He held you through it all, as your body trembled through the come down, and as his own did too.

For a moment, your forehead found his, and you drank each other’s gasping breaths. He watched you, secretly, the entire time.

And when your hands reached for him greedily, he intercepted them by the wrists. “I don’t want to go to fast.” In all honesty, he was too embarrassed to tell you that he came in his pants just from listening to you moan.

You pulled back, but he didn’t let you get far, cradling your jaw. You leaned into the touch. “I’m going to take my time with you.” That, however, was the absolute truth.

The sounds of the Crest came bleeding back in. He felt something rise up inside of him, an unstoppable force.

Those three words. He still wasn’t sure if you were ready to hear them. It took the strength of a Bantha to push them back down.

Soon… soon he would tell you.

You were still partially in shock by the time you had finished in the fresher and made your way back up to the flight deck.

Yes, you had imagined it—more times than you would care to admit—but you never thought that it would be like that.

You were already aching for him again. How in the hell were you supposed to get anything productive done when any time you looked at him you would remember how his mouth had felt on you, how he had masterfully worked you through your release.

So screwed.

Voices filtered through the cockpit door as you made your way up the ladder and, still feeling shy, you pressed your ear to the door instead of entering.

The Mandalorian spoke in a low tone. “I’ve secured the bounty. I’m on route to Nevarro now.”

Karga’s enthusiastic voice was unmistakable. “Mando! See, I just knew you would be the one to do it.” There was a pause before he continued. “But you know, there’s a hunter from Corellia who claims he has it too.”

“Have I ever lied to you before?” That darkness, the kind he reserved for his work, sent a thrill back up your spine.

Karga laughed, the sound interspersed with static. “Well of course not! I just thought I’d let you know. Besides, word is you had help from someone… a partner, perhaps?”

Shit. Someone must have seen you together and reported it back.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no! Your business is your business. But you know, Mando…

I think it’s about time I meet her.”

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @aavengingbucky @prismaticpizza @blub-senpai @a-phan-of-youtube @jaguarthecat @lizajane3 @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @graciexmarvel @soobinsrose @simply-maggie @alwaysdjarin @minky77 @tinytinturtle @tae27 @groguspicklejar

306 notes · View notes

bonkie-barnes · 3 years ago

Text

Spoons

natasha romanoff x gn!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: chronic illness, mention of medicine, self deprecating thoughts

A/N: this is me 1000% projecting about my guilt that comes with my chronic illnesses. they're kicking my ass rn. this is a vent fic, but if you resonate with this at all, i hope you enjoy :)

- - -

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table has been going off for a full minute already. You merely roll over and cover your head with Natasha’s pillow. It smells like her.

You have absolutely no energy to get up, let alone reach across the bed to turn the alarm off. Your head feels heavy and your body aches something terrible.

The list of chores you have to do around the house today sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind. The list of friends who have texted you about making plans to hang out sits there too. The idea of staying in bed all day sounds more and more appealing by the second. You know this because the alarm is still blaring into the otherwise peaceful morning air.

Just as you’re gathering the strength to sit up and turn the alarm off, Natasha walks in. She looks at her watch and her brow furrows in confusion.

“What are you doing, sleepyhead?” she asks you with a little smirk. There is concern in her eyes, though she masks it well.

You’re both fully aware the alarm has been going off for seven minutes straight now.

“Just tired, love. You know how much work it takes to reach over,” you say in a joking manner, hopeful that you can get past this without worrying her too much.

Natasha eyes you suspiciously for a second before giving in.

“How was your workout?” you ask her sincerely.

As she starts rambling about her morning activities, you feel a sense of shame. You’ve barely managed to wake up in the time it’s taken her to complete a full workout routine. Hell, you couldn’t even find it in you to turn the alarm off.

You finally focus on her rant as it comes to an end. Natasha is looking at you expectantly. Shit. She’s asked you a question.

“Huh?” you grunt.

She chuckles before answering, “I asked if you were ever going to get up and get in the shower, stinky.”

You put on a fake smile but fail to meet her eyes, the shame eating you up. It has been a few days since your last shower, but it’s just so hard to find the strength and energy to get up and stand in one place for more than a minute or two.

If Natasha notices the far away look in your eyes and the grimace on your mouth, she doesn’t say anything.

After one of the quickest and most unproductive showers you’ve ever taken, you find Natasha waiting for you in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make breakfast for you both.

You kiss her cheek and thank her as you sit down at the table. The warm cup of coffee she sets down in front of you is a godsend. The warmth emitting from the cup helps to diminish the pain in your knuckles, if only slightly. You send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the caffeine will help with the fatigue today instead of making you sick.

Natasha sits down in the chair next to you with her own plate. She runs her eyes over you in a scrutinizing manner. She wants to think you don’t notice, but you do.

Clearing your throat in hopes to take her focus off you, you ask about her plans for the day.

“Oh, you know, mostly just busy work. I have a ton of paperwork to get through,” she tells you through an exaggerated sigh. “What about you?”

The list of chores screams at you again. “Mostly just some things around the house. Grocery shopping, laundry, boring shit like that.”

Natasha hums around a sip of her coffee. It surprised you just how much cream and sugar she takes in hers. It’s just one of the many unpredictable things about her that made you fall in love.

“Super exciting. I hate to miss out,” she teases you.

You crack a smile to appease her. Inside, though, you realize just how little she understands. These errands seem so simple to her, when to you, they are the most daunting of tasks.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Natasha standing up to take her plate to the sink. She comes back to kiss your cheek and let you know she’s going to go get ready, before walking out of the room.

You suspect the amount of housework you’ll get done today will be minimal, so you decide to at least make Natasha some lunch. Maybe it will lessen the disappointment she feels when she comes home to see everything exactly as it was when she left, you think.

Your plan is halted as you’re making her sandwich. The stupid cover on the peanut butter jar is stuck. You can’t open it for the life of you. The guilt comes in like a tidal wave. You can’t even do something as simple as make lunch for her, your brain supplies for you.

Natasha returns from getting ready to see you standing in the kitchen with a glare on your tired face.

“What’d the peanut butter do to you this time,” she jokes.

“I can’t.” Tears well up in your eyes.

She comes up to wrap you in a hug from behind. She softly asks, “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t open the jar,” you mutter softly, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, love. Let me help,” she tells you delicately before kissing the spot under your ear. She can tell this is affecting you more than usual and wishes for nothing more than to be able to take away your distress.

You mutter a thank you before continuing to make her sandwich. You pack everything into a bag and write a small note to finish it off. You know Natasha loves the little messages you leave her periodically, and nothing will stop you from trying to make her as happy as you can.

Goodbyes are said as you both wander closer to the door. Natasha makes sure to hold you longer and tighter than usual. You don’t comment on that.

The silence that encompasses the room as soon as the love of your life leaves is suffocating. You can feel the exhaustion from purely getting up and getting ready creeping up on you. Logically, you know that you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but the shame is eating you up. Already on a roll, might as well keep on going, you think to yourself.

You go back to your mental to-do list and debate what to start with. The grocery store doesn’t sound terrible. Some sun would do you some good. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen the world that exists outside of your house.

Wandering back to the bedroom to get your phone and shoes, you try to push the fatigue from your mind. In your attempt to block out the tiredness, you fail to recognize the ever-present pain in your joints increasing. It’s only when you sit down and bend over to put your shoes on that you register the feeling. Your hips ache severely; so much so, that you can’t hold your position long enough to get your shoe on your foot.

This seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, seeing as you immediately burst into tears. The pain mixed with your inability to do basic, everyday activities completely overwhelms you as you break down.

There’s absolutely no chance that you’re going to complete this task, let alone all the other ones on your list. You let out a sigh as you stand up and shuffle to your room, phone and shoes forgotten in the living room.

You let the weight of your emotions crush you as you climb into bed and under the covers, your wife’s pillow clutched closely to your chest.

Your tears cease to stop, even as you succumb to the sleep you so desperately wished to hold onto this morning.

- - -

Natasha comes home to an eerily silent house. On any typical day, she would come home to the noise of your favorite show or music softly playing, whether it be from a speaker or from your guitar. Your shared house consistently was filled with life and sound. It was one of her favorite parts of her day; coming home to you in your own element, laughing or singing. You are her home.

This newfound silence has her exceptionally worried. Even on your bad days, there was at least a laugh track coming from the TV or the smell of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Now, there’s absolutely nothing. For a split second, Natasha thinks that you may never have come back from the grocery. Her heart rate spikes. The sight of your phone on the coffee table and your shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor puts those worries to rest.

“Darling?” she calls from the entryway. There is no response. She carefully removes her boots and coat before moving through every room in the house, calling out for you softly in each.

She makes her way to the bedroom, lightly knocking on the door as she lets herself in. She sees the rise and fall of your chest and is filled with a sense of relief she didn't know she needed.

"Love? Are you awake?"

You grumble out an answer that could be understood as a 'yes'.

Natasha carefully sits down on the side of the bed that you are facing.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" she requests softly, in fear of upsetting the quiet environment of the bedroom and making things worse.

The tears that started up again when you wife called out the first time get even heavier somehow.

"Oh love, come here."

She carefully gathers you in her arms and rests your head on her chest.

"Does this have anything to do with the peanut butter jar this morning?"

You nod. One of your favorite things about your wife is her ability to observe and understand what you're going through.

"I just can't do anything today. Everything hurts and I'm so, so tired," you whisper, followed by a heartbreaking sob.

"It's okay love. Please don't cry," Natasha whispers back.

"But it's not! It's not okay!" You sit up from her chest to let out your rant. "You've done so much today and I could barely wake up. You work so hard and I should be able to do stuff around the house so you can come home and not have to worry about anything," you finish with a sigh.

Your wife puts her hand under your chin, forcing you to look in her direction. "Love, look at me. Believe me when I say that I don't care about the state of the laundry or if the pantry has been stocked. All I care about is you. All I want is for you to be okay. It's killing me that you feel like this and I can't do anything to take it away from you. What I can do, though, is tell you just how proud I am of you. You are the strongest person I know, and I work with the Avengers."

You giggled at that. Natasha smiles at your small second of happiness.

"Are you sure? Because I was going to get so much done today and I was trying to-"

Natasha cuts you off with a soft kiss.

"My love. Listen to me. All I care about is your health and happiness. If staying in bed and catching up on sleep is what you needed today, then that's all I expect from you. I never want you to hurt yourself trying to do more than you can. We all have limits. It’s okay to need a break some days. I love you and I am so very, very proud of you."

With a long look into her eyes, all you find is love and adoration directed towards you. There's no disgust or disappointment as you had anticipated.

"I love you too," you utter quietly.

Natasha smiles and leaves a long kiss on your forehead. "What if we got some pain killers and some food in you? We can even put on your favorite movie. Does that sound good?"

You nod. Natasha gets up to get you some medicine and to order some food, while you get your favorite movie loaded on the TV.

Later that night, when both your stomachs are full and your wife is obnoxiously singing along to the songs in the movie just to make you laugh, you realize just how loved you are.

You don't know how tomorrow will treat you, or the day after that. What you do know, however, is that Natasha will always be there to support and love you. Your pain level and ability to function is always an uncertainty, but your wife's love will never be.

- - -

A/N: as always, i try to keep it gender neutral. if you find a mistake, please let me know! feedback is appreciated! to all my chronic illness buddies out there: i love you, you've got this :)

taglist: @007giu

#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #my fic #natasha romanoff x reader

458 notes · View notes

sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

Text

One Wall Over: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you’re new in the neighborhood, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get a warm welcome from your duplex buddy.

wc: 3k

tw: nsfw, smut, annoying noises at five am, the works

a/n: ahhhhhhhhh! I am so excited to be taking part in this collab with @suna-reversed reversed for a super sexy jjk collab! Please check out the masterlist for the collab here and the other authors! SO EXCITED TO READ THE OTHERS! (The other title I had for this work is “First of All, How Dare You” because that’s literally me every time I see my hubby Suguru, but anywho!).

Moving in was a bitch.

For the first time ever, you have no roommates, no parents, and no pets - just you and your meager belongings moving into the little, two-story duplex a friend allowed you to sublet. As you stare out of the window facing the sparse front lawn, you wonder what your neighbor is like. They hadn’t come to welcome you to the home, but you knew they existed by the sound of the bass through your shared wall at five am every morning.

You assume they’re male or a couple, but you’ve never gotten a chance to see them with your own two eyes. So you kept a lookout day after day. At exactly four p.m., you would sit across from the window with a book and keep watch, the sun streaming in and illuminating your figure and crossed legs anchored on the window sill. But day after day, you wouldn’t see anything. The neighbor’s car wouldn’t even move an inch from the previous day. Everything would remain the same until the next day when you took your perch by the window.

It isn’t until you’re out on your front lawn, slaving over the flowers you maintained for a whole month - a new record - that the sleek Range Rover drives up to the garage on your neighbor’s side of the house. At first, you don’t notice it, your eyes firmly planted on the soil at the root of your orchid tree. But then you hear a car door slam, and you look up, watching for the person who would be exiting the vehicle.

A tall, black haired man slides out of the truck and slams the door shut, his locks tucked into a half bun and a white towel resting around his rippling shoulders. He slides his keys into his gym shorts and turns to walk into the house, barely noticing you on the front lawn in an ill-fitting t-shirt and dirty yoga pants.

He’s halfway to his front door when you find your voice and yell out, “Hey, neighbor!” You wave your hand at him in hopes that he would return the gesture, but you’re sorely disappointed when he only looks your way with disinterest and walks into the house without speaking. You frown at the encounter, hoping that he would return a little while later and explain his lack of manners, but he doesn’t, and you retreat into the house once more.

______________________________________________________________________

“Unzzz, unzz, unzzzz…” Both eyes fly open at the sound of the bass on the other side of your bedroom wall, the sudden noise jarring you from your sleep.

“Ugh…” Your eyes slide to the white numbers on the clock face, which politely remind you that it’s five-fifteen AM. Don’t confront him, don’t confront him. You wrap the pillow around your ears, hoping the gentle cushion would block out the sound. But for some reason, it gets even louder, and a groan escapes your lips. There were only two more hours for you to rest, but at this rate, you’d be up until it was time for you to wake and get ready for work. That just wouldn’t do.

The grey sweatpants deposited on the floor the night before are quickly jerked on, and you pad to the front door, not caring about your appearance as you walk the length of the porch over to his front door. Inhaling, you find the will to bring your fist up and pound on the door, hoping the sound would be angrier than you actually felt. Fear ate at your nerves while you waited. A few agonizing moments later, the door is yanked open, music floods outside, and your neighbor stands before you in just a pair of black sweatpants. Nothing else.

“What?” he gripes, sweat rolling down his forehead. As your eyes take in the full sight of him, you wonder what kind of sculpted god you had for a neighbor. You could even faintly see the v that would culminate in the bulge near the crotch area of the pants, which apparently is quite--

“Uh…” You had entirely forgotten what you had come over to his side of the house for, but as he leans on the doorframe and gives you a withering stare, you suddenly remember your complaint. “Your wall is next to my bedroom. Can you turn your music down?” You place a hand on your hip, trying to seem more inconvenienced than you actually were in that moment.

“Yeah, sure.” He shuts the door in your face, and you trudge back over to your side of the house, hoping the music would soften.

But for some reason, you swear he turns it up even louder.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Why don’t you just call the landlord and make a noise complaint?” your friend wonders over the phone, the sound of a frying pan in the background slightly overshadowing her voice.

“But you said you didn’t have any problems with him, Mariela.”

“Yeah, Geto was nice enough and didn’t bother me much. Not sure why he’s being such an ass now.” You hear an oh, shit on the other end, and Mariela hisses into the receiver, “Hey, y/n, I have to go; the risotto is burning. Call me back if you have any other issues, okay?”

“Okay.” You hang up and toss your phone on your desk, trying to focus on the words in front of you but failing as the sound of the bass filters through the other side of the wall again. For the fourth day in a row, you’ve been subjected to the sound of pure noise coming through the other side. Tonight was absolutely not the night, mostly because you had a presentation that took you all night to finish, and the clamor was interrupting your prep work for the bright and early eight o’clock meeting. You feel like Squidward, subjecting yourself to the endless noises from the grunting to the bass to the sound of weights clanking back into place.

It’s the sound of Geto’s groaning that sets you on edge the most. If it weren’t for the added noise of weights, you’d be convinced he was fucking someone. There was no way he could make so much noise and not know that he was disturbing your peace. Hadn’t he ever heard of headphones?

You snatch up your set of earbuds on your desk, place them in your ears, and try to turn up lofi music as loud as it will go. But that doesn’t work. Even relocating to the living room didn’t seem to fare you well, and you wonder if he truly had cranked up the music higher than before just to annoy the hell out of you. Finally, you toss your earbuds down and slam your computer on your coffee table.

You’d had enough.

Stomping over to the front door, you fling it open and bang on Geto’s door, hoping he would answer it in a rage so you could let out your frustrations. But when the door flies open, he’s dressed in only a pair of gym shorts, this time the outline of his dick even more apparent. But you’re not focused on that. You point a finger at him and inhale to begin your tirade; sick and utterly over his shit.

“Hey! Can you fucking turn it down?” Geto stretches out a hand, and for a minute you think he’s going to grab you by the shirt, but he pulls you inside by the wrist, crushing you against his chest. “What the hell?” You push away from his sweaty chest, backing into the closed door harshly.

“Lower your damn voice; the neighbors will hear,” he chastises, and turns away from you to grab the water bottle on the counter. The muscled man takes a long swig, then wipes his face with the towel right next to it.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but I’ve never been so disrespected in my li--” As you talk, he’s advancing on you, pushing back his long black hair back behind his ears and getting too close for comfort. Once he’s right up on you, you gulp hard, fully intimidated by his size and stature. The music suddenly stops, and you’re left in silence.

“I’m listening,” he mutters, staring down at you. “Please, continue.”

“I was saying…” your throat dries up. “What I meant was…” Your eyes travel from his chest to his navel, and then to the hand pressed against the doorframe.

“Uh huh…” He nods, squinting his black eyes at you. “You said you’ve ‘never been more disrespected in your’… life, right?” You don’t reply. Rather, you can’t reply. All of the words you could have ever said are now gone from your skull. “I highly doubt that, y/n.”

“H-how…”

“You’re Mariela’s friend. I’ve seen you quite a few times before you moved in here. Never thought I’d be living so close to you, though. Mariela’s subletting, isn’t she?”

All of these questions. And you can’t reply to a single one because he’s practically squeezing you between the door and his rock-hard abs. Or are you pressing yourself against the door to get away from the heat emitting from his body - oh, fuck; you don’t know.

“But I had to get your attention somehow.” The admission startles you so bad that you accidentally knock the back of your head against the door, touching the point of contact in pain and hissing slightly. Geto hums at your blunder, then pushes off of the wall to turn away from you. As he rotates, you catch a glimpse of his erection, now fully apparent in the atrocity that is his shorts. “The yard work wasn’t effective, the trips to the gym and back barely worked; shit, by now I would’ve thought you would throw yourself at me the first chance you got. I guess I had to make you mad enough to confront me.”

“You literally looked at me and said nothing the first time I saw you!” you retort, throwing your hands up in the air. “Then you almost bit my head off the first time I came over to tell you the music was too loud.”

“I didn’t expect you to come over the first time. Besides, I couldn’t figure out anything smooth enough in that short amount of time.” Geto shrugs, his shoulder muscles moving like water in the dim lighting of the living room. You look around at the furnishings, noting his impeccable taste in wood and red suede in conjunction with his minimal exercise equipment. “Coffee? You look like you’ve been up for a while.” He leans over a coffee-maker - one of those fancy ones that you’ve seen on TV - and slides a plain coffee cup into the holder.

“Uh, no thanks.” You turn to the door and begin to open it, but Geto clicks his tongue thrice.

“You’re just going to leave without getting what you came for?”

You pause for a moment, then turn back to look him over once. “Don’t you mean what you brought me over here for?” A lazy smile spreads across his face, and that’s when you realize that he’s charming, but not necessarily as suave as you first imagined. You shut the door and walk over to him, examining his physique as if you hadn’t just helped yourself to his tall, statuesque figure already. He allows you to look him over, eyes dedicatedly following you.

“Like what you see, doll?” You don’t get a chance to answer as he pulls you into his chest with a smooth movement, then presses his lips against yours. You instantly open your mouth so he can slide his tongue inside, and he does so without hesitation. Hands grasp at your flimsy night shirt, pulling it over your shoulders as he backs you up against the wall, hiking one leg up and wrapping the other around his waist.

As both of your hands tangle in hair, fabric, sweat, you wonder how long - just how long - he’s wanted to do this. But your train of thought is rudely interrupted by his lips trailing kiss down your neck and to your collarbone, where he pauses for a second, catching his breath. Fingers dance through his locks and he peers up at you for a second, drinking in your flushed expression and breathy exhales.

“Geto, please, I--” You’re silenced again by his lips, his thick fingers rolling past the waistband of your night shorts and right to your core, where he nestles them into your heat with ease.

“Goddamn…” The rumbling of his voice vibrates against your chest, and you gasp, feeling every stroke of his fingers inside of you. “So fucking wet… just for me.” Your vision narrows in on the black eyes watching your every move, the angle of your face, the way you tilt your chin to the side and shakily exhale. Everything is perfect. Maybe even better than he imagined at first. But you don’t know that, and you really don’t care to know. All you want is release and for that release to be at Geto’s hands. When he removes his fingers and hoists you onto the suede couch, your first reaction is to cry out in shock.

His hands roll your shorts down to your knees and then press your legs open, spreading you for him to examine.

“You’re a mess down there… perhaps I should help you clean up.”

“Huh?” The double entendre is completely lost on you in the heat of the moment. You watch as he leans down, then moves to lick your core with a flat tongue, stroking up before he goes down again and repeats his action twice. Your head finds the soft cushion of the pillow in ecstasy, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Geto hums down below, fully appreciating your taste before sucking on your clit, hard. You yelp, shooting up, but his hand presses you back down, eyes still closed. Fingers make their way up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples leisurely before tightening and pulling with more tension. “Oh, god, please…” Your hands find his head, and at the sudden application of pressure, he grunts again. And you’re left there in agonizing pleasure, dangling between an orgasm and a build-up of pressure, one stroke away from tumbling into the cavern of blissful unawareness.

Geto stops without warning, pulling back to watch you as he still tweaks your nipples with varying degrees of firmness. You tug at his shorts in a silent plea for him to discard them, and he waits a minute before sliding them off wordlessly. His length is impressive, you note, his cock springing free from his shorts and angled upwards a little. A condom is produced just as quickly, and he rolls it over himself before spreading you a little wider to accommodate his length. When he nudges his cock at your slit, you realise he’s a little breathless and shaking, but that all goes to the back of your mind when he slides inside of you with little resistance.

“Fuck, doll, that’s--” He groans just as you moan, both of you relishing the expanding feeling. “God, that’s perfect.” You whimper at his praise and bring your hands to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he begins to pump into you. Geto’s lips find your neck and he sucks a hickey on your left side, placing another one neatly below it while his hands cup your ass.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers and you nod, completely at a loss for words. But soon, it’s not enough, and your fingers dig into his back. He’s fucking you slowly… too slowly.

“M-more,” you whine, and he delivers his thrusts faster, pumping into you and moaning loudly. Your fingers find his face and angles it towards your raised head so you can kiss him on the lips. He offers you that mercy - a deep, languid kiss - while he plows into you with abandon. Pleasure is the only thing on your minds - you just so happen to have found it in each other’s arms - and your orgasm is just within reach.

“Geto, I’m close…” His response to your words is to lift your left leg a little higher so it practically hung off the couch and in the air, deeping his strokes until they settled against your cervix, like someone tapping a soft rhythm into your stomach. “Shit, like that.”

“Yeah?” he exhales, looking at your face with a blissed-out expression, his cheeks reddening. You raise your hips to meet his with each thrust, hoping your orgasm would arrive before Geto came. There isn’t much you can do though, besides writhe beneath him and pull him closer to you, thereby making you and him almost inseparable. He’s merely rocking into your hips now, cock barely rolling out of you as before. And you can’t deny that it feels like heaven, not when you’ve been so frustrated for so long.

“I’m gonna cum,” Geto hisses into your mouth, and you nod, constricting a little to urge him on. What you fail to realize is that the constriction was just what you need to tumble over into the abyss of thoughtlessness, and your mouth opens to let loose a guttural moan as Geto fucks you faster and faster, chasing his own orgasm on the heels of yours. “Oh, shit,” Your neighbor sinks into you one final time, shooting his cum into the condom, but pumping in stuttered strokes as if he were really letting loose inside of you.

When you both fall from the heights of your sex-induced high, shoulders and heads are draped where there is comfort and space, little exhales from his mouth fanning across your breasts. Geto lifts off of your sweaty chest and looks you in the eyes before breathing:

“Maybe I should start my days with this instead of a workout.”

#geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen geto #getou suguru #geto smut #getou smut #jjk smut #jujutsuhub collab

2K notes · View notes