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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!human!reader, from behind, rough sex, use of sex toys ( cockrings ), don’t ever wear or allow someone to wear a ring for longer than 30 minutes pls, noncon ( reader asks to stop, satan doesn’t ), all characters featured are aged 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3
𝗱𝗼𝗹𝗹’𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗯𝘀 ∣ poll winner [ satan + cockrings ]
this had been a terrible idea.
but you’d only started to realize it now, when Satan wouldn’t slow down or ease up. it was the same, loud PLAP, PLAP, PLAP! over and over. heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit as he fucks you relentlessly.
“I— need—“ you were panting, trying to clench your fists, but the devil king had a tight grip on both of your elbows, keeping your arms jerked back towards him, using them like levers to wrench your body back into his rough thrusting of hips. “B—break!!”
a low growl vibrates from deep within his chest, the muscles in his arms tightening, veins bulging. he holds you in a vice as soon as you utter the word, as if solidifying the fact that he’s not going to let you go anywhere until he’s done. “Not so fast, hng, you’re the one that wanted me to wear this fucking thing in the first place, weren’t you?”
it was almost a taunt.
but it was the truth. you’d talked him into securing the tight, shiny gold ring around the thick base of his cock. watching in awe when he hissed through his teeth as the sensation of being forced to stay hard, even when he wanted so desperately to cum. the pressure of the ring, squeezing him, didn’t allow him to.
and this was your punishment for denying him.
“And now you’re bitching about it?”
your eyes cross as his pounding seems to find a new speed and velocity, and you choke out a pleading cry. “It’s b—been hours—! You can take it o—off!!”
Satan chuckles, and releases your arms. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.” he grunts, watching you collapse forward against the bed and slump into the mattress, but the second you reach your arms forward, as if to pull yourself out from under him, he presses all of his weight down on your back, his knees jabbing into the backs of yours, pinning you in place and keeping your trembling legs spread open so you have nowhere to go. you feel the solid ring like a hard bumper, hitting your cunt as he buries himself as deep as he could possibly go. “You see, I like this. Tenderizing your poor, little pussy. Making sure you walk funny after this. And now that I can do it for hours with this little toy of yours?” a raspy, breathy chuckle tickles the shell of your ear that you can hear even your own, loud cries that it’s too much, before he nips at your lobe roughly with his teeth. “I’m not done yet. Not even close,” he hisses the threat through grit teeth, his pace settling back into the usual quick-fire pounding that turns your mind to mush. his moans and growls that would usually lead to his climax hypnotizes you, and before long your whimpers of protest had melted back into moans for him to keep going. to fuck you stupid and break your fragile, human body with his cock. “That’s more like it,” he groans, grasping your hips to hold you down so he could plow, “I’m fucking you senseless, little girl. Gonna break ya, and it’s all your fault for showing me this handy, little toy.”
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Things Levi only let's you do while you're dating
He never let's anyone know who cuts his hair because you do it for him. Levi only lever let's you touch his hair.
Would let you pick out his outfits when he is off duty, you complement him on one suit and it immediately becomes his favorite.
Levi hates others touching him and while there's no PDA in your relationship, subtle touch? He allows it. Doesn't mind you touching him anywhere, sometimes you put your hand on his thigh or put it on his shoulder, he doesn't mind them.
He has a tolerance when it comes to you and your attitude. If you act bratty, he will mostly dismiss it without scolding you for it. This does rise an eyebrow or two but it's mostly dismissed since others know that you're Levi's favourite. He doesn't dismiss your bartiness when you're in your bedroom tho ;)
Teasing, you two flirt with playful banter that no one really notices. Sometimes you can say something that makes him scoff and roll his eyes slightly but he lets it pass.
Let's you sleep in, most of the time you're tired because of him anyway so when you don't show up to training he knows why, he doesn't go easy on you during sex afterall....
Speaking of sex, he isn't against you giving him love bites and marking him.
Doesn't mention when you do his tea wrong, he sucks it up and drinks it. If someone else was to mess up his tea he would've told them immediately.
If you happen to make a comment about his height, which you don't do often only when you really want to annoy him, he let's it get into one ear and out another but he does throw something back at you, afterall that's how you like it.
Let's you wear his clothes, he enjoys seeing them on you and knows that you won't dirty them.
He trusts you with his horse, if he happens not to be around, his horse always follows you.
Tells you about his mother and his childhood, again he trust you completely and knows that you won't tell things he tells you to anyone.
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hyunjin does something risky after christmas lunch
-contains mature themes
"shhh be quiet" hyunjin whispered in your ear.
you tried. you really tried to keep your mouth shut. your chest burning with embarassment.
your grandmother had invited the two of you for lunch. hyunjin was more than excited to join in on the family lunch. helping with the food.
he even attempted to cook some butter garlic shrimps for your grandmother.
it had been an hour since yall finished lunch. the two of you walking into your grandma's second bedroom.
you plopped down on the bed, face first. groaning at how nice it felt. hyunjin did the same.
except he chose to fall right on top of you. giggling as you tried to swat him off.
your laugh dying down. realising how heavy he was on your back.
basically pushing you into the mattress. his body covering yours. bulge perfectly slotted between. not to mention, the christmas dress you wore was flowy. and the material was thin.
allowing you to feel him.
all of him.
"should w-"
"doll if you need an extra pillow, help yourself" you shoved him off so hard, he plummeted into the pillows kept at the end. there was no way you could get caught in such a compromising position.
"yesss grandma, we'll sleep for sometime!" you let out in a sing song voice, assuring her that she could nap for a while as well. to which she nodded, smiling brightly when hyunjin thanked her for being so sweet.
and with that she shut the bedroom door. there was an other door as well. one that opened up to the hall. and the one she came in from led to the passage.
so when you turned around. hyunjin had a smirk on his face. he had layed himself across the bed in such a seductive pose, you couldn't resist.
and when you were close enough, he pounced on you. tackling you on the bed. both of you laughing and playing around.
.
you had fallen asleep. for maybe 20 minutes.
woken up to the feeling of wetness between your legs. you sighed out, pressing yourself closer to hyunjin. chest to chest. his arm thrown over your waist. your leg hitched over him. you were closer than ever. his hot breath on your neck. lips leaving slow wet kisses.
you opened your eyes. his nose almost touching yours. eyebrows furrowed.
"you're up" he mumbled, and then you felt something hard nudge against your entrance.
wait, when did your panties come off. well they weren't off completely. just pushed below your knees.
"hyunjin" you whisper yelled. every ounce of sleep leaving you at the realisation.
you couldn't be doing something like this at your grandmother's house.
all your thoughts evaporating. burying your face into his covered chest. fingers fisting his shirt as he pushed in.
completely. not giving you time to register anything.
"aahh" he sighed out, closing his eyes. you were tight. it had been almost three whole weeks since. the two of you being busy. and now that it was christmas, he had got to spend more time with you.
"hyun-nie not h-here" you murmured.
what if she walked in. you knew one of the doors couldn't lock. but you didn't know which one.
was it the first door?
or was it the second door?
"as long as we stay silent, no one will know" he reassured, pulling you against him. his hand hooking under the knee that was over his waist.
using it as a lever to thrust into you.
"missed being i-in you" his voice was soft. his hair tickling you when he kissed you. you moaned into his mouth.
dick filling you up so well, you wanted to cry.
"shouldn't be d-doing...here" he nodded, trying to soothe your anticipation.
"taking me so good" he praised, tongue grazing your bottom lip which he had already chewed up. relishing your lips like it was his candy.
your heart racing at the thought of being interrupted. the thought of being caught. even though his bedsheet covered you.
and he froze.
and you froze.
footsteps right near the door.
it was probably your grandmother walking outside the room. involuntarily you moved your hips, a choked moan leaving his parted lips.
but you were quick to cover his mouth with your hand.
.
"don't you feel dirty having me in you...on this bed" you shook your head. hyunjin, himself was panting softly. rutting into you at a slow pace.
"you started it" you let out, bringing your hand up to cup his face.
so pretty. so elegant. he really was ethereal. a single drop of sweat trickling down his chin.
"sorry doll, you looked so ravishing" he admitted. hand stroking your thigh that was hooked on his hip.
"missed y-you"
he kissed your forehead, moving his head back on the pillow. eyed locked onto yours. that was one thing he loved. eye contact. it made everything more intimate.
"sweet baby are you gonna cum?" he asked, his own chest heaving as much as yours. you nodded.
"i-im cumming..in you" his thrusts growing erratic. filling you up in spurts. triggering your own release as you coated his dick.
.
pulling out carefully. he made sure to keep your dress out of the way.
your heart swelling at how passionate he was being. he got off the bed, crawling to the edge of the bed. you were surprised.
until his mouth made contact with your cunt. back arching as he wasted no time im eating you out. still dripping with a mixture of both of you.
covering your mouth with your hand at the feeling of his tongue in you. overstimulation kicking in. thighs closing around his head. but he didn't mind it.
slurping at your pussy with pure desire.
and he came up. climbing over you. hands on either side of your head. pressing his coated lips against yours.
kissing you. opening his mouth to let you have a taste. so filthy.
yet so unbearably hot.
.
.
.
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a/n: not sure if other countries have rubbish chutes but my country does! i have to get out of my house to go to the common floor chute to throw my rubbish so this is just a little drabble based on that + spider-man!gojo :) / tagging @osaemu @jabamin @shotorus @hyomagiri @mysugu ✶
“yes, yes! i’ll take out the trash—” you’re shouting to your mom when you’re called upon again, the third time within ten minutes to take the trash out. through your one-sided airpods (your left one always dies first), you can hear your mom tying the plastic bag and cleaning up at the sink.
it’s always been her bringing it to the chute outside your house; occasionally, you’d help but routine has never really let you do it, so later when you’re awkwardly tucking your phone into your pocket and listening to charlie burg’s voice through the right airpod, you can’t help the grimace that takes over your features at the wetness all over the trash bag.
“oh, it’s just water; stop being dramatic!” your mom chastises whilst on her nightly cup of water, gulping down the beverage before nodding towards the master bedroom, “i’m gonna go to sleep first.”
you hum in a half-hearted response, a little annoyed that you were interrupted from your lazing around but you still manage a soft goodnight when she disappears into the room and the house falls quiet. apart from the background classical music that plays from the stereo in the room and the laughter of the older kids downstairs outside, you’re living in a world of both music and silence, feeling a little disoriented by the one-sided song.
the walk to the outdoor chute is short in your oversized puffer jacket, flip-flops seemingly slapping against the floor in attempts of waking up all your neighbours beside you but thankfully they don’t seem to mind when you walk past their homes. it’s cold, feeling the snow that beats into the open corridors that lead to the rubbish chute. beside it, there’s a ledge that overlooks the other buildings, too.
with one swift step to the foot lever, the chute opens and you’re dumping the trash bag into the dirty, stained metal device and with a listening ear, you grin when you hear the bag travel through the tunnel and reach the bottom with a big plunk!, not really realising the ledge now held something.
or someone.
“h—”
if your slippers didn’t wake the neighbours up, your scream definitely did when spiderman himself hops off the ledge and leaps forward to place his palm over your mouth. it only fuels your desire to scream even more before you remember that your damn boyfriend is the vigilante that the police are looking for and citizens are rooting for more and more and that calms your racing heart just a bit.
but you still give him his due treatment . .
“what!” smack. “the!” smack. “fuck!” smack. “were!” smack. “you!” smack. “thinking?!” smack.
. . even if the widening of his spider-man mask eyes were adorable.
“sorry! sorry, sorry—” spider-man!gojo only continues to apologise but you can tell he’s enjoying it at least a little, hands gripping your biceps to help you to centre yourself. and as you predicted, once your boyfriend pulls off his mask, there’s a shit-eating grin and a cheeky glint in his eyes.
you muster the most unimpressed face you can — “really? i’m starting to think you’re not really sorry,” your mouth twists when you roll your eyes, getting ready to make a show of heading back into your house before he brings you into his arms. even with a hint of faux protest from you, you’re melting into his embrace, grumbling into his chest.
there’s a hint of wetness along his suit that you feel against your body, probably from the snow outside, but mostly you can feel the cold air against your hair and laboured breaths in your ear.
“i am! i missed you . .” he mumbles, suited fingers gripping your body tight against him like you were an apparition, “i just wanted to, uhm—”
it’s rare that you see your boyfriend having such a hard time with words, but it’s a cute sight when he pulls away and stumbles in his sentences and quickly removes the backpack that he’s webbed to the wall outside. there’s a noise of surprise from you as you watch him crawl outside on all fours and rip the backpack, scrambling to remove something from it.
and you’re so caught off-guard — in his hands are a ruined bouquet of flowers and a mixtape he’s put together for you — that you giggle at the state of it and coo at his downcast expression. he’s looking in the bag, outside, anywhere for what might’ve been the culprit to make the flowers turn out that way until he realises he had bought them a tad bit early and had been swinging around with it the whole day.
“aw . . satoru, they’re still pretty!” you take the gift with grateful hands, something you cherish despite his busy schedule of school and fighting villains. “but maybe don’t go on missions when you’ve got fresh flowers in your bag?”
satoru whines at that as he instinctively webs his backpack again, sulking until you’re leaping forward to give him another tight hug. alas, you would’ve preferred the comfort of his familiar hoodie but you can settle for the spandex of his suit as you squeeze him tight, ignoring the cold air that seeps into your bones.
“thank you, thank you ’toru . .” you smile, pulling away slightly before you take in the state of him. you didn’t have much time before, but now you can fully appreciate his white stark hair that matches the snow outside and the blue of his eyes that mirror his suit.
“it’s the thought that counts right?” he asks awkwardly, scratching his head with the hand that clutches his mask.
you burst out laughing, “yes. yes it indeed is,” you smoothen out his hair, but not before you’re forming an idea, “i’ll— i’ll go put these in water and see if i can salvage them. you, stay here.”
with one peck to his cheek, you’re off back to your house but the bouquet of flowers is only left on your bedside table. in your hands are something else, a scarf and beanie that you take back to the area of the rubbish chute.
it’s not a place you deem romantic, but you’d never pass up a surprise visit from your superhero boyfriend. when you get back he’s removing the fallen petals from his bag, interrupting his activity when you place the scarf around his neck.
“here,” you smile, wrapping it around once and tucking in the ends, “it’s cold.”
satoru looks at you like everything good in the world, a bright grin breaking through when your eyes meet his in the midst of your adjusting.
“just so you know, you might not see this scarf ever again, sweetness.”
you laugh, “why? cause it’s got my scent all over it?”
gojo shrugs and gestures, “partially, but also it might fall off while i’m doing big boy things and swingin’ around in the neighbourhood.”
you push his shoulder lightly and joke, “if my scarf touches the city ground, you’re never hearing from me again.”
and all he does is cross his heart and hold out his hand, “i humbly hold your promise to my heart, your royal highness.”
gently you pull him towards you with the scarf ends, careful not to choke him. there, your lips collide with his glossed ones that manage to stay like that despite the cold weather, while your chapped ones only surprise him. but he swallows the shock soon enough, humming into the kiss softly as he wraps his suited arms around you. you’re so warm, puffer jacket and all and his neck is already heating up from the scarf and his flustered state, enough heat to fuel him through the night.
when oxygen becomes scarce you find that you need to pull away, met again with his pretty eyes that soften just by looking at you, but you both know that he needs to go when the notifications on his phone don’t stop. it’s probably his trackers notifying him about the villain, so you help him put on his mask, making sure the eye holes fit exactly where it needs to go and the sewing lines up with the rest of his suit. the beanie goes on last.
“baby— i . . i just needed to come see you before i fight green goblin,” he mumbles, brushing hair from your face and even with the barrier between the both of you, you know he’s smiling under, “some good luck would suffice, don’t ya think?”
“it would. now, go.” you pat his cheek, pulling away reluctantly as he slings his backpack and you suddenly feel cold again. “stay safe, spider-man.”
satoru cannot wait until he’s in your arms again, so he lunges forward and pulls his mask up just to his nose to give you one last kiss and you indulge him; when your eyes open, he’s already on the ledge.
“merry christmas, baby.” you can see the familiar stunning smile and a soft confession before he’s hopping off and you’re running to it to watch him swing away with a loud, lovesick laugh that sounds a little too much like the star student, gojo satoru, but it doesn’t matter when you know you’re the only one who knows his secret.
part two
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Maybe one where she and Steve are arguing and as they get home and get in the shower together they're still arguing and then they start fucking while arguing and they move it to the bed and keep on.. sorry I'm high lol
i’m drunk, i can work with this.
steve harrington x fem!reader
cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, jealous!steve, shower sex, dirty talk, name calling
“so, me talking to a man means i want to jump in his bed?” you ask, voice raised an octave as steve fumbles with his keys. he scoffs, stops mid keytwist as he turns towards you a stern expression.
“that’s not what I’m saying and you know that,” he argues, unlocking the deadbolt and shoving his key in the doorknob.
“well, then, dumb it down for me, Steve because it sure sounds like your saying that,” you reply, voice dropping in condescension.
steve pushes the door open with such force that you have to extend your fist to stop it from slamming in your face. he stomps to the bedroom with you hot on his trail. he tosses his keys and wallet on the dresser, kicking off his Nikes and starts unzipping his members only jacket. he looks at you under his broad brows, brown eyes set on you and fiery with his frustration.
“communication, Stevie,” you sing, “that’s the only way we’re gonna get anywhere!”
you untie your heels, tossing them to the foot of the bed once you get them off your feet, looking at him expectantly.
“listen,” he sighs, hands extended like he’s trying to calm you down but it only ignites the low flame of annoyance, sparking it with fuel that makes you laugh, all sarcastic and mean. “i’m not saying you wanted to fuck him, i’m saying he wanted to fuck you and maybe, just maybe, you liked the attention.”
“oh!” you laugh again, following him as he trails to the bathroom, “now I’m so desperate for attention! isn’t that a fucking you problem?! maybe i wouldn’t be so desperate for it if i was getting enough.”
Steve leans over the tub to start the faucet, pulls the lever to transfer the stream to the shower head. he looks frustrated, like you really aren’t seeing his side of things and starts to undo his jeans. shoves his jeans down to his knees and kicks them off. rubs his hand against his sharp nose a couple of times and shakes his head, looking at you with wide eyes.
“i played one game of pool with a buddy! i give you loads and fucking loads of attention!” he raises his voice at the end, hands going to the hem of his polo and he pulls it up and over his head.
you eyes fall on his chest hair, unable to stop yourself amidst a relatively heated argument. he looks fucking hot standing there in his underwear and you kind of hate him for it. so you try to even the playing field, shuck off your skin tight dress and undo your bra. Steve’s eyes drop to your tits, as expected and you feel like you gained a point.
he recovers quickly, shoves his hand under the spray to test the water temperature. shucks his briefs off and steps into the shower, closing the curtain but you caught a quick glimpse of his cock and balls. makes you quickly lose your thong and jump in behind him in the shower, moaning low at the heat of the water.
“i want your attention all the time,” you settle for as you push past him to hog the warm water.
“not exactly doable but,” he grunts as he pushes against you, “that’s sweet.”
“stevie,” you whine as you lean against him, feeling his cock start to fill out against your asscheeks. “i wasn’t flirting with that guy.”
“i know,” he mumbles, moving his hands to grab your hips as his lips find the skin just beneath your ear, “but you’re a fucking knockout. no way he didn’t want you.”
“he can’t have me,” you reply, tilting your head to give him better access, “only you can.”
Steve groans lowly against your neck, “you’re damn fucking right.”
“so why do you get so jealous?” you ask as you tilt your head back, welcoming his greedy kisses against your neck. his hands move to cup your breasts, squeezing as he grinds up into you.
“‘cause fuckin’ look at you, baby,” he mumbles in between sloppy kisses.
“i’m yours, stevie,” you remind him, moaning softly as he sucks a sizable bruise on the side of your throat. you reach behind to grab his cock, pointing his head as your entrance, sure he can feel the way you’re dripping arousal. “only you can do this to me,” you promise.
unexpectedly, steve grabs your hips and plants you against the shower tiles, lines his cock up with your hole and sinks in. groaning lowly in your ear as your cunt clenches around him and you moan out loudly.
“think you like making me jealous,” he grunts out, lips still pressed to your ear, hands still firm on your hips as he thrusts roughly into you, “think you like how i fuck you after.”
he’s telling the truth, you love steve for how tender and sweet he is but when he’s got some fire in him, he fucks you so good it makes you see stars. he moves his hand up your back, presses so your chest is flush against the cold tiles. hammers his hips into you two times, pointed and harsh. the head of his cock hitting against the golden spot inside you so deliciously, you’re moaning uncontrollably.
“huh?” he grunts again, “s’that true? like it when i treat you like a slut?”
“Steve,” you whine, hands flat against the shower wall, pushing your ass back at him. he thrusts again, pinning you against the wall and holding you there. cock unmoving and it’s torture.
“what?” he pouts, “big, tough girl can talk to strangers at the bar but can’t admit she wants her boyfriend to fuck her like a slut?”
“i like it, yes,” you babble out the confession, trying to wiggle back against him but his hips don’t budge. he’s stronger than you, physically and mentally.
“what? you like what?” he asks, grabbing your wrists and holding them against the wall.
“steve…” you whine again and he laughs, all cruel and loud against your ear.
“i play your game,” he says, “you can play mine. so say it, and maybe i’ll give you what you want.”
you moan and writhe against the tiles, not wanting to give in. you want to push steve, want to make him break. get some of the power back here but it’s all too heady and his cock feels so good sheathed as deep as it’ll fit but you ache for movement. you give in, on the possibility he’ll give you what you want— what you need.
“i like when you treat me like a slut,” you admit, turning your face to look at him. his eyes darken as they meet yours and his lips curl up. he thrusts, gives you what you want but it’s so slow and deliberate. teasing and mean. drags a dissatisfied whine from your lips and steve thrusts forward harshly, quick and deep. prods at that spot so deep inside, the one only steve can reach.
“you’re lucky i like it, too,” he tells you and then he picks up the pace, keeps a steady rhythm. your eyes roll back as the head of his cock hammers against your g-spot. pushes these repetitive uh-uh-uh’s from you. his hands release your wrists, his left grabs hold of your hip and his right comes up to grip your throat, not too tightly and gives him the leverage to tilt your head back. covers your mouth with his in a sloppy, filthy open mouthed kiss. fucks you ruthlessly against the shower tiles.
“you’re my little cockslut,” he says between kisses, “all fucking mine.”
his words make that coil in your stomach tighten quicker and quicker. he doesn’t stop. steve can’t shut up when his cocks inside your tight, sopping cunt.
“aren’t you? my slut, huh?” he drills into you, the water cascading over your bodies only making the slapping sounds of your skin meeting that much louder. “and you fucking love being my slut, don’t you, baby?”
“yes, steve— fuck, i’m your little slut,” you babble, bouncing against him and the wall.
“my dirty little slut,” he pants, “such a good slut, just for me.”
steve gasps, pushes you up against the wall again, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises and jackhammers into you. god, it’s almost too much, each time his cock slams into your sweet spot your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open, unabashedly moaning for him. coil tightening and threatening to snap at any second, your voice cracking on the moans, getting higher and higher in pitch. it’s your tell. steve knows you’re close, knows your body better than you do.
he groans lowly, “cum for me, dirty girl. cum all over my cock.”
you wail as it hits you, body seizing in his grip as he fucks you through it. drags every bit of it out of you. you struggle to hold yourself upright, the orgasm spending you almost immediately but steve’s not too far behind. you can tell by the way he’s panting and whining in your hear.
“my fucking— hnng, my fucking dirty little slut,” he whines and then thrusts one last time, deep and hard as he spills inside you. his lips find your cheekbone, kissing tenderly as his orgasm washes over him. little moans vibrating against your face. then he’s slipping out of you and you already miss the warmth and fullness only he can give you. he turns you around, wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly.
after the pair of you catch your breath, you continue the shower. taking turns washing each other’s hair and bodies, exchanging sweet words and kisses. the waters gone cold but it’s fine, steve warms you up when you finally crawl under the sheets, clinging to you tightly and kissing your face, neck and collarbone.
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https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cxbg0m-rURx/?igshid=MTh0eHFjNnBieXVvaw==
biker!simon x reader <3
TEEHEE YEA YEA when he revved his bike to make the backpack cling to him?? SO CUTE OMG
-
i luv imagining simon teasingly tapping your helmet just to make the sound echo in your ears which startles you. you tap back in retaliation, laughing when simon lets you take the last hurrah, so you you kinda get into the habit of just lightly smacking his helmet when he teases you!!
he hikes his hand higher up your thigh than usual? smack. he pinches your thigh? smack. he lightly flicks at your intertwined hands while you’re tightly holding onto him? smack.
and about the revving? ugh simon loves doing that to you too!! of course he only does that in a safe and controlled environment!!
simon does it when your hands are being naughty, teasing his abdomen and his pecs, before squeezing his tits with a playful giggle. he loves you being clingy and tactile, don’t get him wrong, but simon loves teasing you more :((
so he’ll squeeze at the clutch and pull down the lever, his bike gaining momentum, and simon never fails to laugh when he hears you squeal, teasing hands clutching onto him for dear life.
he deserves the following series of smacks, sure, but simon just laughs anyway before killing his engine so he can step off and soothe you.
“don’t do that again!” you whine, nuzzling to him, still perched on his bike like the princess that you are.
he smiles, all teasing. “but y’r so cute pressed up on me an’ everythin’.”
smack.
-
biker!simon mlist
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STWG Prompt: drunk talk
Steve had to scrunch one eye closed while the phone wobbled in front of him, letting out a frustrated huff when the numbers refused to cooperate.
Giving up he just decided to hit the redial button, raising the phone to his ear while he eyed the kitchen sink across the room, thinking that a glass simply wouldn’t do, he could just as easily stick his head under the tap.
God, he was thirsty.
The line picked up and Steve immediately whined out, “Robbie, I loooove hiiim.”
“Uh…” was the only answer he got.
“Robbie, I love him so muuuuch.”
Steve was pretty sure the cord would stretch over to the sink. He took a few stumbling steps forward, scratching his stomach under his loose Motörhead t-shirt that he used to sleep in now, because it was his. It belonged to him now, Eddie.
“Stevie-”
Steve hip checked the counter hard. When had that gotten there? Whatever.
“No, no. You don’t understaaand!” He slapped at the lever on the tap until that glorious crisp water cold water began to gush forth. “He’s so gooood to meee-”
He cut himself off as he stuck his mouth under the stream, belatedly remembering that the phone probably shouldn’t get wet.
“Sweetheart, I put you to bed like… twenty minutes ago, what are you doing up again?”
Okay, there was no need for the amusement, Steve was just trying to drink some damn water.
“I got thirsty.” Steve gasped out.
“There’s a glass on your bedside table. You saw me put it there before I left.”
Steve blinked, almost sure both his eyes closed and opened separately.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing at Robin’s house?”
“I’m not at Robin’s house baby, I’m home. I just got in."
“Uh, no.” Steve giggled to himself. “I called Robin’s house, duh, not yours.”
“I don’t think you did.” Eddie was doing a terrible job of hiding the smile coming through his words. “Why don’t you go to bed, Stevie? I’ll be back in the morning, before you know it.”
“But I have you here now.” He pouted.
“You have me all the time, baby, but you need your sleep. Please? For me?”
“Ugh.” Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s not fair, you know I have to do it now.”
“I know, I’m terrible. Go on sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Steve nodded to himself. “Mm-kay. I love you, Eddiiieeee.”
“I love you too Stevie. Goodnight.”
“Niiiight.”
It took Steve two tries to properly hang up the phone and once he did, he stared at it for just a moment before picking it up again and dialling.
“Mmmullo?” A sleepy voice answered.
“Robbiiiiiiiiiiee. I love him so muuuuuch.”
“Dingus, oh my god.”
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The House Always Wins
Part 2 of this fic
Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Fem!Reader
Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)
Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, (lowkey) Sugar Daddy Crocodile, Crocodile is smug and petty
Crocodile doesn’t know what to expect when he wanders onto the casino floor of Rain Dinners in search of you. Slot machines chime, playing a catchy little tune with each pull of the lever. Dealers grin and offer words of encouragement, coaxing big-eyed fools into another game with the sweet promise of lady luck’s favor.
You don’t usually partake in gambling, not keen on the idea of betting away your berries when you know it’s all rigged—and why would you even need to? You never ask for anything, but Crocodile provides. Spoils you even.
He enjoys watching the way your eyes get all big, stunned by the diamond necklace he places around your neck, or the soft gasp that passes your lips when he gifts silk charmeuse and chiffon dresses, designed, and tailored just for you.
Crocodile continues to seek you out, his sharp eyes flitting between the slot machines and card tables. He ignores the curious and lingering looks targeted at him—the smartly dressed patrons who vie for his attention as he continues to search—and then he hears it.
Your laugh, loud and beautiful—music to his fucking ears. He turns.
Crocodile doesn’t expect to see you at the bar, perched on a stool, leaning into a man he doesn’t recognize. Your hand is on his slender arm, your lips pulled into a pretty smile, and laughter escapes again—so lovely and genuine and for someone else.
The man grins at you sheepishly, transfixed on your mouth. It’s so blatant—barely contained, the way he’s staring at you with a mix of adoration and lust.
You must feel Crocodile’s eyes on you because you glance over your shoulder suddenly. Your smile widens, and you exchange a quick word with the mysterious man before hopping down from your seat.
Crocodile is silent as you approach, stone-faced. You grab his arm with both hands and tilt your head towards the man, all while smiling up at him.
“I want you to meet my friend,” you say excitedly, steering him towards the bar.
Crocodile doesn’t catch the name that rolls off your tongue—he can’t seem to hear anything over the sudden ringing in his ears, so sharp it drowns out the sounds of the jingling slot machines and triumphant cheers of those foolish enough to think they’re the winners.
The fond smile that plays on the mystery man’s lip never falls, but Crocodile notices the sudden unease as the man’s eyes land on him. The imposing height, the cold, almost irritated expression he comfortably wears—the golden hook that glints under the blinding casino lights. It’s enough to strike fear in the heart of anyone smart enough to value their life.
And the man is a small thing—average in every sense of the word, Crocodile thinks. The plain clothes, the nervous, uncertain words that stumble from his mouth as he tries to introduce himself. Crocodile doesn’t feign interest—he barely even acknowledges your friend, and that only serves to add to his anxiety.
If it wasn’t for the pitiful look you shoot him, Crocodile would laugh at just how pathetic this man is.
“We both grew up in Coombe,” you explain, glancing back at the mystery man. “I never thought you’d leave the North Blue.”
He must take your surprise as a compliment because he gives you another bashful smile.
“I didn’t either. Guess I finally figured if you could do it, so could I,” he chuckles softly. “Imagine my shock when I saw you here, of all places.”
“Small world,” Crocodile chimes in dryly, drawing your friend’s attention once more.
Crocodile places a hand on your hip, drawing you a little closer to him.“She never mentions much about her home in the North Blue.”
And she never mentioned you. The insult is unspoken, so subtle that he thinks even you don’t catch it.
But it’s also true. You rarely spoke about the North Blue—of the life you had before you entered the Grand Line and ended up in Alabasta. You never mused over an island you once called home, or a lovesick, hairbrained boy you left on it, and Crocodile doesn’t pry. He isn’t particularly interested in knowing, truth be told. He only cares about the life you have now, with him.
The man goes on an excited tirade about how beautiful Coombe is this time of year, about how you used to love the new bloom after winter finally passed, and all the fun you both had in your youth. He can’t help but reminisce, tries to connect with you in the only way he’s able.
“You should visit when you can. Uh—you both should.”
You pretend to consider it, and Crocodile gives little more than an unaffected grunt.
You inquire how long he’ll be staying and recommend shops and restaurants he must visit before leaving. He shamelessly seeks more of your company—your attention—and asks if you could possibly give him a tour.
You promise to check your schedule and follow up, and he beams as if he’s won an invaluable prize. Crocodile’s irritation grows—twists and festers the longer he stands by your side, little more than an onlooker. His frustration isn’t directed at you—you’ve always been friendly, offering a smile where he would surely offer a sneer, but it doesn’t stop his grip from tightening on your hip.
You notice, finally excusing yourself. The man gives you both a soft goodbye, one that Crocodile ignores completely as he whisks you away, and he can’t help the way his lips pull into a smug grin at the quick glimpse of the dejected look on his face. It must hurt him to see you walk away in the arms of another—to know the golden opportunity he thought the world had provided him never existed at all.
“You didn’t like him.”
It’s the first thing you say when you enter Crocodile’s private suite, disappointment dripping in your voice. You weren’t foolish enough to think he would be thrilled, but you thought Crocodile would at least be amicable.
He shrugs his coat off, placing it on the coat hanger near the door. “He was shameless.”
Your brows furrow, your lips pull into a slight frown…You don’t know? It takes Crocodile by surprise; surely you must. The man is far too obvious; his intentions are impossible to mask.
“He would have taken you right there on the bar if you had let him,” Crocodile scoffs.
You blink, dumbfounded.
“Gage?”
So that’s his name.
Your voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, taken aback by the sudden accusation. “He doesn’t want to fuck me.”
Crocodile gives a mirthless laugh. You’re so sweet. So naïve. Always offering others the benefit of the doubt.
Crocodile recognized the hunger in his eyes—the longing. He suspects this friend of yours has harped on you for a long time, never quite brave enough to take the chance.
Not even now. By some miracle, he survived the Grand Line, and he still can’t brave his own futile emotions. Crocodile isn’t sure whether to laugh at how spineless the man is or burn with anger at how he even thinks he has any chance of having you.
The dark, ravenous part of him takes high offense.
Crocodile comes up behind you and dwarfs you with his body as his decorated hand cradles your jaw. “’Course he does. Look at you.”
He tilts your head, forces you to face the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. You try to focus on your own reflection, but you can’t help but watch Crocodile when he dips down, pressing a tender kiss to your neck, all while his half-lidded eyes hold your gaze.
“Maybe I should invite him to our room so he can watch me fuck you,” he murmurs against your skin.
You shiver, nearly stumble out of his grasp as his lips trail higher.
“Don’t be cruel...”
Cruel? His offer would be courteous. It would be the closest your lovestruck friend would ever get to your naked form. The only way he would ever know what you sound and look like at the height of your pleasure—how perfect you are, stuffed and babbling through your orgasm.
The cruel thing would be what he truly wants to do—to use his devil fruit powers to turn the man into a withering corpse, forgotten in the endless sand dunes.
“Would you rather he joined?” Crocodile inquiries plainly.
He attempts to come off unaffected…curious, but the wicked voice in the back of his mind nags at him, hisses about feelings that could have been, and still may be.
The man matches your gentle nature, and is somewhat competent, at least to have made it this far from the North Blue. He’s the kind of man who would kneel at your feet if you asked, worship you as if it were his sole purpose—he’d give you a typical life, picturesque in its simplicity, and you would be content.
The thought makes something vicious twist in his gut. It makes time stand still as Crocodile awaits your answer.
“No.” You shake your head softly, meeting his cold eyes in the mirror. “I’ve never thought about him like…that.”
Of course not. What would you want with a sniveling worm? How could you go back to mediocrity after everything that’s been offered to you? The attention of a warlord of the sea—the savior of Alabasta. How could anyone else ever compare?
It’s pathetic how the gluttonous beast inside of Crocodile settles and hums contentedly, knowing that you only want him.
And maybe this is your power he couldn’t recognize before, why he was so unnerved in the beginning—this ability to effortlessly turn sensible men foolish. Even him.
“Only want you.” You turn, your soft eyes trained on him. “Always want you.”
Crocodile captures your lips as the words escape, and you melt into him—mold your body into his until he is all you sense. The heady scent of his sweet cigars mixes with hints of patchouli and cedar—his cologne—it lingers on his fitted clothes, drawing you deeper into his searing kiss.
You feel the bend of his golden hook press into the curve of your back, forcing you to curl into him as he parts your lips with his tongue. You’re caught in a pleasant haze, lightheaded, while Crocodile kisses you like he’s claiming your mouth, making sure that your lips never forget the feel and taste of him—that they never desire another’s.
Crocodile lifts you from the ground effortlessly with his ringed hand, still kissing you hungrily as he shifts blindly through his suite, knowing the layout well enough to stumble into his lavish bedroom. He parts from you with a low groan.
“Lay down,” he orders against your lips, and you comply, sinking into the soft mattress while he looms over you.
The ache you feel in your core blossoms—hurts so good from how desperately you want him—to be wrecked and teary-eyed and a mess for him.
You even go as far as to whine when you notice Crocodile isn’t working to free the fierce erection that strains his dress pants, eager to be lost in your warmth.
“None of that,” Crocodile tuts coyly, lowering to his knees near the foot of the bed. His large hand skims up the length of your thigh, pushing up your dress until it is bunched around your waist, and he can see the evidence of your arousal staining your thin lingerie—another gift.
That creature inside of him purrs gleefully, proud of how well he turns you into a spectacle—a gift of his own to admire and unravel again and again.
Crocodile tugs your panties down your legs, tossing it aside carelessly as his hooded eyes catch on your bare pussy, already slick and ready for him. A deep, guttural noise catches in his throat as you part your legs—eagerly welcome him where he belongs.
“I bet he wonders what you taste like…” Crocodile muses, leaning into your aching slit. A soft gasp passes your lips when you feel the heat of his mouth on your needy cunt, tending to the ache his salacious words and desperate kisses created.
There are rare moments when Crocodile takes you apart slowly, his movements languid and measured, bringing you to the height of your pleasure at an agonizing pace, only to rip it away just when you begin to tip over the edge. And then he continues the process again and again. He leaves you delirious on days like that, wasting the hours away with your body—and perhaps today would be a day such as that if he didn’t feel he had something to prove.
If the desire to plague your every thought didn’t control him like a cruel master.
Your soft whimpers turn to shameless, needy moans, light and airy but loud enough to satisfy the wicked parts of him.
“S’good,” you whine drunkenly, your hips bucking instinctively when Crocodile’s lips latch onto your neglected clit. Your fingers thread into his long hair, pull him even closer, and he groans—it makes you arch painfully as the feel of it cascades through your body and tickles your aching nub.
Each swipe of his talented tongue pushes you closer, making the heat that pools in your stomach metastasize until you’re chanting his name, so close and ready to reward him.
He squeezes your clit with his mouth, sucks your aching bud, and you’re gone—shoved over the edge as pure hot pleasure rips through you, flows from between your legs, and Crocodile laps up your sweetness like a starved man.
You glance down at him through your lashes, eyes heavy, body slowly recovering. Crocodile pulls away from your pretty pussy with a sigh, as if he’s sad to part, and the idea alone makes your core ache with newfound need.
“Always so sweet for me.”
Your release smears his chin. It makes him look depraved and delicious. If you had the energy for it, you’d lift from your spot on the bed and kiss him. Feel the taste of yourself on his tongue, but all you can do is watch him with tired eyes as he rids himself of his clothes, tosses his lavish vest and dress shirt aside haphazardly.
His pants are the last thing to go, and you watched as if caught in a spell, buzzing with anticipation as he palms his hard dick. It’s so pretty, with the tip blushing and spilling precum that glides onto his thick fingers. Crocodile smirks, amused by the enchanted look in your eyes.
“This what you want, darling?” he asks, giving his dick a rough tug that warrants a delighted hiss. You nod—nearly sob—as you continue to watch Crocodile’s hand rub up and down the length of his lovely cock. You feel so empty—the desire to be filled in a way only he’s capable of taking precedence in your mind.
“Tell me,” Crocodile encourages as he shifts to the bed, his large frame casting you in shadows as he hovers over you. That smug smile still plays at his lips and only grows crueler as he grinds his hard length against your needy cunt.
“N-need you. Fuck—need you so—so bad. Baby please—”
The request sounds pathetic, even to your own ears, but it must be exactly what Crocodile wants to hear because he sinks into you the second the term of endearment passes your lips.
A deep grunt rips from his throat and tickles your ear pleasantly as Crocodile drags his fat cock deeper into you. You’re so warm and wet and snug, your velvety walls hugging him like this is where he belongs—where he should always be.
And he’ll admit, there’s no better place than here, between your legs. No better feeling in the whole fucking world—not even the sweet giddiness that builds inside of him each passing day as the fall of the Alabasta Kingdom draws closer. Having you writhing beneath him, breathless and lovely, is incomparable—a sensation he never tires of.
“Always take me so—mmm…well,” Crocodile rasps, transfixed on how your sloppy cunt swallows him over and over and over again. It makes him fuck you harder; drive even deeper. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me.”
And he thinks perhaps it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to you. Uncertainty still stirs within him—dread lingers in the corner of his mind, silent and waiting, because you complicate everything. You’re the only person who can placate the ravenous creature within him, feeding its insatiable appetite without it ever growing incurious. It wants everything you have to offer—can’t conceive of feeding from anyone who isn’t you. Not anymore.
Never.
Crocodile pushes your thighs close to your chest, drives his dick even deeper as he continues to pound into you. The sound of his powerful thrusts and your tortured moans is a beautiful symphony, lovelier than the melodic sounds of the stirring sand at dawn.
You have that lost, blissed-out look in your eyes as you blink up at him, words completely evading you as he uses you.
How could your foolish friend ever even dream of having you like this? Think he could possibly do to you what Crocodile has done?
Crocodile feels equally as hopeless as you—is incapable of thinking clearly because a confession he knows he should swallow pours from his lips without warning.
“I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you from me,” he growls, digging the tip of his hook into the mattress, inches away from your head.
You should be…shocked. Unnerved by such a confession. Crocodile doesn’t pretend to be a saint, but he never mutters his murderous intent. He hides behind practiced indifference; let’s others paint a glorious picture of him, never revealing his true nature. You attempt to feign shock for a split second, but you can’t help the way your pussy clenches around him and goes mad at his declaration—some depraved, feral part of you stirring to life.
And the knowledge that a part of you likes this fucked up part of him must awaken something in him, because his thrusts grow brutal, his balls slap against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to. Crocodile hits deeper, the head of his throbbing dick brushing against that sweet, spongey spot inside of you, and you’re gone before you can even warn him.
You choke out something that sounds like it could be his name, tears trickling down your cheeks as you come so violently that your breath stutters. You shake through your orgasm, squirm beneath Crocodile while he fucks you through it—watching you come apart with wicked fascination and unbridled lust.
He loves how he wrecks you—how you hold onto him for dear life, as if he might slip away.
He’s ruined you, just like you’ve ruined him.
The thought alone is the final push he needs, make his dick throb violently as he explodes inside of you and fills you up the way he knows you crave—the way your perfect pussy deserves. The squelch of his seed mixing with your sweetness is enough to drive him mad. Makes him want to fuck another load into you.
Maybe in a bit, he considers as he rocks his hips sluggishly, riding out the sweet aftershock of his powerful orgasm.
You’re little more than a quivering mess under him. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is ragged…so so beautiful, and Crocodile doesn’t frighten at the tender feeling that blossoms in his chest—a sudden warmth that takes him by surprise yet seems to make all the sense in the world as he stares down at you, all while a pleasant thought crosses his twisted mind.
What’s the harm?
Why shouldn’t I revel in what’s mine?
divider credit @/cafekitsune
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Could I request something from the prompt you reblogged:
“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”
kitchen counters (kisses, and more)
this was hard to think of a sitch! it's a bit weird (?) but also a bit goofy at times, which i love and i hope u love anon! not any warnings needed, it's hot consensual sex except they don't use a condom but we know this is fiction and we should totally use those things irl. ok be safe and enjoy <3
2.8k words. minors do not interact.
It’s a bit of a strange morning, being here in Steve’s kitchen when you haven’t spent the night.
Not for lack of want, mind you. You hadn’t been able to is all, some family event that rolled way too late into the evening. And even though you know Steve would’ve come and picked you up if you asked, even at some point past midnight, you didn’t want to ask that of him. You knew he’d had a long day. Steve tried to insist he’d sleep better with you beside him.
“I don’t want you driving, s’all,” you said into the receiver last night, your tone apologetic. “It’s just, it’s late and you’re tired. I’ll come over in the morning, okay?”
“You promise?” Steve grumbled back. He never was in the chirpiest of moods when he went home to empty sheets.
“Pinky.”
And you followed through, driving over as soon as you could after your wake-up. Your own spare key lets you into the house and it’s only mildly surprising to find it quiet. The kitchen is empty, lights off.
You think of your boyfriend, who must be still asleep upstairs, and take a couple steps up the stairs, and— ah, there it is. The sound of the shower. If you strain your ears, you can hear his faint rendition of a George Michael song. It makes you grin.
You head for the kitchen anyways, flipping on the lights as you go— it’s a bit later than Steve’s usually up but you’re willing to bet that without you there to bug him awake, he’s dozed past his usual alarm.
There are Eggos in the fridge, enough for both of you, and fill the toaster with them, pressing the lever down. You begin brewing the coffee, the scent of it percolating the air and it’s nearly ready by the time you hear Steve coming down the stairs.
He appears in the doorway, shower towel still hung around his shoulders, his chest bare. You automatically dip your gaze to drink up the sight of his chest, a mixture of love and lust competing in your chest. His hair is shaggy and wet. He’s scrubbing the back of it with the towel but he pauses, delighting at the sight of you.
“I thought I heard you,” He smiles easily, and you meet him in the middle when he comes over for a kiss. His hands circle your waist. You press up on your toes and hold his face gently, pressing your sweetest good morning onto his lips. Steve hums. His eyes are still closed when you pull back.
They flutter open and he smiles again, blindingly handsome. “Missed you last night,” he says, pulling you closer by your waist. “And this morning too.”
Your heart sings just a bit, your thumb stroking lovingly across his cheekbone. “I bet you did, handsome.”
Steve raises his brows like he thinks you don’t believe him and his hands slither down, nearing the curve of your ass as suggestiveness creeps in his tone. “Uh huh. Even had a dream about you last night.”
His head ducks into the curve of your neck, lips ghosting along your throat as he continues, voice still husky from his sleep. “Woke up hard.”
His body pressing into you confirms that his high-running hormones haven’t managed to dim in the time between his dream and now — his cock is half-hard, nudging against your thigh. You can’t help the way you shiver when he kisses your neck, wet and warm, and murmurs, “Wanna hear about it?”
He’s a bastard. That’s the first thought in your mind as his kiss turns harsher, suckling at the skin of your neck in a way that weakens your knees — he’s a bastard who knows exactly what he’s doing. Your hands slip from his jaw to his shoulders, clutching them a little tighter. You try to pull yourself together.
“Something tells me you’re gonna tell me anyways.” You remark, a pant already making your words sound a little gaspier.
Damn, he makes you needy. Your head falls back and you let him nibble along your neck, feeling your arousal sparking — and catching fire quick, burning low in your stomach.
“Mm, I could,” Steve replies, between his lovebites. His cock has gotten harder, his hips lightly grinding against you to work it the right way. You keen into his touches. “Or… I could show you?”
Your hands move to tug his face up, out of your neck, and you kiss him, hard. Steve groans appreciatively into the kiss, beginning to walk the two of you backward til his back hits the counter. He uses the leverage to pull you closer, his knee nudging between your thighs — your cunt pulses hotly as you grind down against his thigh, lust licking hot at your spine.
“Mhm, definitely…” Steve starts, words tumbling out between his kisses. His teeth scrape your bottom lip, tongue soothing along after. “Definitely started like this.”
“Oh yeah?” You huff, giving a pleasurable shudder when the seam of your jeans lines up just right, rubbing rough right on your clit. A breathy moan escapes you and pushes into Steve’s lips, sealed in your kiss.
Not breaking his kiss, Steve’s hands grip your hips, his knee nudging higher as he pulls down to grind on him again — another bolt of pleasure pulls a moan from you as you clench around nothing. For a hot minute, you two play this game; Steve dedicating himself to your bottom lip, kisses hot and hands wandering, while you rub against his thigh needily. You reach a breaking point eventually.
“Steve,” you pull back from your sloppy kiss to whine, unsure exactly what you’re asking from him.
Face more flushed than before, Steve eyes you hungrily, lips swollen from your steamy kisses. He pulls your hips forward once again, groaning at the reaction it gets him— another pitiful whine, your hands on his neck flexing.
“God, you’re a fuckin’ angel,” He muses, more to himself. He bites his lower lip and takes a second to compose himself before his fingers take a walk, eyes tracing the path they take along the edge of your jeans. Steve pauses at the button, eyes flicking up to your face, eyebrows raising an inch.
“Take ‘em off?” He asks.
“In the kitchen?” You counter, sounding a bit appalled. Not that you and Steve have ever been restricted to the bedroom, but, well….
The Eggos in the toaster pop right at that moment as if to prove your point. You and Steve's heads both whip to the side to look at it and there's a moment of silence. Steve giggles first and you join in quickly, leaning into him. The noise tapers off and when you look back to Steve, you think about the night you would've had if you hadn't been held back.
You don't owe it to him, but you certainly are eager to find out the contents of his dream.
Stepping back out of his hold, you pull your shirt off swiftly. Next, you unbutton your jeans and shimmy them down your legs, kicking them off. Your legs prickle in the sudden coolness. You enjoy the wide-eyed boyish joy on Steve's face maybe a bit too much. He clearly wasn't sure he'd convinced you.
“You did say you'd show me what happened in this dream." You say, hooking your thumbs into your panties, like you're about to work them down your legs next. You pause, tilt your head, the fire in your belly fueled by Steve's greedy gaze drinking you in, "Or do you want to be the one to take these off?"
Steve growls, stepping forward and capturing your lips with his. It's fast and messy, his lips taking and taking, hands raking fast across your body as he lets desire run free. One hand kneads at your breast, pinching lightly at the peaking nipple beneath your shirt, stirring up heat within you. The other hand delves down, down, pushes gently into your panties.
A gasp stutters out of you as he runs his middle finger along your slit, gathering the wetness welling from your entrance. The pad of his fingers drags your slick forward, searching for your clit and you're nearly embarrassed by the hiccupy whimpering noise you make when he finds it.
"There?" Steve says, though his finger has already started to circle it, treacherously slow motions. You nod, your hand slipping and grasping his bicep tightly, giving a sweet sigh of pleasure. "Oh, good girl."
The praise sinks into your skin and you can feel yourself getting wetter, another futile clench of your cunt around nothing.
"Y'think you can handle my cock?" Steve murmurs lowly, checking in with you. He meanly speeds up his soft rubs on your clit as he asks, nearly making it impossible to answer for a minute, but you manage another nod, swallowing your noises for a moment.
"Yes," You say, voice nearly a whisper. Your breathing comes out in soft little pants, chest heaving. "Yes, yes, please, Steve."
Steve hums, pulling his hand from your panties and reaching for his own pants, the buckle clinking as he undoes his belt clumsily. His jeans pool at his ankles, kicked off in the direction of your own, and for a moment, it makes you laugh — two pairs of crumpled jeans on your kitchen floor all because of Steve's horny sleeping brain.
"So," you say, glancing for a moment at his tenting boxers. It makes you salivate just a bit. "How do you want me? How did the dream go?"
You emphasize the word dream, bending over to rest your forearms on one of the counters, sticking your ass out behind you tantalizingly. Steve's eyes stare intensely, chest rising and falling as he steps closer — his hands fall onto your lower back, dragging down lightly, til his fingertips curl under the elastic of your panties.
"Mhmm," He drags them further, revealing the swell of your ass and hot cunt and releasing a resounding groan of appreciation. He sounds breathless when he says, "Just... fuck, just like this."
Your panties gather round your ankles and you step out of them. Behind you, you can hear the sound of his boxers dropping, one warm hand leaving your skin for just a second. It's back in an instant, both his hands shifting down again, spreading your cunt wide for him.
Steve lets out another raspy groan, one of his thumbs coming down to play in the well of slickness building at your hole — your head tips forward with a shaky pleasured sigh of relief.
"Oh, so wet for me already." He says, bordering a tease. You resist the urge to wriggle your hips, to push back and see if he'll relent and touch you more. "Already so messy, huh?"
His light tone of mock twines up your desire and tugs it harshly, your cunt clenching with a whine so loud you nearly don’t hear his chuckle. You're nearly dizzy with relief when the next touch is his cock, nudging against your hot entrance lightly. One hand holds your hip.
Steve goes easy, sinking into you tortuously slow til his thighs meet the back of yours, a sighing moan scraping out his throat as he does. You keen, a strained mewl pushing out your throat as you get filled— so full it aches deliciously, aches for more.
“Ste— fuck,” His name is stolen from your mouth in a gasp, your hands gripping the counter as he pulls his hips back slow, the drag so so fucking delectable. Shit.
Steve rolls his hips forward, pushing back in gently and he pauses again, giving you a moment — even as you tremble and huff out high little noises, clearly enjoying yourself. Warmth spreads across your back as he leans over, pressing himself against your back and his cock further in. There’s a soft kiss on your spine, then another.
“Fuck,” he breathes heavily, breath fanning across your back. He gives another leisurely roll of his hips, a gentle fuck into your heat. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as your cunt clamps down on him. Another whiney noise passes your lips, heat curling up tight in your lower tummy. “Fuck, s’like you’re made for me. Like this pussy was just made for me.”
“Stevie,” you plead, managing to get the word out this time. There’s another ghost of his lips along your skin, then his arm shifts, wriggling under your tummy. He scoops it around your middle, hand pushing up between your breasts to rest on your sternum. Still folded atop you, Steve finally begins to move, hips pumping his cock in and out, faster and faster.
You squeal, body humming like a livewire as Steve finally fucks you, the soft squelch of your cunt sucking him in filling the kitchen. Steve’s chest burns hotly where it’s pressed to your back and you can hear every grunt that pairs with the snap of his hips, his hand on your hip and his arm under you pulling you back to meet every thrust.
Your eyes slip closed, little uh, uh, uh’s coming from your pretty mouth mixed with whimpers of Steve’s name. You’re stretched up on your toes, trying to get the angle that only Steve has ever found. Your core is burning with desire, a throbbing growing in your clit.
“You’re- shit, you’re better than a dream, sweetheart.” Steve grunts, hips never slowing his motions. The stretch of his cock has gone by now but the shape of his hard cock feels like he’s moulding your insides — and you love it.
“Nothing beats this pussy, mm. Nothing,” He drags out the word with a groan, breath coming out in hot pants against your back. “Beats fucking my girl.”
You’re nodding, beginning to feel too fucked out to even think of words. Steve’s hand shifts your hips up and you know he’s looking for that spot inside you— because you can feel his grin against your spine when you whine loudly when the head of his cock finds it.
“Oh, is that the spot?” Steve asks, voice dripping in condescension. You nod frantically. He starts to bully it with his cock, every fast thrust hitting it over and over, til nothing but the melted words of more and please leave your mouth in a drooling ramble. You’re whimpering and whining, cunt drooling all over his cock, down your thighs.
“That’s it, honey.” The words come out a bit choppy like Steve’s own orgasm was rearing its head and his hand moves off your hip — deftly finding your clit. You make a pathetic moan of his name as he circles it harshly, quick circles with the pads of his fingers.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Steve— uh, fuck,” You’re spewing anything that comes to your brain, your hips rocking back to meet Steve’s hard thrusts instinctively as you chase your high.
“Shit, honey,” Steve moans, voice climbing higher and breathier. His hips begin to jackhammer, stuttering as his orgasm tips over — a whiney string of curses sung into your skin as he fucks into your wet, hot cunt, hot cum dribbling from his cock inside you.
You’re desperate now, teetering close to your own edge but not quite there. “Stevie, please,” you cry. His fingers on your clit which had slowed regain their speed, his hips picking back up as he begins his murmurs to you.
“C’mon, honey, you’re so close, can feel this pussy sucking me in.“ He whispers hotly, his hand on your sternum moving to grope at your breast, fingers twisting at your nipple. “Want you to cum for me, okay? Please fucking cum for me.”
You don’t get a lot of choice with his cock drilling into you, pushing that sweet spot enough that your orgasm finally builds and melts — a strangled whiney moan of his name warbles out of you, instantly met with Steve’s praises, murmurs of how good you are for him. It feels like every nerve is alight, turning over and pulsing as the waves of pleasure ride out in your body.
You exhale, trying to catch your breath as you half melt into the counter, finally lowering off your tiptoes as you relax in the post-haze. Steve eases his cock out of you, the quietest wince, and you give yourself another minute before you drag yourself up, beginning to look for your abandoned panties. A thought strikes you.
“So,” you pant, leaning back against the counter; you’ll definitely need to sanitise that later. Steve’s rescued his boxers, tugging them up as he raises his brows to indicate he’s listening to your question. “How’d we do on the dream recreation?” You ask.
Steve grins cheekily. “Oh, in my dream we fucked on the couch.”
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Breathe It In
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: None
Summary: Daryl takes you out on his bike for the first time.
A/N: Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!
“Y’ever rode one before?” Daryl asked.
You shook your head, attention running over the hot, glinting chrome and black metal. Every inch of the motorcycle was covered in dust but you knew it was an impressive piece of machinery, especially in Daryl’s eyes. And it was big. Longer and taller than you ever really noticed, now that you were the one about to climb on top of it.
“No,” you said to Daryl. “Never even seen one up close before you got this.”
“Ya don’ haf’ta come with me. Once we git another car, we can-“
“No, it’s fine. I’ve done scarier, right?” you said, thinking just of the past week and all you’d faced.
He gave a curt nod. Then he swung his leg over the motorcycle, the toe of his big boot finding the kickstarter immediately. His jeans hugged his body as he hiked his knee up unnaturally high before putting all his weight on the lever, slamming his leg down and starting the bike on the first try. He twisted one of the handles as the engine revved to life as he settled in the seat.
He looked at you, gaze cutting over his bare arm, thick with muscle. “I’ll hold it steady. Foot rests are there,” he said, pointing low on the bike to the small pegs you would use. “That’s the engine-“
“That’s the engine? The whole thing is just… right there?”
“Where else would it be?”
You shot him a glare. “I don’t know. Enclosed somewhere maybe.”
He huffed a laugh. It made his hair fall in his face, but you could see his blue eyes studying you as he continued his explanation.
“The exhaust pipes are down there too- careful a’ those. They get hot.”
“Okay, so butt goes there,” you said pointing, “feet go there and don’t touch anything else.”
“‘Cept me.”
You straightened, shooting your attention back to him. “Hm?”
“Gotta hold onta somethin’. Come on, let’s go.”
You wondered if you had flushed as red as he did at his words. He was looking at his fingers wrapped around the handlebars, knuckles turning white, but you saw the pink wave crawling up his neck from his vest and landing around his ears.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’,” you said, sidling up to the bike. You tried to sound teasing, but you just sounded nervous. And it wasn’t just the heavy machinery making adrenaline rush through you.
He held his hand out flat for you to grab and support yourself as you flung your leg over the side of the bike. The moment your bottom landed on the back of the seat, you felt Daryl’s wide hand around your calf, moving one of your feet into place on the pegs. It was only then you realized there were only two foot pedestals for four feet. You’d have to share.
Once he’d moved you into place, he tapped your knee, signaling you to stay put. A cold rush of air kissed the spot his hand had just kept warm.
Your legs pressed against the back of his body as you sat behind him, your feet on the outside of the pegs, while his thick boots stuck to the inside. Nearest to the hot exhaust pipes, you noticed. He was keeping you away from them.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
The motorcycle growled loudly at the will of his hand. Just a twist of his wrist and the bike was primed to speed off.
He turned his head, not quite looking at you, though even then you could see his smirk. “Better hold on,” he said.
You took the back of his jacket in your hands, balling up the leather around his hips into your fingers. “Kay,” you said, bracing yourself a bit.
His foot rocked and his fingers squeezed, releasing the clutch and picking the gear. He twisted the handlebars, revving the engine and making the bike shake under you. To you, it was just a lot of noise and practically unnoticeable movement. To someone with motorcycling experience, it was a warning of oncoming power and swiftness. But you had no idea.
Without warning, the bike jolted forward and sped off so quickly it almost left you alone in the dirt, your grip slipping from Daryl’s jacket.
Before you could fall off though, you hugged close to Daryl, palms open and sprawled over his chest and belly in panic. After the initial shock, however, the bike was a smooth ride as it kicked up dry Georgia dust behind its tires. That’s when you realized Daryl’s shaking and trembling wasn’t from the rattling of the bike, but from his chuckles.
You heard his laugh even over the buzzing bike and rushing wind. It was a rare sound. Low, but free, like the rumble of an engine on a long, twisting summer road. In half mock, half true indignation, you lowered your hands to rest around his waist, meeting in the middle around his belt. Leaning up to his ear, you called to him.
“You’re a real dick sometimes, Dixon!”
“Told’ya ta hold on,” he answered, giving your clasped hands a pat.
“No kidding.”
He shook again. Though this time you couldn’t hear the soft chuckles that emanated from him, you knew they were there. You felt it. Just like you felt the affection radiating from him as he twisted his fingers in yours until they were interlinked.
Before the outbreak, you never would have ridden a motorcycle. They were too dangerous. In fact, the thought of even looking at a contraption like this one, something Daryl had practically made with his own hands, without a safety helmet would never have crossed your mind.
These days, things were different. Every day was a threat. But this, being with Daryl and sharing his pride and joy felt like the safest thing you could ever do. He was holding your hand and your arms circled him tight as you rode safely past anything questionable.
You laid your head on the back of his shoulder and breathed it in- the freedom, the safety, the gas smell on his jacket and the smoke in his hair and you closed your eyes. And you felt his hand squeeze yours as if he was doing the exact same.
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⋆。° ✮ minors dni 🔞
⋆。° ✮ Kinktober masterlist
⋆。° ✮ Warnings: explicit smut, overstimulation, begging, creampie
⋆。° ✮ adult Neteyam art was made by the amazing @cinetrix 🩵
⋆。° ✮ Translation: tìyawn = love, sayrìp = handsome
All it takes is for you to tighten around him, the hot, sticky spurt of his cum from the previous round oozing out around Neteyams cock, and he’s done for.
Neteyam’s coming with a grunt and a snap of his hips that feels like it could break you in two. He fucks through it, little stuttering thrusts that drag the pleasure out, keep the current pulsing along his shattered nerves until he collapses, exhausted, tucking his face against your sweat-slick shoulder.
"Hmm love you so much", he tiredly mumbles, kissing the side of your neck as you slur vague agreement. He pushes a lazy hand through your hair, lifting it away to reach more of your neck, kissing and nipping languidly at your hairline. He's warm and blissed-out and really fucking comfortable, plastered to your chest, and he's happy to delay the moment when he'll have to move as long as you will let him.
Eventually he starts to soften, and the hand that's still trapped between your bodies where he had rubbed your clit earlier starts to go numb. Sighing, Neteyam presses a last kiss beneath your ear and then starts to lever himself up, but your sudden, almost desperate whine of "Noo" stops him.
"Tìyawn, what's wrong?", he asks, slightly concerned. Worming his hand free, he gently runs it up and down your side, caressing your skin in a soothing way.
"Nothing," you mumble as you shifts under him, trying to get more comfortable, rocking your hips a little and making him inhale a sharp breath. "Just…not yet", you whisper, "Don’t pull out just yet."
Neteyam huffs softly at this, then places a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, "Yeah, okay." He then lays back down, with his head on your chest, and tries not to groan when your squirming makes his still sensitive dick twitch.
He obviously doesn't succeed, because you go still for a minute and then, almost casually, your hips roll up in a gentle thrust. Neteyams breath catches on a noise, and even he isn’t sure if it's pleasured or pained, nerve endings still flayed and raw-open, just too much.
Neteyam pushes himself up to one elbow, words forming on his lips, but they're lost on a ragged gasp as you hook an arm around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist, before you roll over and pull him down with you. It’s a mess of limbs shortly before Neteyam finds himself laying flat down, with you on top of him, his cock still nestled inside you, while you’re tightening slow and deliberate all around his length.
"Oh- eywa", Neteyam rasps out, and then, "Fuck" when you squeeze him again. He looks up at you, dazed, to see your eyes are closed, bottom lip pinched between your teeth in concentration as you work some magical combination of muscles.
Your inner walls pull at his cock, clenching and relaxing in a rhythm that has him panting and writhing within moments.
"Tìyawn– oh shit– fuck, I can't, I can't—" Neteyam protests, even as he feels himself grind upwards, shuddering at the deliciously good hurt of all that pressure around his spent cock.
Your bottom lip slides free of your teeth seconds before a mischievous little grin appears, eyes fluttering open to search Neteyams face.
"Oh, I think you can", you purr, squeezing him on a hard spasm. Neteyam wants to deny it, but his cock‘s already half hard again, making a liar out of him.
"Fuck me, sayrìp", you pout. Neteyam blinks hazily, staring up at you, and your voice cracks, a needy whine creeping in. "C'mon, Teyam, fuck me."
"Already did", he tells you, but his hips are bucking up, just an inch, tentative little thrusts that punches the breath from both of your chests.
"Again", you plead, "Fuck me again."
Neteyam pushes himself up to both hands, spreads his thighs a little further and then thrusts up, again and again, a dozen tiny, careful thrusts, and he's rock hard now, almost all pleasure, just a faint shimmer of pain to make it that much sweeter.
You’re flushed and breathless, arms still locked around his neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer as you roll your hips on top of him. Neteyam sighs deeply.
Brushing his mouth against your ear, he then murmurs, "Tell me what you want, tìyawn."
"Did", you whine. "Want you to fuck me."
"Ask me", he tells you lowly.
"Will you please fuck me?"
Neteyam grins, whispers, "Beg me," and bites hard at your ear.
"Please!" You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you arch and squirm. "Please, Teyam, please fuck me. Need more of you, need– fuck, everything, need you to fuck me please, please please–"
"You’re so cute when you’re needy, how can I ever resist you, huh?" Neteyam mumbles affectionately, shutting you up with a kiss, before he lays back down, puts his hands on your hips and then slams up into you so hard that he knows his hips will be bruised in the morning.
Despite the fact that you had already come in the past fifteen minutes, it doesn't take you very long to get close again. Neteyams come slicks the way as he pounds into you, letting you bounce on him like a rag doll, and it's so deliciously fucking hot and dirty that he can feel the pleasure tingle all the way to the ends of his fingers.
"Get your hand on your clit. Play with yourself, tìyawn. C‘mon, i thought you wanted it so bad?", he orders, groaning low when you do it immediately. Leaning back with a hand on his thigh and the other disappearing between yours, your dainty fingers begin rubbing tight circles over your throbbing clit. "Eywa, you’re so fucking pretty. You ready to come for me again, huh? I wanna see it. Show me. Show me how good it is."
That's all it takes. Neteyams hungry, heat-filled voice and half a dozen furious strokes, and you’re seizing and crying out, clenching around the cock that’s pistoling in and out of you like a jackhammer until he pumps you full of his cum for the third time that night. It’s not as much as it was in the first round, but it’s still enough to make you feel warm all over.
It's blindingly, deafeningly good, a pleasure that whites out his nerves, leaves him stunned and sensationless for a long moment before everything comes singing back. He's still not entirely sure his body's all in one piece, vision fractured and limbs leaden, when he hears your soft, exhausted voice.
"Teyaaam", you wriggle your hips with the biggest pout on your lips, and he’s shuddering out a small laugh, already sensing what you’re about to demand. "Please... again."
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Just Need You (Din x Reader)
A/N: Okay. This turned into waaayyyyyy more than I expected but once it started it just kept coming, and I…. I kinda love it? Like for real? These two are a mess and I’m kind of obsessed with them. (Also, thank you, Anon, for being my first Mando request and for sending a request at all! You made me happy dance, you have no idea.)
Anon asked: “Hey babes, can you do a Mando x reader where the reader is a bounty hunter and leaves the ship to complete a mission and is only supposed to be gone a few hours but they’re gone all night and Din starts to panic and the next morning they show up slightly injured sand Din completely loses it and he was so scared then feels guilty? (fluff and ANGST) (sorry this is long!)”
I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Space swearing. Arguing? Mentions of injury, brief mention of blood, stitches. Mando’a.
Word count: 4,014 (I’m this person now, okay?)
Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex, @grippingbeskar, and @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis for reading this over for me and letting me know I’m not crazy.
Masterlist
Xxx
“It’ll only be a few hours,” you grumbled, shoving another blaster in your belt from the weapons locker.
“Do you know anything about this planet?”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a vibroblade to tuck into your boot. “I know it’s hot.” Reaching for a thermal detonator, a gloved hand came out to grab your wrist, stopping you just short, your fingers barely scraping along its surface. With a sigh you turned your head to your left to find the Mandalorian’s helmet inches from your face.
“I’m serious,” he said in a low voice, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.
“So am I,” you whispered. “Mando, I’m fine. I’ve done this a few times.” He scoffed at your sarcastic remark, making you smirk. When he released your wrist, you grabbed the detonator, fixing it to the back of your belt. “Besides, like I said, this’ll be easy. In and out. This guy’s not particularly dangerous, just a bail jumper. Probably won’t even get a scratch.”
He grunted. “And when you come back limping, what do I get? Hmmm?”
You crossed your arms over your chest, leveling a flat glare on him. “That’s just rude.”
“What?” He asked innocently, holding his hands out to the sides. “I’m not saying he would hurt you. I’m saying you’re known to…. Trip. A lot.”
After a loaded moment where you two just stared in silence, the only sound the child ambling down the ladder from the cockpit, you turned to the ramp, grumbling, “I’m going now.”
Pulling the lever to release the ramp, you stood at the top as it lowered, feeling the wall of beskar hovering closer and closer behind you until finally the modulated voice taunted by your ear, “Good luck.”
A wave of hot air rolled up into the Crest, making Grogu scrunch his face and babble as he tried to scale his guardian's armor.
Din bent down and scooped up the child, cradling him in his arms and shaking his head as the little green ward squinted at the bright sunlight pouring in the now open hull. Bringing his visor back up to meet your gaze as you made last minute adjustments to your belt, he tilted his head to the side just slightly before he added, “You’re gonna need it.”
With a roll of your head to face back toward the unforgiving landscape, you began down the ramp, disappearing in the glare of the sun beating down on the barren tundra.
Tugging the lever to close the ship back up, the Mandalorian turned to the child in his arms as he cooed softly. Letting out a sigh, his shoulders rolling forward slightly as he still held on to the lever with one hand, he let his head fall forward toward the kid. “I know. I know, I miss her already too, little guy. But don’t worry. She’s gonna be okay.” Bringing the hand down from the lever to rest comfortingly on the child’s front, Din patted it distractedly. “And she’ll be right back.”
Xxx
A few hours had come and passed while Din worked on a handful of odd repairs around the ship. He was currently under the control panel in the cockpit, laying on his back as he fiddled with the wiring under the console.
Grogu was playing with his ball in the copilot's chair, chittering happily about something or other.
Looking down toward the child, Din sighed, pulling Grogu’s attention to him. “Don’t worry. She’s just running a little late. That’s all.”
The kid tilted his head as he hummed questioningly at the Mandalorian. “She’s just a little late,” Din repeated, a bit more forcefully. “That’s all.” Looking back up at the mess of wiring overhead, he stared at it absently, his voice quiet. “Don’t worry.”
Xxx
More time had passed, it was the middle of the night, and Din began to pace. There wasn’t anything left on the ship to fix to occupy his time. Well, there was, but it would take hours, and you’d be back soon, probably needing to take off as soon as possible, so he didn’t want to get tied up in that.
The kid blinked blearily from a nearby crate, watching his protector pace back and forth as he ate from a ration pack. He paused his snacking, offering a warm, “Patu!” when the Mandalorian stopped for a moment. Grogu grinned when the shiny visor turned toward him soundlessly, beginning to babble aimlessly as he reached back into the ration pack to pull out a piece to offer to his friend, extending it as far as his little arms could go.
“Thanks, kid,” Din mumbled, taking the dried whatever it was and lifting his helmet just enough to take a small bite. He hummed in satisfaction once the modulator was back in place, the child grinning like he’d solved a dire problem for a world at war.
And in a way, Din guessed he had. It offered him peace, if only for a moment. His mind found rest, some silence for a beat, long enough to get some perspective, long enough to take a breath, and tamp down the worry niggling away at him under his armor.
It was an unfamiliar feeling to him, worry. Something he’d not really experienced until the child, and something he didn’t altogether quite understand. He’d been in worrying situations before, but this was different. It was removed from him. It was for something outside of himself, his control, and it drove him crazy.
You drove him crazy.
Absolutely insane.
….and he loved it.
With you gone, something was missing. Some part of him, some piece that made up the rest of him was lost, and it was like he couldn’t settle, couldn’t find any semblance of peace until you were…. Home.
He didn’t know when or how the Crest had become home, much less when you had joined that picture, but there it was.
He needed you home.
He needed you back.
He needed you….
Just needed you.
Xxx
The child was asleep in the bunk, sealed away as Din rearranged the weapons locker for probably the seventy fifth time, or something near there, it felt like. The open spots for the weapons you’d taken out yesterday glaringly obvious no matter how he rearranged things.
With another long sigh, he moved to open the ramp, and he watched as a brilliant sunrise peeked through, streaking the reflective surfaces of the Crest in shades of pink and orange.
He’d sighed enough to sail a ship across the seas on Kamino, he thought bitterly. Every huff of air an attempt to release pent up emotions, something longing in his chest, but all it did was fog up the inside of his visor. ….Which made him sigh in frustration, doing it again, and it was a whole cycle.
A figure appeared on the horizon, and his spine straightened, attention on full alert. He hoped it was you, but since it was well past when you’d said, there was no telling at this point.
The outline looked closer much faster than anticipated, and it was then he heard the hum of a speeder engine begin to whir closer. Hand going to rest on his blaster, he drew it slowly, aiming at the rapidly approaching stranger as he pressed a button on the side of his helmet to zoom in with his display.
A fog had rolled in, concealing the features of the person atop the speeder, but something in his chest began to constrict when he thought it looked a lot like you.
As the speeder swooped to a stop in front of the ramp, Din took a cautious step forward, blaster raised and aimed as he switched the safety off.
The figure astride the vehicle hopped off, stumbling slightly before pushing themselves up using the seat of the bike for leverage, grunting as they went. Taking a few wobbling steps toward the ramp, finally the figure stepped out of the fog enough for Din to see who it was, and his throat was suddenly so dry, he could barely croak out your name.
You huffed out a breathy laugh before grimacing and grabbing your right side with your hand. “I know I’m late, but, kriff, it’s no reason to shoot me, Mando.” Moaning, you slumped with your back against the speeder, head tilted back as you winced. “Actually, go ahead. It might be better than this.” With a hiss through your teeth, you slid to the ground, landing with a plop onto the dusty earth, barely registering the rapid holstering of a blaster, the heavy footfalls of beskar quickly making their way down to you, or his hurried questions over your tight lipped groans as you were lifted from the ground.
“What’s wrong? What happened? No, kid. Get back. Go to your- kid, no.”
Opening your eyes as much as you could muster, you peeked at the kid standing at the top of the ramp, his expression drawn in concern. “I’m fine, tiny. Do what he says.” The last part of the word came out on a strangled hiss as a wave of pain jolted through you, the Mandalorian adjusting his hold under your knees and behind your back with a soft apology.
“I must be dying. Did Mando just apologize to me?” Reaching out, you ran your hand exaggeratedly over his helmet, patting it down like it held something you’d lost. “Is this real? Am I dreaming? I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”
“Be quiet, mesh’la,” he rumbled, setting you on the floor of the Crest before pressing a button on his vambrace to close the ramp.
“No! No wait!” You said as strongly as you could. Reaching out you smashed the buttons on his vambrace until you found the right one, ignoring his protests, halting the ramp's upward movement. “My bag. On the speeder. The quarry…. What’s left of him….” You relaxed back onto the floor, closing your eyes.
Din shook your shoulders, making you sit up abruptly, wincing before you turned to him. “What does mesh’la mean?”
Din hesitated only a moment. “The quarry?”
You pointed at the speeder, your eyes shutting tight in pain. “He grabbed the thermal detonator. Idiot. All that I could find left of him is in that bag. I’m never using those again. The clean up isn’t worth the credits.” Turning back up to his visor with knit eyebrows, you peeked up at him. “Can we put him on ice?” You shuddered. “I don’t want to look at that bag ever again.”
Nodding, Din ran over and jumped off the ramp, grabbing your stuff off the speeder, and freezing the bag in carbonite as the ramp sealed shut behind him. You carelessly tossed your weapons to the side, mumbling about feeling heavy, so heavy….
When Din turned back from the chamber, you were slumped back against some crates, jaw hanging open limply. As he took a cautious step toward you, he realized your chest was barely moving with your shallow breaths.
Yelling your name with no response, Din closed the last few feet left between you in seconds, sliding the last foot or so on his knees, numb to anything besides the pain in his chest at the thought of you leaving him. Not like this.
Not today.
No.
“Kid!” He said determinedly, looking across your body to find Grogu already reaching out, a few inches from you. That’s all that would come out. Tilting his head to the side pleadingly, Din turned his visor back down toward your face, smoothing some hair back away from your eyes.
Grogu understood. He always did. Putting one clawed hand on your shoulder, he closed his eyes in concentration, his already wrinkled face crinkling further.
Din watched in amazement as color returned to your face, a dull lifeless mask having settled over it before, your eyes fluttering open as you took a deep breath.
Your eyes darted over to Din before landing on the child, wide in wonder, but you didn’t say anything.
Reaching out, Din nudged him off of you with a gentle push of his finger. “Thanks, ad’ika.” Grogu blinked up at him in confusion. “I’ll take it from here. You rest.” Turning back to look down at you, he wagged a finger close to your face. “Don’t move.” (“Little one.”)
“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you mumbled, smiling softly when he chuckled.
Getting to his feet with a quiet groan, Din got the med kit before settling back beside you. Peeling your blood soaked shirt up just enough to see the sear from the blaster shot along your side, he apologized quietly before he got to work cleaning and stitching the wound.
“You’re lucky. They just grazed you.”
“I know,” you mumbled, looking up at the ceiling of the Crest as he worked on the side of your abdomen, wincing every now and then. “Thank you. For not saying anything. I know, you warned me, I just….”
“You just….” He repeated your words back at you questioningly when you never attempted to finish the statement.
Blinking up at him a few times, you changed the subject. “You never told me what mesh’la means.”
Din just went back to sewing you up carefully, his head tilted to the side at an odd angle to see properly. Silence settled between you, and you’d accepted that’s how it would be - this was normal for him, after all - until he spoke so quietly you almost missed it.
“Beautiful.”
“Wha-”
“It means beautiful.”
Smiling softly, you winced when he pulled the thread taught. “And adi- ad- the kid? What you called him?” Stumbling over the word, you pointed to the little green face in his hammock for reference.
The Mandalorian chuckled, his voice a little louder now, but only slightly. “Little one.”
Looking at the little one, you smiled, nodding. “It fits. Speaking of,” you turned back to face your reflection in his visor. “What the hell did he do to me?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Din paused in his work for a moment, bringing his gaze up to look at you straight on. “He’s…. Special.”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” you snorted, turning back to face the child, finding him peeking over the edge of the hammock, only from his nose up showing, and of course, his ears. Smiling, you tilted your head at him affectionately. “You could open a sideshow. Make some nice credits between quarry’s.”
“You sound like Peli,” Din grumbled.
“Hey, that woman has wisdom, you should listen to her.” You held up a finger while speaking, sitting up straighter, only to collapse in on yourself as Din tugged the stitches tight with a grunt and began working on them again.
Another silence settled in between you, filling the spaces between breaths with something comfortable and familiar.
“Well, Mando,” you finally decided to break it. “Have you eaten?”
“The…. The child fed me.”
You hesitated. “I…. I’m sorry?”
“Yes,” he said instead, tying off the stitches as he cleared his throat, reaching for a gauze pad to cover them. “And it’s Din.”
You blinked at him, your mind failing to keep up with the last few topics, especially still struggling with the image of the tiny baby feeding the giant beskar warrior. Amusing as it was. “I’m so lost.”
The Mandalorian stayed silent as he used some adhesive to keep the pad on your side, smoothing it down gently with a gloved hand. He fumbled in the kit for something else, but you couldn’t see, your pant leg being tugged by impossibly small green hands drawing your attention away.
The child ambled up into your lap and settled, giggling when you yelped at a sharp pain in your side. Looking down you saw the Mandalorian withdrawing a bacta shot and letting your shirt fall back down to cover it before turning your fury up toward his visor.
“My name,” he explained simply. “It’s Din.”
“That hurt!” Your face crumpled from anger to nothing. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me,” he said tiredly, but amused, as he collected the used items and the kit, taking them back over to the corner they came from.
“I did,” you nodded, staring at the floor. “And…. Wait. What?” Looking back over at him, you groaned as you pushed yourself up with the help of some crates at your back.
Grogu’s hand resting on your cheek instantly relieved some of the pain, pulling your focus down to him. “That will never not be amazing,” you breathed with a smile.
Din rushed over, helping you to sit on top of the boxes you’d just used as leverage.
“Sit,” you demanded, finger pointed at him.
With a sigh, he obliged, plopping on the crate next to you gracelessly.
“Explain.”
“When I was born, my parents had to give me a moniker-”
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
With the heaviest sigh you’d heard yet, he leaned back against the hull of the Crest. He looked so tired.
When he began speaking, it was the softest voice you’d ever heard him use, and somehow that made you pay more attention than anytime he’d yelled at you in the middle of a firefight.
“When you were gone…. I realized something.”
“….Be more cryptic. Please.” You sassed when he didn’t continue after a long moment, only raising your eyebrows at him when he rolled his visor toward you with as much attitude as you had just voiced. The kid squeaked something as his own contribution, pulling your eyes down to him, and you pointed at him, nodding in agreement before looking back at Man- Din. “Yeah!”
Din couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped as he turned his head back to look across the lower level of the Crest at nothing in particular.
“I don’t know what I would do…. If I lost you. If I really lost you.” He looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the ends of his gloves needlessly. “I’ve…. I’ve only ever felt that way about the kid, and- and I honestly don’t know what to do with this.” He looked at you again, and somehow this time you could feel his eyes on you, not just the weight of his visor. “Don’t know how.”
Holding his gaze in silence, you let his words sink in. It’s a lot to process. In reality, it’s not much, but emotionally, you need a minute. Everything you thought you knew about this man has just been turned on its head, and you just…. Need a minute.
When you didn’t say anything, Din nodded silently, going to rise from the crate when you reached out to stop him, hand resting over his. Opening your mouth, you stared at your reflection in his visor, then turned your face to look at the floor as if it held the words you needed.
From the corner of your eye you saw Din’s shoulders deflate, roll forward in defeat, but you put a stop to that with a squeeze of his hand in yours. Weaseling your fingers into his clenched fist to open it, you threaded them with his, holding tight while you searched for the words, using the grip as an anchor while you took a leap.
“Din,” you tried, smiling at the way it felt rolling off your tongue, enjoying the way he squeezed your hand at the sound, and his breath stuttered through the modulator.
“Din,” you said more confidently, unable to shake the smile as you go on. “There is nothing I can think of that would make me happier in the entire galaxy than anything you just told me.” Pulling your eyes up toward his visor, you looked at him through your lashes, face still down towards the floor. “When I’m here, on this piece of shit ship-”
“Watch it,” Din mumbled good-naturedly.
“-I have never felt safer or more at home anywhere in my life.” Lifting your face up to him in some insane wave of courage, you squeezed his hand again. “And whether that’s as your friend, or…. Whatever,” you tucked your face into your chest for a moment to hide the smile that’s not going anywhere. “I’m just honored to get to be a part of…. This.” You gestured around the ship then between the two of you and a sleeping Grogu in your arms with your joined hands before resting them back on his knee softly. “Din,” you mumbled around another grin, unable to shake the renewed pull of your lips no matter how you tried. “I’m honored to know you.”
After staring at one another for a long moment, Din finally shook his head in amusement, gently tugging you closer by your joined hands. “Well that’s all nice, but…. I was thinking of something a little more…. Personal.”
“Oh, thank the Force,” you said in relief, letting your eyes flutter shut as he rested his forehead against yours. “Ner cyare.” (“My beloved.”)
Din pulled away slightly, tilting his head at you in question.
You just kept grinning. “Elek, Ni jorhaa'i Mando'a.” (“Yes, I speak Mando'a.”)
Shaking his head at you, he began to chuckle. “Mir'sheb,” he mumbled. “Then why ask me all about what I said?” (“Smartass.”)
“I just wanted to see if you would tell me. You’re always so secretive.” You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Plus, it also seemed kind of important to you, so I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Din tilted his head to the side as he stared at you, shaking it in disbelief and amusement. “Well, way to go with that.”
The smile wasn’t going anywhere, and you didn’t mind. “I also know Huttese, Jawaese, and- oh, what else? What would you like to hear, I’ll see if I can make it happen.”
Tilting his beskar back against your soft skin, he watched as your lashes fluttered to look up at him. Despite being so close, and not truly being able to see him through the visor, he felt like you really could. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to hide from that feeling.
“I just want to hear about your hunt while we get off this hellhole,” he mumbled, standing and lifting the child from your arms. Tucking him into his hammock before sealing him in, he turned back to find you standing at the ladder to the cockpit, looking at it like it’d wronged you. “What’s wrong?”
Looking up into his visor, you pouted. “I don’t think I can get up there with these stitches pulling against me the whole way up.”
“Oh, come on,” he teased, touching his forehead to yours one more time briefly simply because he could now, then turning you to face the ladder and mumbling right into your ear as he crowded in behind you. “You just got shot today, and you’re complaining about stitches?”
“I’m not complaining, it’s a genuine concern,” you mumbled, fighting another grin trying to tug up the corners of your lips.
“Well, don’t be concerned,” he lilted, taking a step closer and making you begin up the ladder with nowhere left to go but up. “I’m right behind you, the whole way. I won’t let you fall.” His voice softened as you began climbing the ladder, and true to his word, he stayed behind you, almost caging you in the whole way. “Don’t worry.”
“I can see that,” you mused, climbing up into the cockpit with a soft smile. “I’m not.”
Din brushed past you, settling into the pilot’s seat, beginning the take off sequence. “Now. Tell me about this quarry.”
You sighed, plopping into the copilot seat with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, you would not believe the chaos that started from the moment- the moment-” you held up your finger, pausing for emphasis as you closed your eyes for dramatic effect, “I was off this ship.”
Din spun in his seat to face you as the ship began to lift off, his voice smug. “Try me.”
Xxx
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in silence | the mandalorian
it is in the silence of us that i know where we are.
type: one-shot
word count: 10k (holy moly im sorry)
pairing: the (dark?)mandalorian x afab!fem!reader
warnings: mature language and content, mature (but soft) written sexual content (read at your own discretion), 🔞⚠️
summary: you are unable to spend another day without the mandalorian knowing how you truly feel.
complete masterlist
It was quiet, for the first time in a long time. Quiet in the sense that there was no noise around you. There was no hum of a ship, no loud sounds of alarms or radio transmissions from far acquaintances or the press and click of buttons and levers and lights. No, at this moment, it was quiet. The only sound was the slight whirr of wind outside and the gentle sigh leaving you. It was peace, and it was quiet; so why didn’t you like it?
You looked down into your lap, smoothing your hands over your legs. It was too quiet for your taste, perhaps? No, that wasn’t it. Quiet was good; but it was this quiet that wasn’t good.
You had gotten very used to having a presence at your side. For a long while now, a towering, heavy wall was your shadow. They did not speak much; in fact, for the months you had spent sitting beside them, you thought perhaps you could count the amount of words they said to you on both hands. While that was a stretch, it didn’t ignore the fact that the words spoken between you were usually from you and you only.
The helmet was his way of communicating. A slight tilt to the side, a heavy nod, a firm stare. You had become accustomed to this way of speaking, and you even were able to read his silence. Sometimes if you asked a question, he said nothing at all. You recently realized that you knew if his answer was yes or no just by the feel of the air around him. He seemed to realize that, too, and he seemed content at the fact that he could speak to you without speaking at all. It was a quiet, comfortable companionship; a quiet that you adored. A quiet that, at this very moment, you missed very much.
A shared quiet. A quiet that I spend with him, and only him, staring into the stars and wondering where he’ll take me next.
Will we be here a few more days? A quiet linger, a gentle sigh. You understood, preparing yourself to settle down for a little longer. Did you find what you were looking for? Nothing said, but he flicked several switches on the console in front of him with ease, very sure of his movements, and you smiled as you sat beside him. He had indeed found what he had been searching for. Is it okay if I borrow this? No response, but his absence of a protest meant you could do as you pleased.
That quiet was bliss.
You stood up from the small bed you were occupying. You found refuge at a local inn, and he had given you your own room. You had given him wide, wet eyes at this realization. You were rarely apart from him, and when you were, you were left in the protection of his ship, one that had yet to fail you. When you had climbed the mud clay stairs to the lodgings, he made it obvious that your room was right beside his. It was a silent declaration of if you need me, I am beside you. He had even slipped a small device into your hand, one curved in a way that could fit snugly in your ear. Communication, even if you only had to walk a few feet to his door. You looked at the device now, sitting on the bedside table, and your heart ached a bit. He thought of every fear you might have, and he accommodated each one of them.
He would not be far away from you; his room was beside yours. You would not have to sleep without saying goodnight to him; he had left a way into his ear in your hand.
You slipped the blankets back from the bed, getting inside of it. It was a comfortable bed, but you still were not at ease. You wanted to see him. In the dark, sometimes you saw flashes of lights as the buttons and panels of his ship reflected off his armor. It always put you at ease. Now, you stared into complete darkness, with nothing but an ugly quietness that left you breathing shallowly. You reached for the device on the table, fitting it into your ear.
A small beep sounded in your ear, a sound to indicate the connection had been made. You closed your eyes, biting your lip hard.
“Are you still here?” You asked suddenly, very softly. If he was asleep, you hoped your soft voice would not startle him. It was silent for a few long moments, and you sat up as the panic already started to flood your insides.
“Yes.”
You sighed a deep breath of relief, laying back down. “Are you crazy?” You breathed. “Why didn’t you answer me sooner? Geez…”
You closed your eyes, shaking your head as you brought the blankets back up. You wished he had just gotten one room with two beds, you wished you had said something; but you supposed even Mandalorians needed their privacy. You supposed he might have wanted to take off his armor and breathe in fresh air, and guilt crept in you as you thought about how your intrusion of his space probably kept him from being at ease, completely at ease.
“Are you alright?”
His voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you swallowed hard.
“No,” you whispered. You wanted to be honest. You weren’t capable of lying to him. He would know if you were lying, anyways. “I hate it here.”
There was a slight pause. “Are…is the room not to your liking?” He asked. He sounded confused and unsure of himself. He thought he had found a place that seemed comfortable enough for you. He had left a few days prior to find somewhere he deemed appropriate.
“The room is fine,” you said softly. It wasn’t the room. You could sleep on the cold dirt floor just fine, without complaining. “I just…” You closed your eyes tight, squeezing your eyes shut. “I…I’m not used to being without you. I’m…I’m sorry.”
You winced at how pathetic that sounded. Not used to being without him? You had slept many nights without him. You weren’t sure how to voice what you were feeling inside.
“No, I’ve…” You laughed nervously. “I’ve been without you a lot, it’s just…” You took a deep breath, but you hated how shaky it was breathed out. “This place is new, and I’m…I-I—”
“It is safe here,” he interrupted you. You brought the blankets up more, over your face.
“Can…” You turned over onto your side, clutching the blankets to your chest. “Can you get us a room together next time?” You asked quietly. You hoped he would understand the heaviness in your tone. It was your unspoken plea to tell him that you needed him.
There was a long pass of silence, but it was one you were used to. He hummed lowly, but not in a bad way. He was acknowledging your worry, you anxiety, the discomfort you felt without him.
“I miss you,” you said suddenly, your voice clear and soft. “That’s all.”
He did not reply. You smiled to yourself at the comfortable silence. You had no way of knowing how heavy his heart felt, the ache inside of him. Being away from you, even though you were only separated by a thin wall, had him on edge. He enjoyed where your sleeping quarters were on his ship; he could see you always, and this line of sight comforted him to no end. With you apart, there was a voice in him that almost convinced him to take to the wall and break it down just to relax your worries.
“Places are not safe, Mandalorian,” you continued. “You…you are.”
Your eyelids drooped, your conscious slipping a bit as you relaxed into the bed. Knowing he was listening to you made you feel the warm, familiar togetherness that you normally felt with him.
“You make me feel safe,” you finished groggily. It was the last thing you said before drifting off. He said nothing on the other end, but he knew you were asleep when he heard the evenness of your breath. He did not take the device out of his ear. He refused to, in fact, and he had been wearing it all night to make sure he would be able to hear you if you needed him. He closed his own eyes so he could let your words melt into him. He wanted to remember these words forever.
He was never going to get separate rooms ever again. He would appease any request of yours. He did not think he was capable of refusing any wish of yours; not when you asked him in that honeyed voice of yours.
When it was morning, you awoke to the bright sunlight that came in through the window. It was right in your eyes, and you turned over to move away from it. You looked at one of the screens in the room, touching it to reveal the time. It was early in the morning, earlier than the time he had told you to be awake, but you felt rested enough. You didn’t want to be away from him any longer.
You got out of bed and rummaged through your bag for something to wear. You picked out an unfitted white dress, just long enough to skim the tops of your thighs. The sleeves were fitted until your elbows, and then they belled out until the end of your wrist. You grabbed a dark pair of pants to put on underneath and reached for the leather thigh holster you wore over it, and then you bent down to tie up your boots. You had many dresses, but your wardrobe quickly adapted to the lifestyle you now led. The countless times you needed a quick getaway, to bolt into a fast sprint, to face a new adversary, were endless, and simply wearing a dress quickly became unfit for life with a Mandalorian. He had given you the holster you now wore and suggested these pair of boots; you had cooed at him when he bought them for you, and you remembered being restless when he secured the holster on your thigh for the first time.
You always pretended you didn’t know how to secure the holster. You enjoyed the way he was careful to put it on you. You had seen him do this for you every day; if he knew you were lying every time you told him you needed his help to secure the leather, he never said so. Perhaps he wanted to do it for you; maybe he even liked it.
The dress was not fitted to your frame, so you reached into your bag for the leather corset there. You held the corset and the holster in hand before leaving the room, making the short way to his door. You raised your hand, knocking gently on the metal of the door.
“Are you awake?” You asked, shifting from boot to boot as you waited for him to answer you. The door suddenly slid open, making you jump a bit backwards. Before you could fall back enough, a leather glove shot out and held your waist to keep you still. You smiled sheepishly, laughing a bit as he brought you closer. “You’re awake,” you nodded to yourself. Your eyes trailed up gleaming beskar to his helmet, where you looked into the dark visor and smiled wider. You held up the leather items in your hand, tilting your head to the side. His hand had yet to move from your waist. “I was hoping…you could help me.”
It was your usual morning routine. You padded into his room, and his door shut behind you. You noticed, for the first time, that he had yet to put all of his armor on. A pauldron and his belt of shiny rifle rounds and small detonators lay on the bed, and you turned to face him once you did your once-over of his room. He just stared at you, and you moved the items to the side before taking a seat on his bed. He took a chair from the side of the room and placed it in front of you, taking a seat as he took a hold of the thigh holster. You scooted closer to him, lifting your leg for him. He took it into his hands, laying it over his lap as he wrapped the straps around your thigh.
You leaned back on the palms of your hands as he did this. You watched him carefully, your eyes gentle as he worked of the leather straps through its belt buckle, securing it. The Mandalorian was in a well-acquainted place. This procedure was as it always was, and his movements were methodical. He was easily able to find the notch of the belt that he usually put the prong through. The leather was worn there more than the other notches, and it was so familiar the way he secured the strap and pulled on it to make sure it would not come undone. He continued with the next strap.
The silence was warm again. The setting was different, but you were still spending your morning with the Mandalorian, getting dressed with him.
“Did you sleep well?” You asked. He did not respond, still focused on pulling on another secured strap. You reached over gently, putting your fingers on the chin of his helmet and using enough pressure to make him look at you. Perhaps he wasn’t looking at you, but the visor made it seem so. He gave a curt nod, and you hummed with a smile. “I’m glad.”
He finished securing the holster, smoothing a gloved hand down the length of your leg before letting it fall back from his lap. You wished he would’ve kept you there, but he reached over and picked up the corset from your lap, standing to help you put it on. You didn’t completely register the fact that the Mandalorian was touching you; his hands had slid down your leg, he had held you close to him as he had secured the leather to you. He was touching you, more than necessary, and if you had been thinking correctly, you would have realized the significance of it. You weren’t; you were distracted by watching his broad frame sit so close to you, care for you, help you.
You stood up, your eyes now level with the bottom of his helmet. You looked up, keeping this moment still. You stared into the visor for a long while, and then you finally turned your back to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could fit the leather around your middle. You helped move the corset into place. It was comfortable, just a structured piece of leather solely to act as a fashionable overlay. You had, however, sewn a fibrous piece of flexible armor on the inside of it to protect you. Many times, it had stopped an angry blade from sinking into your side.
You let out a soft breath as the Mandalorian put a finger between the first set of laces and tugged firmly, tightening it. You put your hands on the front of the leather to keep it in place as he started to tighten more laces at your back.
Neither of you ever spoke about this routine. It was intimate. In the early hours of morning, with few words spoken, you would get ready for the day together. Fastening armor, tying dresses, fixing holsters, slipping weapons into place; it was a scheduled dance that you both were very used to, and no matter what events had transpired in the hours before, in the sleep or anger of the night, you always got up in the morning and had something for him to fix onto your person. Sometimes, it was just the holster. Other times it was your dress, or you would pretend to struggle with securing your blaster in your belt. In truth, you needed an excuse for the Mandalorian to touch you. He was pure and professional and respectful, always. You had found a loophole in his never-faltering demeanor. It was gearing up, getting dressed, tripping over your feet in front of him. In those times, his touch was never hesitant, nor did it ever shake. His touch was faith and security, supportive and strong.
His touch is fire, and I am ice, and even though it burns, I want more.
You remembered a night long ago; you had gotten hurt because you let your guard down. An ugly bruise had been blooming on your jaw, and he had scolded you like a child, angry that he had to turn his back away from his quarry and get to you. He had trusted you to keep yourself safe, and now he was coming to your aid in the middle of securing an important bounty, a valuable one. You remembered sitting on your bed that night, with tears in your eyes. You had not been hurt by his words and your wounds did not ache; you were embarrassed and feeling miserable that you had let him down. But in the morning, when the suns came out again, he had reached over and secured your holster just as he always did. He had gone slower, soothing your leg with soft touches and squeezes, and when he finished, you felt those gloved knuckles skimming the bruise on your jaw so softly. It had been his silent apology, and the tension simply evaporated when you leaned forward, your cheek against his cuirass as you hugged him.
It was a touch that kept you awake at night. It was a touch that made your skin hot and your toes curl and your brain liquify until all your thoughts were only him and the leather hands he had on you. Even now, with his dexterous hands fixing your outfit, you knew your legs were weakening. The Mandalorian was pure death and smoke in one terrifying hunter, but you had never, ever been afraid. He only made you feel pure desire and unfaltering reassurance.
“This is my favorite part of the day,” you said into the quiet. The Mandalorian continued without pausing, and your breath hitched a bit as he pulled particularly rough on the next set of laces. “It’s…quiet, and…” You looked out the window at the sun rising higher, telling you it was getting later into the morning. “—and it’s just us.”
You let your hands fall to your sides when he had tied most of your corset. You bent down and picked up his pauldron off the bed. The beskar was shiny and incredibly heavy in your hands. It looked freshly polished, and you smiled at the thought of the Mandalorian seated on this bed, a careful hand rubbing a cloth between the crevices of his armor. He was simple, and he did not need much to keep himself together. His armor and his weapons; the Mandalorian needed little more to thrive.
He tied off the last of the laces at your back, his hands smoothing around to touch your waist. It was his way of telling you he had finished. You turned in his grasp, meeting his visor again. You tilted your head to the side a bit, training your eyes on the dark material there. You thought maybe if you stared long enough, squinted hard enough, you might be able to see his eyes, but there was nothing but your sweet face staring back in a distorted reflection. You knew you had his eyes though, since he was unmoving and quiet.
You reached up carefully, breaking eye contact as you lifted the pauldron to his shoulder. You fit it where you thought it might go, moving it around gently until it seemed to drop into place. You heard a satisfied clicking sound that told you that his armor was in its place, and then you smoothed your hand over the front of his chest plate. You stared up at him again for just a moment before reaching behind yourself and picking up his heavy belt of ammunition. His hands left yours to help you, putting the belt around his waist as you brought the strap over his helmet to sit across his front. As he fastened it around his waist, you fixed it to sit properly around his neck. You realized that the strap and his cape were tangled together now, and you laughed a bit sheepishly as you had to lean on him to fix it properly. There were many things the Mandalorian was, but unkempt armor and imperfect dressing was not one of them. You wondered now if perhaps you had gotten him dressed in the wrong order, but he had yet to correct you.
Some of the slots for his rifle rounds were empty, so you simply reached into his open pack on the bedside table and grabbed a handful of them. It was a blissful calm as you began to refill the vacant slots carefully.
“I like it when it’s just us,” you murmured. You fit another round into its place, laughing a bit. “I know it doesn’t make sense. We don’t really…talk,” you shrugged a bit. “But you…you know so much about me already. And…I…” You kept your hands busy, too nervous to meet where you thought his eyes might be. “I-I would like to think that I know a lot about you.”
You might not have known his name. You might not have known his favorite song or where he came from or what the soft words were that he whispered when he was asleep meant, but you hoped that your observations were enough that you knew him in ways that others did not. In danger, you would curl knowingly around his defensive side without being told. He could tilt his helmet just right at you, and you would know if he wanted you to stay or to go. If he used his hands a certain way, if he reached for an extra bite of rations, if he stepped fast or slow or sideways, these were all ways you had learned to observe him and gauge his mood and memorize his likes and dislikes. You had an unspoken, unwritten bond, one that no amount of distance or separation or time apart could break.
“You do,” The Mandalorian admitted. His voice was low and careful. “You know…you know more about me than anyone else.”
You finished refilling his belt with ammunition, and you looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip gently.
“Is that right, Mandalorian?” You asked, keeping your hands on his chest. The metal was cold under your fingertips; your skin was too hot. He simply moved his helmet just enough to tell you yes, you know me unlike any other being in the galaxy.
You stood on your toes, one hand leaving his chest to cup the underside of his helmet, your lips close to where his ear might be. “You don’t let just anyone put on your beskar?”
He nearly choked on his breath at the tone of your voice. Low, sultry, cooing as it sang along the edge of want and desire. He slid his hands up your back, his fingers ghosting over the laces of your corset he had just tied nice and tight. He moved his head just slightly, angling his neck to get a better view of the knowing expression on your face. You were smug, as if you knew what you were doing to him. As if you knew your words were absolute fire and smoke, and you had just pierced his heart head-on with it. He shook his head slightly to answer you, and he leaned in even closer, the front of his helmet skimming the plush curve of your bottom lip.
“I don’t let just anyone take it off, either.”
Oh.
Your knees nearly buckled at the admission. You swallowed hard, your hand curling around the neck of his cape. You gripped him tightly to keep from collapsing, your mouth suddenly dry and completely devoid of a quick comeback. You stared at him, mouth agape as you registered his retort. He liked this reaction from you. He was never completely confident that he had an effect over you, but the way your body clung to his for support just by a few choice words told him there was a warmth in you that rivaled his own.
“Well,” you laughed breathily, in disbelief almost. You stepped even closer, your hips suddenly flush against his. “Was that…are you flirting with me?”
You broke out into the brightest smile, leaning back a bit to get a better look at him. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling steadily, staring down at you as piercing as ever. You adored him like this; you always wanted his attention on you and only you.
“The Mandalorian flirting…” You bit your lip. “I like it.”
He tilted his head to the side, and you giggled, getting up on your toes to press a kiss to where you hoped his mouth was under the helmet. You nuzzled your nose against the metal for a moment before moving back. You took a step or two back away from him, his hands forced to fall from your waist. Your hands never let go of his though, and you squeezed his palms gently before letting his hands finally fall to his side.
“I had no idea Mandalorians could flirt,” you said as you started to help him pack up his room. His rifle was leaned up against the wall by the bed, and he had other weapons and supplies strewn about. “Is that something you learn during your training?”
“No.”
You laughed at his response, shaking your head slightly.
“I suppose not,” you sighed happily. “I’m sure everything with Mandalorians is very serious. I bet you court each other with a strict protocol.” You made a little salute with two fingers to your forehead.
“I…am not too familiar with Mandalorian courting rituals,” he said lowly as he put the rifle around his shoulder. “I have never felt the need to abide by them.”
“And why is that?” You asked casually, stuffing some credits into a small pouch so he wouldn’t lose them.
“The rituals I’m acquainted with are subtle,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I did not think you would notice them. I have had to resort to other methods.”
Your paused your movements for a moment, frozen in your spot. You swallowed hard, shaking your head again and continuing to organize the bag in your hands.
“Ha, ha,” you said sarcastically. “You’re hilarious. I didn’t know Mandalorians told jokes either.”
“I would never lie to you,” he replied simply. You suddenly had a lump in your throat. Your mouth was dry, so dry it hurt. Your heart tightened in your chest, and you clutched the bag to your middle. You had your back to him, and although he moved quietly, you could feel him stepping closer to you. You trembled just a bit, feeling your hands shake.
You thought this had just been teasing. You thought he was just entertaining your flirty remarks, letting you giggle and laugh and joke because it was what you needed to feel comfortable. You thought Mandalorians were the greatest warriors in the galaxy, and there was no room in their Creed for courting or love or romance, at least not with someone like you.
You did not swear on any Creed. You did not wear any helmet. You were not bound to any covert or Tribe or people of any kind. You were technically not even a warrior. You knew only what the Mandalorian had shown you, and while you could hold your own at his side, you did not grow learning how to make a blade an extension of your hand or the intricacies of a blaster. You were you, and that was all you had to give, and you did not think that would be enough for a Mandalorian. A solider, a warrior, however you wanted to call them, they were master hunters and avid fighters and women like you did not belong with them. In fact, you really couldn’t picture anyone belonging to a Mandalorian except perhaps another warrior of equal standing. You pictured, at the Mandalorian’s side, a woman who perhaps could spar with him and win.
A woman who could understand him in ways that I might never be able to.
When you turned to face him, your eyes were wet with tears. You looked up at him with a quivering bottom lip, and the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side, examining the defeated expression on your face. You were in love with him, more than you had ever been with anyone else before. You had never seen his face, you had no idea the name he was given by his mother, but you were in love with him. Despite the past you knew he had, the Mandalorian was noble and honorable, at least with you and those you had encountered. Every day with him was an adventure. New planets, new people, new languages, incredible experiences, a new skill here and a beautiful view there. Your life was color and vibrance and noise and wonder, and you had never slept more peacefully than in your small cubby in his ship, layered with pillows and blankets that he had bought for you. The Mandalorian showed you, time and time again, that he was not the murderer he once might’ve been. He was care and protectiveness and safekeeping incarnate in impenetrable armor, and you were in love with him.
You had loved him since he first touched your face after you watched him kill his first adversary for you. One green, slimy hand had touched your waist, and that was all he needed to sink the blade from his boot right through the creature’s middle. His violence in response to your wellbeing should’ve terrified you, but it pulled you right in. He had touched your face in a silent question, to wonder if you were okay, and you had just nodded up at him, letting his leather glove sweep over your lip and rub the smudge of blood away from it.
The Mandalorian was not good. In fact, he had a past that followed him darkly, a grey cloud that flooded his mood with rain when you met someone he once knew.
The things Mando used to do…has he ever told you about the bounty we captured in the Outer Rim?
Mando, have you gone soft?
Mando always needed target practice, isn’t that right, Mando?
He took down an entire platoon with just that blade. What he would do with that rifle of his…
You admired the stories, but you could tell they did not soothe him or fill him with any sense of pride. The Mandalorian said nothing about those comments, only moved the conversation forward. He never wanted to be reminded about who he once was; that, or he did not want you to know who he once was. If you discovered the shell of a man he used to be, he feared you might still find him worthy. Worthy of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew he was unworthy, nonetheless.
“I thought…” The Mandalorian paused. He did not want to say the wrong thing. “I know I am not…it is not easy to feel a certain way for me—”
“To love you?” You scoffed, letting a tear finally fall. “Just say it. It’s not easy to love you? Is that what you meant to say?”
Your voice was shrill and hurt. You put his bag down, your fingers fiddling with each other to keep yourself occupied. The Mandalorian just moved his helmet in just a way to agree with you. You shook your head at that, looking away from him as you sucked in a deep breath.
“That’s the understatement of the century,” you murmured. “Not easy to love you? You’re…you’re impossible!” Your voice came out as a curt yell, and you surprised yourself with the heavy anger there. “You’re impossible to love. It’s like…sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the wall…” You closed your eyes, your cheeks wet now as your tears fell and fell and refused to stop. “I feel like I’m talking to the wall, and you still manage to drive me insane.”
He stepped even closer, shielding you from the rising sun. His broad figure cast a dark shadow over you, and despite the heavy ache in your chest, his closeness was welcome.
“You’re—” You continued, and he let you. “You barely talk. You barely tell me anything about yourself. I don’t even know your name…” You nearly whined when his hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb wiping the wetness of your tears from your skin. “But I can’t help it—” You relaxed when he brought both hands up to cradle your face in his hands. You were at peace here, so tranquil in the silence of his company. “I have never…I have never felt this way before. And I feel it with a kriffing Mandalorian…”
“What do…what do you feel?”
You opened your eyes again, staring up into his visor. He sounded nervous. It was a tone of voice you were unfamiliar with. The Mandalorian was never nervous; and he certainly was never insecure nor unsure of himself.
“Are you kidding me?” You breathed, putting your hands over his on your face. “You know, for a Mandalorian, you suck at reading the room.”
He tilted his head to the other side, and you squeezed his hands under yours. You slid your hands down the back of his own, over his wrist. You traced the beskar of his vambraces, up and over his elbow and along his biceps. You slid your palms over the pauldrons on his shoulders and then brought your arms around his neck. You stepped even closer, close enough that your hands pushed on the back of his helmet and dipped his head down to yours.
You closed your eyes as the sweet, cool kiss of beskar touched your forehead. You knew the significance of such an embrace; you had asked a member of his covert once, when you and he sought refuge, if Mandalorians were capable of showing affection when they never showed each other their faces. They had mentioned the act of polishing armor, of securing it to each other’s bodies, of giving each other gifts of their signet, but the one that stuck the most in your mind had been the kiss of their helmets. You noted the fact that none of these were words of affection; like your Mandalorian, their rituals were silent in manner and deep in meaning.
You had no way of knowing how wonderful the shake that ran through the Mandalorian all the way through his toes felt. He was warm all over at your kiss, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come over the vocoder would be a groan, a sound of relief at the fact that his all-consuming love for you was in fact not unrequited.
You had learned a meaningful part of his culture and were using it to tell him everything he needed to know about how you felt. It was as if you could peer directly into his heart, as if you knew exactly how to communicate with him. You were so clear and pervasive, and at this, the Mandalorian knew you understood him in ways not even his Tribe was ever able to. This was a union that he would never find anywhere else, an invisible link he shared with you that no one else could ever imitate.
“I love you,” you whispered. Speaking love, this was your way of life. He listened, not daring to speak, to allow you to share your thoughts without interruption. “I…I can’t remember how long it’s been. I’ve loved you for so long, that I…I don’t even remember what it was like to not feel this way.” Your hands curled around the back of his neck again, feeling the rough fabric of his cape there. You had patched this cape many times yourself, sewing up the holes left by blasters and the singed hem from fire. “And I never want to forget this feeling. Ever.”
You stayed there for a few long moments with him. His arms were wound tight around your waist, holding you to him. Your own were wrapped around his neck, your forehead pressed to the helmet as you breathed warmly against the metal, your lips kissing it lightly as you breathed in the moment. He was quiet, and so were you, and it was in the silence of your embrace that you could feel the joy radiating off his armor like heat. The Mandalorian was happy, and you smiled the longer you held each other.
“We should get going,” you said finally, lifting your forehead off his helmet and letting out a content sigh. “Shouldn’t we?”
He was quick. He bent slightly at the knees, his hands falling from your waist to grab at you from under your knees. He lifted your legs to wrap them around his middle, and you gasped in surprised as, with incredible grace and strength, he planted you on the edge of the dresser. You looked down at him easily in this position, and he took his place between your legs, so close that your lips bumped against the forehead of his helmet as he got comfortable here.
You laughed a bit, your hands moving up to hold where his cheeks would be. You had never seen his face, but he was beautiful in ways you couldn’t describe. Physically, the broadness and firmness of his unyielding figure were enough to have you weak in the knees; but his sweltering physique was coupled with a tender heart and skillful hands, and it made the Mandalorian a physical amalgamation of every need and desire you had ever dreamed about.
The Mandalorian was far from perfection; but on the stars, he was perfection in your eyes, and you would change nothing about him. You would not even change the fact that you did not know what his kiss felt like or what color his eyes were. You welcomed the idea that the Mandalorian you knew was faultlessness and loveliness inside (at least to you), and no matter how many layers he was unable to shed for you, you were familiar with the most important part of him all, the part that rested underneath all of the heavy beskar and warm skin.
You knew him. That was all that mattered, and that was all that would ever matter to you.
“There are…” He did not know how to voice the ache in his chest. “There are things I can’t tell you, things that…I might never be able to—”
“Shhh,” you rested your cheek against his helmet, closing your eyes as you hugged him as close as possible. “I…I love you as you are. I…I will never ask for more than you can give me. You are enough. This is enough.”
If he never showed his face to you, you would still be content. If he never told you his name, you would still love him more than anything in the galaxy. If he never let you feel his skin or kiss his lips or understand what colors his eyes were when he voiced his own love, you would still be the luckiest woman that ever lived. There was no need to wonder. You never wondered, in fact. None of it mattered to you; the Mandalorian was enough just like this, staring up at you with firm hands holding the pieces of you together.
“You deserve more,” he said gently.
“I don’t want more,” you shook your head, breathing in the scent of him deeply. He smelled so good; he smelled like warm sand and a spring waterfall, just a hint of smoke and fire. It was more comforting than anything to fill your senses with him. “I want you.”
You said it as if it was the simplest answer; you said it easily, smoothly, with no hesitation or shake or fear. You said it as if it was the easiest announcement you ever gave; and truthfully, it was. You were certain no creature or being anywhere among the stars could ever make you feel this way again. You had discovered your person. Your person was a Mandalorian. This Mandalorian—adorned in sparkling silver beskar, smelling like blaster fire and pretty skies, with an arsenal around his waist and a heart of pliable steel.
Pliable. Not rigid, not unfeeling. Pliable. At least in my hands.
“Did you hear me, Mandalorian?” You asked, a bright smile widening over your face. You leaned back a bit to look at him better. “I want you.”
“Yes,” he swallowed hard. His voice was so low, barely audible over the modulator. “Yes, I heard you.”
You gave him soft eyes as you felt his hand slip low, over the outside of your leg. Your breath hitched as you felt his careful fingers slip over the edge of your thigh holster, undoing the first buckle. Your hands dragged around his neck, your palms pressing flat against his chest plate, letting the cool metal soothe the heat in them. He had spent some time fitting you into your armor, and now he was taking it off just as carefully, just as slowly, just as teasingly. He had to know now what his touch did to you.
He had to.
Once the holster was undone, it fell to the floor, and you both stared at each other wordlessly. You continued to say nothing as you reached around him to undo the ties on your boots and toe them off until they fell with a thud onto the floor. You kept your gaze fixed on his visor as you moved his hands higher up on your waist, hooking your fingers into the sides of your pants and tugging them down and off your legs, discarded haphazardly over your boots on the floor.
This was an invitation. It was a silent offer of you can have me and I am yours. You were perched up in his grasp, sitting pretty in his arms, and while the Mandalorian could not give you all of him, you could, and you would. His resolve was faltering at your request; it was selfish to give into you when he could not give you the same in return, but he could feel himself physically hurting the longer he tried to resist his intense cravings of you.
It was almost saddening to think that he did not know how much you didn’t care. You didn’t care about how much he was able to give you, or for how little time. You wanted him in whatever way he would allow, and you would savor that for the rest of your days. Love was unseeing, and it was not patient, but weakly, you hoped it would be forgiving.
“Din,” he murmured lowly, so quiet, you barely heard it. He could at least give you this; it was a sacred word, but he felt this would be enough for now. “My…name is Din.”
His name. The crackle between his words warned you enough. His name could only be spoken like this; in the quiet of your presence, with no one else around to hear it. He had let you have of piece of him, and you promised, silently, that you would hold it so tight and keep it safe. You would never say his name to another, not even in death.
Is that how far you will go for him?
Your head lulled back against the wall when you felt him for the first time. Filling you to the brim with a warmth and heaviness that you had always longed for, he was perfection in one man, you were convinced of that now. His voice gave in, uttering a broken groan of utter pleasure and relief that made your insides feel as if they were on fire. You were so mistaken before; you thought him flawed to the outside stars but perfection in your eyes, but you knew now that there was nothing the Mandalorian lacked. He was perfect, so perfect, and gods, he felt like he was going to break you in two with how good he was making you feel.
I would do anything for him; and yes, I think I’d even die.
You cradled his head to your chest as you pressed your hips flush against his, your eyes closing tight as he grasped at your waist. He was pawing at your back, his gloved hands clutching onto the fabric of your dress and corset as he tried to calm the feeling of unhinged pleasure that was rippling through him. It was no use; you were so tight and welcoming around him, and the feeling was forcing him to lose all sense of focus. The Mandalorian had never felt so helpless to one single thing; you were breaking his resolution without even trying. No, that was lie; the sudden, aching grind of your hips against his was agonizingly effective.
You didn’t remember how you made it from the dresser to his bed, but suddenly he was on his back and your hands were fixed on his chest plate, and you were pushing your hair back as you kept up the grueling pace he had already begun. His knees bent, supporting you from behind, and you bit your lip hard to keep yourself together. The firmness of his thighs were only heightened by the beskar secured around them, and the metal was digging into your back deliciously. Your teeth biting down into your lip muffled the sounds you might make, and he couldn’t have that. Sitting up to support you even more, he reached up with a gloved hand and used his thumb to open your mouth wide, a high-pitched gasp leaving you as soon as you could voice it.
I want to hear you, the action told you. I want to hear how you sound when I make you mine.
You looked into the depth of his visor, your hands sliding up onto his shoulders, finding the space between his neck and the pauldrons he still wore, squeezing the firm muscle there. You had slowed your movements to look at him, to get comfortable again in his arms, and you both were having a difficult time trying to breathe properly. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his helmet, whimpering as you sank down even further on him. He was nestled deep, and you were clenching hard. You thought it might be awkward to fuck the Mandalorian with his helmet still on; the thought of not being able to kiss him made your heart ache. Instead, it was an intimacy that comforted you to no end.
You could not know what he looked like, but you knew what he felt like. You would learn what every ridge of him felt like, what every curve of him touched inside of you, how hard he remained even with the relief of how tightly you squeezed him. There was not another woman or creature in the galaxy that would ever memorize this; you were determined not to allow that. The Mandalorian was yours now, and you would fuck him blind to make him understand this.
“Promise me this won’t be the last time,” you begged, tugging his chest to yours, kissing the metal of his helmet wherever your lips touched. “Promise me I can have you…please.”
Gods, he’s making it hard to breathe. I can’t think.
“Please, Din.”
You did not get a response. Instead, he gripped your hips tight and guided them back into a rhythm, a pace that started slow and gentle and climbed in stride as your own desire climbed in you. His touch was soft, but the tormenting feeling of him hitting you deep again and again and again was anything but gentle. The Mandalorian was skilled in not just combat, and you grew jealous wondering how a man such as him learned to be such a capable, intense lover.
“Din, promise me,” you whined. Now that you knew his name, you did not stop. It felt so good to say it, and he seemed to fuck you harder each time you said it. He liked the sound; your sweet, soft voice saying his name like a prayer. You were beginning to think your Creed was this, the panting cry of his name as you met each of his thrusts with just as much fervor, the—Din, Din, gah—please!—it was the mantra you wanted to say for the rest of your days. The Mandalorian had whittled you down to this; a half-naked woman who was beginning to forget every word in her vocabulary just at the feeling of her lover’s touch.
But he wasn’t doing much better than you. His jaw was slack beneath the helmet, his visor fixated on the beautiful bounce you carried as you met each grind of his hips. He memorized the way sweat clung to your skin, beading along your hairline and a little down your neck, and he refrained from the urge to smear it around you and make you sparkle with your own desire. The Mandalorian was fully clothed, gloves still fastened and armor clanking together and digging into your soft skin, but he felt utterly naked at this moment. It was daylight, and the love of his life was whimpering his name—his fucking name—and he had nowhere to go and felt no other sense of purpose except for getting you to that sense of haven and watching you let go. You were tighter than he imagined, taking him so deep he thought he might feel your throat, and the way your body enveloped him made him realize just how much you wanted him in the same way he wanted you.
You were bound. There was nowhere to go. No matter what the Mandalorian did for the rest of his life, this was where he would always end up. You could leave, he could leave, there could be lightyears between you, but somehow, he knew, he would end up here again. He could see it, as if he could see some distant future, visions of himself coming back to you. In some of those visions, he saw his own eyes, brown and blown wide and starving for your touch.
“Din, stars—” You choked out, bracing yourself against his chest. “Focus on me…” You laughed a bit, leaning down and nuzzling your face into the fabric of his neck. Even fully donned in armor, you knew his mind was somewhere else. You needed it to be on you. “I need…ahh…I need more.”
No, that wouldn’t do. The thought of you needing more from him was too much to bear. He took a hold of your throat, gently, but you seemed to enjoy the grasp, and with a startling burst of strength, the Mandalorian flipped the two of you, your back hitting the bed as he curled your leg around his waist. You stared up at him, lifting a hand and putting it to the curve of his helmet, stroking it gently with your thumb.
“Need you,” you whispered, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. You were drunk on the presence of him, feeling as if he had already taken you over the brink of bliss, and yet you were still needing to feel a release. He was driving you crazy, and you hadn’t even come yet. You had never seen his face, and yet there was no one in the galaxy that had ever made you feel quite this lustful; wet, dripping onto him like spring rain, staining the dark of his flight suit, a sinful, gushing reminder of what he was doing to you.
He kept his hand at your throat, soothing your pouty lips with a smooth leather finger. He gripped your face roughly, his forehead to yours as he continued the pace you had both set. Now, he was stuffing you full of him, his weight pressing into you and drilling you into the bed deliciously. You wanted more of him, all of him, heavy and broad all on top of you. He was holding your gaze and gripping you tight and fucking you with the control and determination of a true Mandalorian. He had promised you this, and Mandalorians were true to their word.
It would be against his Creed to do anything else besides make you his.
You let out gurgled moans, your eyes rolling back a bit in your head as he started to hit that warm, spongey place deep inside of you. He could feel how you responded, the way your stomach tensed, thighs trapping him against you, your nails digging into fabric around his neck. You were seeing stars, real stars, blinding your vision of him as you said his name again and again and again. He was so focused on you, starting to lose control of himself and fuck, how he wanted so badly to kiss you. He almost dropped the helmet and forced his mouth on yours, but both your hands rose up and gripped the sides of his helmet for support as you felt that cord ready to snap, ready to break, ready for him.
“Din—” You whined. “Din, I-I…I’m gonna—”
“Take it,” he spoke finally, and you moaned so loud at the heaviness of his tone, the desire in his voice. “Take it…take what you want—”
That was his promise to you. Whatever you needed, whatever you wanted, the Mandalorian would give it to you. If you wanted this moment to last the rest of your days, he would give it to you. All you had to do was take it.
All she has to do is ask, and I will do whatever she says. Whatever burns her, I will set on fire. Whatever hurts her, I will make nonexistent. Whatever wound of her cries, I will mend.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hold yourself together. It was impossible. You closed your eyes and clawed at the fabric around his neck, shifting your head close enough that you revealed the skin beneath it and kissed it, your lips wet and eager to touch any part of him. You bit down gently, sucking soft, bruising the skin there as he took you to another place entirely. Someplace bright and euphoric and never-ending, someplace where your entire body shook, your thighs closed, your moans never ceased. He was taking you to another planet maybe, at least in your head, and you soothed the bites you were leaving on his neck with wet licks and sweet kisses. He would be bruised when he looked in the mirror. Your insides turned at the thought that when he took off his helmet later, alone, he would be the only one to see your marks littered there.
Even as the searing pleasure faded a bit, you kept your legs tight around his waist. You let out quiet whimpers as he kept up his intense rhythm, your hips still trying desperately to meet his own. You wanted to feel him, needed to feel him, and you pulled away to look into the depth of his helmet, hoping he would see the pure want in your eyes.
“Yeah?” He asked lowly, squeezing the flesh of your throat. You licked your lips, nodding hurriedly. He lost his composure, a few sloppy thrusts before he choked out a low groan, right into your ear. You thought maybe you fell over the edge again as he filled you to the brim. You shut your eyes tight, a soft moan escaping as you reveled in the feeling of being so full and so elated. You felt your thighs become sticky as he pulled out just slightly, wetness pooling between you, and then you yelped with surprise as he pushed right back in, squeezing your throat possessively.
You giggled in a daze, lifting a hand and dragging your fingers down the side of his helmet. You both were panting hard, drinking in the fog of pleasure. You smiled up at him, leaning up and kissing the helmet wherever you could.
You hummed softly when he left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to relax. You heard the rustle of clothing, the heavy clank of beskar. You steadied your breathing as you heard him move around the room, and then you sighed deeply as you felt his hands on you, gentle as they wiped you down and got you dressed. You sat up slowly, finally opening your eyes, and you grinned up at him again, feeling warm all over as he fixed your corset again. His thumbs grazed over the swell of your cleavage, and you bit your lip at the feeling. The Mandalorian was touching you now, and he was not shy about it. It drove you wild inside to know he couldn’t help himself.
He picked up your thigh holster off the floor, taking a seat in the chair again. You stood up, on wobbly legs, and you took a seat in his lap this time, one arm going around his shoulders as he fastened the first buckle around you. You were being affectionate now, leaning your head against the side of his helmet as he continued carefully, silently, contently. He did not push you away or tense at your touch. He liked having you close.
“You know…” You said hoarsely, watching him buckle another strap, “I know…how to do this. I…just…I like when you do it. For me.”
He rested his hand on your thigh when he finished, turning his head to face you. You swallowed hard, nervous as he stared at you.
“I…want to do it for you,” he said lowly. You smiled at him, framed by sunshine and soft wind, and he had to tell himself to breathe as he looked over you.
You leaned forward, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against his. He closed his own, savoring the kiss you so easily gave him, the love you had no problem expressing. You were so at ease like this, as if you were made solely for the purpose of giving the love you held so dearly. In truth, you had bottled up these feelings for so long. You feared crossing a line with him, doing something that went against his sacred religion or the vows he had made to wear the beskar he had become. Now that you had crossed the threshold, you feared not showing exactly what you felt. The Mandalorian made you feel new again, whole again. You would not go another day without showing him the very parts of you that ached to be seen.
Because he sees me. He does not look through me, he sees me. I have no idea what his eyes look like, but I know they are on me, and I know he’s looking at me, and I know he sees me.
In the silence of this room, on a planet you could not remember the name of, you made your own vows; a Mandalorian as your Creed, his name your prayer, and his touch the salvation that brought you home.
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