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limerencecalls · 4 months

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🥹😭 I’m usually one for the angst, but this one is 👌

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 15: Lovers Break

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: All things must break.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, ANGST, I'm sorry, flashback, Reader's f'd up backstory is in play, implied trauma, bad relatives, canon characters present.

A/N: I'm so nervous about posting this chapter. Pretty sure I lost readers when it first went up on AO3. But I promise there's a happy ending in store, it's just going to hurt for a little bit. Thank you for reading, you're so great.

After a particularly long session of exploring each other’s bodies and pleasures, you sleep deep for an age, swimming in dreams of him. Voice and hands and tender kisses everywhere. Eventually though, you break the surface and blink awake, stretching a hand out to Din’s side of the bed. Your fingers caress the cold covers.

It’s not uncommon for him to rise before you wake; he’s the restless type. Still, right now, it unsettles you.

With the will of worlds, you get up to dress and stumble some minutes later into the bright cockpit while rubbing at crusty eyes. The first thing you clock is an unfamiliar nav path on the instruments.

Something about it makes your stomach churn.

Stepping up behind Din seated in his pilot chair, you snake your arms around his chest and lean over a pauldron-clad shoulder. He reaches a hand up to link gloved fingers with your own. His fully armoured state of dress just adds to the hot and unhappy roiling in your gut.

You’re going somewhere. Somewhere important.

‘Hey,’ you say, clearing your throat some.

‘Hey,’ he responds. He tugs on your arm to get some purchase and turns in his chair to face you, settling his knees on either side of yours. ‘Good sleep?’

‘Oh yeah,’ you reply, hands now resting on his chest. ‘I think my brain shut off entirely after you… did that thing you did…’

He chuckles, coaxes you into his lap so you sit side-on and he can loop his arms around your waist. One of your own goes across his shoulders, the other fingers at his chest plate, toys at the edge of his bandolier. He presses the forehead of his helm into your cheek, murmurs, ‘Mm, well when you have trouble sleeping, I now know what to do.’

You huff a light laugh. ‘You’d do that on request, would you?’ you say, meaning it in jest.

But he goes quiet. He raises a hand and runs it through your hair, draws circles behind your ear. For a long moment, he holds you so tender you could cry. ‘I think you know by now that I would do anything you ask, cyar’ika,’ he whispers.

You shiver, feel a pulse of pleasure over your whole body. But that now familiar sharp pang again, gods always so intrusive, makes you straighten up and hasten to change the tone.

‘We’re going somewhere?’ you say, gesturing at the control panel now behind him. Din’s head tilts up and leans back a little to look square at you.

He holds your gaze for another long beat, studying. You do your best to look passive, curious. He just keeps staring.

Now anxious, you prompt, ‘A job?’

A reverie of some kind lifts, he gives the merest shrug as he twists you both around to the front of the ship. He holds you against him with one arm and reaches for the navigation pane with another.

‘No, not a job,’ he murmurs. ‘I have received a summons to my Covert.’

You frown. ‘To go back to Mandalore?’ you ask.

He shakes his head.

‘No,’ he says again, any playfulness that was between you now gone. ‘They’re here.’ He points to a planet in a system you don’t really know.

Still uneasy in this terrain, traversing this subject that is essentially Din himself, you puzzle over how to ask for more.

‘What, uh…’ you trail off immediately.

He doesn’t make you flounder about though. ‘After the battle for Mandalore and the defeat of Moff Gideon,’ he intones, ‘we Mandalorians began a journey to become united as a people.’

You nod along, having had this recent history lesson already.

‘Many settled on the home world, to rebuild. But we are still built to travel the stars. And now, Bo-Katan has ordered my Covert to patrol this system,’ he says, pointing. He tilts his helm back up to you, an air of fate in his movements. ‘There are rumours of a new imperial threat emerging, and we have to be ready.’

‘Imperial?’ you ask, dumbly. You’re managing to stay still where he holds onto your side, but it’s a stormy sea inside you, heart and guts thrashing and slamming against your will to calm.

‘Yes, or remnants. Alliances of warlords and former military leaders,’ he says, a hand circling on your hip as the other continues to move over the panels, bringing up data and field scores. ‘I do not know how serious it is. Or how far off these imps are from action. But… I must go.’

You don’t know what to say to all this. There’s nothing you really can say. He’s not asking your opinion, not raising it as a question. It’s decided. He’s going. You’re trying to process that internally, take it all on faith. Not lay any particular meaning over this. But you’re terrified. You make a sharp inhale just as he moves the hand on your leg up to your arm, stroking there in comfort. You realise you’ve come to be holding the fabric of his cloak in a white-knuckled fist.

You let go, move to stand. ‘How long until…?’ You trail off again, but your brain gives uninvited options to end the sentence. Until you go? Until you leave? Until this is all over?

Raw hope and fear chase one another across your racing thoughts. You hope he takes you with him. You fear what it means. And you don’t know which one makes the most sense. Which one you are truly feeling. Either way, you cannot get your thundering heart to slow down or your skin to stop prickling.

He doesn’t pause.

‘I was hoping we would go as soon as you were ready,’ he says.

We. Hoping. You were ready.

A hot-cold shockwave cascades over you, shooting pins and needles through your hands and feet. The feeling lands hard – terror-laced panic. The realisation floods in. Something like this. You wouldn’t just be a visitor or a guest this time. You can sense it. The feeling of having sunk too deep into a circumstance you would have no control over. The feeling of being bound, pulled in and held tight. Being crushed under a weight of purpose that was not your own.

The feelings that rear up ugly and intrusive every time you sense Din trying to talk, about you and he, about us. That cause you to dodge, and evade, and distract.

Din speaks up over the rushing in your ears. ‘I know it is complicated, cyar’ika. I know that,’ he murmurs, posture held as if he were in close proximity with a wild animal. ‘But… it will be okay.’

Instead of replying, you edge around him and toward the door, mutter about changing into something more appropriate. He lets you go.

You fuss and fidget over it. Over what to wear. Like it was consequential. Like it mattered. Casting through your meagre wardrobe, you hold one top to yourself, then another. It sends you back to deeply disliked memories of seeking just the right look for whatever Estate function you were to be subjected to in any given moment.

Eventually, you settle yourself on a wraparound vest with a high, stiff collar. The fact that it hides the love marks and bruises Din has given you is just a bonus. It’s not about being ashamed. You’re just comfortable in this. And okay, sure, presenting a more innocent side to Din’s Covert feels important for some reason. This is for him.

This is what you tell yourself as you tuff up the collar and turn to stride back to the cockpit to ready for the jump.

The two of you are silent through the journey. When you returned to the cockpit you’d just taken your seat, and he hadn’t turned back to you. It stays quiet as you descend to a parched and wind-pruned landscape, pockmarked with cavernous openings.

You spy a small, sparse settlement or two dotted among the undulations.

Din knows exactly where he’s going and picks a clear, flat opening in the terrain. Harsh, alien light floods into your safe little cockpit, heralding your landing. The Crest settled, he stands and turns to you, towering over where you reluctantly unbuckle your harness. His imposing presence is something you haven’t felt this acutely for a while, all hard edges and brute force.

Get a grip, you try to tell yourself. It’s Din.

He reaches a hand for you and you take it to stand.

‘It’s a bit of a walk,’ he breaks the silence. ‘Is that okay?’

You just nod, follow. Almost in a trance you follow – match his footfalls out of the cockpit, the hold, across the rocky ground away from the Crest. Every step feels like an approach to annihilation. Your anxiety in overdrive, bile rising and heart pounding. An unnamed dread eating you inside out.

Focusing on his steady, clinking gait is usually so calming to you, so you tune into that. It helps for a little, but then a wide yawning cave comes into view and those sure, even steps carry on straight into the dark. You have no choice but to follow, moving closer as Din flicks his headtorch on.

A winding path opens up into a well-established encampment. Warm light cast over your face and Din’s beskar as you emerge into the space.

The unbearable tension slips away for one second as you hear a pitched ‘Weh!’ and Grogu somersaults over a gathered party into your arms.

‘Baby, hi!’ you say, smiling wide. ‘What are you doing here?’ He grunts and burbles, lets you give him one squeeze before reaching for Din, who takes him from you with trembling hands. You hadn’t noticed he was shaking.

That’s when you take in the rest of the room. Several Mandalorians are gathered around what you understand to be a typical armourer’s forge.

The Armourer is in fact there, in deep conversation with a slightly shorter woman standing next to her. At Grogu’s exclamations, they turn and your jaw goes slack as you recognise the other helmet.

Why would Bo-Katan Kryze be here?

You do the only thing you can do, you turn to the Mandalorian at your side. ‘Din, what’s--?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says immediately, not returning your gaze. He lowers the child to the floor and straightens to approach the two imposing figures, stops in front of them and raises a deferent arm to cross his chest. Grogu follows at his heels but you stay riveted to the spot.

‘I was summoned,’ Din says. ‘But apologies, Lady Kryze, I did not know you would be here as well.’

Bo-Katan gives you each a nod. ‘I came to return Grogu,’ she says. You almost relax for the barest moment, but she continues. ‘And to bear witness.’

‘What--?’ you and Din say in unison but you’re interrupted by the Armourer moving suddenly. Her sure footsteps echo in the space, hushing all present.

She strides around to stand in the space between you and Din, looks from him to you, back again. Addressing Din, she says, ‘You remain together.’

‘Yes,’ Din’s reply is instant.

‘Do you continue to couple?’ she asks and your mouth falls open, eyes wide. What the--?

‘Yes,’ Din once again replies without hesitating.

You’re gobsmacked. Indignant. Why would he just out and say that? To everyone here?

‘I see,’ she says, she looks back at you. The unmoving façade of her helmet gives you the feeling of being a piece of dirty iron that she somehow must shape into a good and useful thing. The Armourer continues to speak, but you know she’s not talking to you.

‘Have you removed your helmet in front of her?’

‘… No.’

‘Has she removed your helmet?’

‘No.’

The Armourer tilts her helm, then turns back to Din, taking several steps toward him. He squares up to her. And even though they’re standing right there talking about you, it’s like you’re not in the room. What the hell is happening here?

She sears Din with her appraisal. ‘But you have removed your helmet in her presence,’ she says, not a question. ‘Haven’t you.’

Din pulls back a little. The air in the room fizzes with layers of tension and you know you’re parsing only the very surface of it all. The Armourer strides back to the forge and picks up a terrifying looking hammer. Bo-Katan has steadily edged around the two Mandalorians facing off and come to stand just by you.

A long, tense pause before Din finally speaks again.

‘Yes,’ he murmurs, rushes on. ‘But she has not seen my face. The Creed says—’

‘I am aware what the Creed says. You twist the truth, Din Djarin,’ the Armourer replies, with a menace in her words that unnerves you. She holds the hammer in a distinctly combative stance. ‘You twist the Creed.’

But Din seems calm.

‘I do not believe I do,’ he says, broad shoulders square again.

The Armourer starts, stance affronted. Another penetrating gaze sweeps over the still and watchful Din. She seems to read something specific in his words. ‘What do you speak of?’

‘I have been reading the texts of the Creed from its original source…’ Din says into the vast space. ‘And more than a dozen different translations.’ He unhooks a datapad from his belt and holds it out to her.

He continues, ‘You told me not long ago that you were uncertain what Mandalore’s new age meant for us, for the Creed, what it means now to follow the Way. You said you were seeking answers for the good of our people.’

She looks at the device warily. ‘Where did you get these texts?’ she asks.

‘The old library, in the royal city – I… when we were last on Mandalore,’ he says, gestures to the woman beside you. ‘Bo-Katan told me of it, suggested I go there to seek the literature. I filled this datapad,’ he holds it out to her. ‘It… may illuminate answers for you, as it did for me.’

The Armourer puts down her hammer and takes the glistening tablet. She curls it against her chest, considering him hard. You don’t know how he is withstanding all this scrutiny.

‘I shall study these,’ she decrees. ‘Be on your guard Din Djarin.’

Din nods, starts to turn back to you as if dismissed – thank gods – but the Armourer is not done.

‘Our business here is not yet concluded,’ her voice booms in the space and rings in your ears. Din stops, turns back. ‘It may be that you have revealed hidden truths about our Creed here, spurred by your connection to this individual,’ she raises her helm to indicate at you. ‘But you know one thing remains absolute.’

A taut bowstring stretches across the expanse of the cavern making up this Covert’s inner sanctum. Every figure in the space stands tall and readied. The air simmers so hot you wonder why you haven’t burnt up on the spot.

‘She is not Mandalorian,’ the Armourer says. ‘She does not walk in your world. And until she does, we must consider her an outsider. This will not do as we prepare for conflict, for war.’

Something passes between her and Din.

‘It is time,’ she states.

‘Now?’ he asks. You can’t read his tone. His voice is only just above a whisper, gravelly and soaked in emotions. You’re just not sure which ones. He glances at you. ‘I thought we would have more time.’

‘Now is not a time for uncertainty, or waiting, Din Djarin,’ she intones. He just nods, acquiesces. ‘We must be sure.’

He shoots you one long, yearning look before turning back to her.

‘Very well.’

You can barely breathe over the panic constricting your chest. You once again turn to the Mandalorian next to you and utter a broken, ‘What--?’

Bo-Katan pulls off her helmet and looks hard at you.

You swallow, force yourself to ask, ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you can be with Din. The Armourer is allowing you to take the vow, live the way of the Mandalorian, and be one with him,’ she says, in a tone that suggests you might be happy with this explanation.

You don’t have time to process any of that before the Armourer’s voice rings out loud and firm.

‘Din Djarin, will you pledge to be made one, when you are together, when you are apart. Will you share all, and raise warriors?’

The words hang in the air before drifting down over the vast expanse now yawning wide between you and him.

‘Yes,’ Din states. Says nothing more.

The Armourer’s helm swivels to where you’re stood shaking like a leaf. She simply says, ‘Will you?’

‘Din?’ you say. ‘I don’t understand.’ He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t move. The Armourer, however, levels you with a look. You will the deepest breath you can; it’s not much.

‘Din,’ you try again. ‘Can we… talk?’

Bo-Katan, at your side, whispers, ‘That isn’t how this works. The question has been asked. It must be answered.’

You ignore her.

‘Please,’ you can’t keep the begging out of your voice now. ‘Can… we just go somewhere and talk, Din?’

He still doesn’t turn. It’s like he’s frozen in time, on a precipice.

A memory rears up white hot in your mind’s eye. The shapes and shadows of the Crest’s cabin swim into view, the two of you are entwined and bare.

‘It wasn’t the first time he tried it you know,’ you’re saying.

‘Who tried what, love?’

‘My Uncle, tried to get me married off.’

Din had asked once how you had come to be at that prisoner of war camp where you’d first met. Far away from home. You’d evaded the question. Not now. Not yet. I’ll tell you someday.

But you’re sprawled out and so content and relaxed right now. Din has his head resting on your stomach, where he’d laid it after dragging a series of delicious climaxes out of you. Neither of you have moved save for hands reaching. His own hold your sides and tug you close. Yours burrow into soft curls and stroke wherever’s in reach. Somehow, like this, feeling his hair and breath tickle your skin, eyes covered and mind sated, it’s not too painful to cast back through those old memories.

‘It was just after everything… everything with Torre,’ you say, barely a whisper. ‘He’d said to me, Now child, I am not angry with you. In fact, sweet kin, I am thrilled you have deemed yourself an eligible candidate to be made one within a union. I am merely disappointed you nominated such a worthless companion as a simple house spy.’

You’re putting on his old affectations, trying to mock rather than shrink.

‘He said, Cherished flower, if you have deemed yourself so ready, I have a much, much more worthwhile co-mingling with which to engage your attentions.’

While you talk, Din slowly lifts himself and moves up, until he can loop an arm under your head and wrap the other around you, pull you in close. He leans over you a little. Like he’s trying to shield you from a thing that happened countless years ago.

You just nuzzle into that perfect space between his neck and shoulder. Breathe deep, try to picture the curves and lines of the face hovering above you. You’d traced fingers over it so many times, over aquiline nose, thick brows, plush lower lip. Kissed his closed eyes. You should be able to tell what he looks like by now. But it’s a monochrome sketch. Not satisfying.

‘What did you do about it?’ he asks, pulling you back to your tale.

You smile at the framing of the question. To him, the way he sees you, you wouldn’t have stood for it. Would have fought. Would have killed the fucknut suitor where they stood. Whoever they were.

It feels so delicious that Din sees you that way.

‘I fucked it up,’ you admit. ‘Couldn��t keep up the proper good graces long enough for the general’s son to be even a little charmed by me.’

You feel Din smirk against your hair. ‘I doubt that, mesh’la. I’ve seen you in that world, like royalty.’

You hum at the comment, choosing to take it as the compliment intended.

‘Actually, I got incredibly drunk. I passed out over the entremets,’ you say, enjoying his huff of laughter.

After that disastrous dinner was the first time you’d run. You’d come close to a thing you feared and dreaded, a binding of your will to another. Found that, in the face of it, you’d rather lose everything but your own sense of self. So you ran, thinking you’d slipped away unnoticed in the dead of night, too young then to understand how futile it was. The illusion of your independence had been shattered when you’d returned sometime later, greeted by your Uncle with a simple, ‘Do you have it out of your system yet, dear flower?’

He’d tried again. And again. Each time, you blew it to hell, packed up and tore off. It was almost a reflex. And each time you’d slouched back, he’d carried onto the next match. You thought his patience was infinite. Naïve as you were.

But the final straw was a horrendous dinner at which you’d said some insanely inappropriate things about the political party your suitor was a member of and significant donor to. To be fair, you only spoke up after he – ignoring you for the entirety of the event – explained to your Uncle how a wife was a fine instrument to foment an advantageous social standing.

That was when your Uncle had told you to go, and to not dare come back until you would ‘accept your place and station in this Family’.

You give Din an abridged version of the story. Leaving out the part where you’d cried, begged, said you’d already given up your lover for the Family. You didn’t want to go. The scene – your exile – had played out in the same room he’d announced the more recent deal he’d made with you. The one he’d given you no choice in. And your family had stood and watched it happen both times, exactly the same.

You give him the short version and say you left under orders to come back only when you were ready.

‘You outlasted him there,’ Din murmurs. ‘He had to engage me to find you.’

Your turn to smirk, though sadly.

‘I did some outrageous things while away from that place,’ you say. ‘I think, subconsciously I was trying to get his attention, from all over the damn galaxy. “Come and get me, Uncle, I dare you.” Shocked me to hell and back when he actually did. But… well, it was naïve of me to assume it wasn’t just another proposition into unwanted wedlock.’

A long, quiet stretch.

‘For me, marriage has always been a tool,’ you whisper into the air between you. ‘Either a means of control, or a weapon. Both. I’ve never seen a happy union.’

He just strokes your hair, and says nothing.

The walls of the cavern reform around you, pulling you from the memory. Nobody has moved an inch. Din still stands facing the Armourer by her forge. Grogu’s by his side, looking uneasy. Bo-Katan is at your shoulder, giving you a tap on the elbow, a subtle ‘you still in there?’

One more try. Ignoring the indignant rustles of armour and weapons from the rest of the present company, you stride forward and stand to face Din head on. You just need to get him to leave this place and talk. You’re ready to talk now.

But, when you look up into the face of the helmet you know so damn well, your insides run ice cold.

For the first time since meeting, you truly cannot get a single read on him. Not his thoughts, or emotions, or intentions. An expressionless mask simply stares back at you. He is the blank wall you’d accused him of being some time ago.

You feel unmoored. Tilting into a depth you can’t fathom. Stripped of volition.

Only one thought penetrates the blind panic surging along with the bile and the tremors. One word.

No.

It’s when the harsh outside light hits your face, blinding you after the darkness within, that you realise you had turned on your heel and run from the room. Run from them. Sprinted from that terrifying proposition.

From Din.

You turn back to the opening of the cave, no one follows.

Your feet continue to carry you. There’s nowhere for you to go but away. It’s what you do. It’s all you ever do. Blow it to hell and run.

Run away.

When the frigid paralysis had eased and the reality of the past few minutes started to set into his bones, Din sensed some part of himself had left his body along with you.

It had all happened so fast. He’d frozen, disconnected. Watched himself stand stock still as you tried to talk to him, felt paralysed as you looked up at him with terror and tears in your eyes. Felt himself shatter as you flew from the room.

Bo-Katan had tried to order him to go after you, implored him. But he was outside of himself, senses blurred and sunken. The only decision he was capable of was to return to his ship.

But the Crest sits quiet and morose.

The hull is sealed, and Din knows you aren’t inside.

Grogu, however, babbles a string of hopeful sounds from beside him. Din just stares up at his lonely craft, before stalking toward it.

‘Forget it, kid. She’s not here.’

‘Beh?’ begs the baby.

‘I said she’s gone!’ he rounds on the child, who gives a cry of shock.

Din exhales. ‘She is gone, Grogu.’ He looks at his ship again, its emptiness yawning wide. ‘She’s just gone.’

Prev | Next

I made myself so sad writing this that I had to skip ahead to work on the fluffy, happy ending. Which WILL happen, once these two figure their shit out.

Hope you stick with me, thanks so much for reading.

#din djarin angst #mando x reader

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limerencecalls · 4 months

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For the first ever Joel Miller smuttery I read…. That’s setting the bar reeeeaaallly damn high 🥵😳😘

Fighting Fair

Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.

Tags: impish activities, soft dom!joel sorta aggressive joel, forced proximity, cock grinding, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie (always), teasing, dirty talk, almost somnophilia (they’re sleep-teasing each other unconsciously) sexually frustrated morons, good ol' fashioned "we have to get naked and share body heat to stay warm" trope

A/N: I had to drag myself kicking and screaming into writing this fic that put me through the fucking ringer!!! Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings @merz-8 and @beefrobeefcal for the general fic help and encouragement! And I think also @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi and ESPECIALLY @notjustjavierpena who talked me through this fic a couple weeks ago and gave me the push I needed to finish it when I was stuck. You guys all rock ❤️

It’s too cold tonight, even indoors and with a fire burning. He moved the large sectional couch as close as he could safely get it by the fireplace, gave you his jacket, and you’re still hoarding the blanket. Joel tries to gently tug on the blanket that you’ve wrapped around your body, see if maybe you can spare to lose a few inches of fabric. You don’t budge. Joel sighs, “Y’can share, ya know.”

“This is sharing.”

“It’s not, actually. I’m the one sharin’ here. I gave you my coat, you can quit hoggin’ all the blanket,” Joel tugs harder on the blanket, it’s old and kind of scratchy, worn out by the years. “C’mon. Let up.”

“You can have this much,” You mumble, giving Joel a small amount of the fabric.

“How generous of you,” Joel mutters sarcastically before pulling the blanket entirely off of your shoulders. “Thank you. S’very kind.”

“Hey,” you whine.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. He covers his body in the blanket, making sure to cover your legs and feet as well. His hands brush over your own and he winces at their ice cold temperature. “Jesus, girl. Gimme these,” he mumbles, taking your hands into his own and holding them tightly. “Hands feel like icicles.”

“This fucking sucks, Joel,” you complain.

“It does,” he agrees. Joel’s been dreading this point in the year. He’s eased up on his ‘no fires’ rule for the most part, but fire doesn’t help when it’s as cold as it has been. Tonight, he’s grateful you spotted this old house from afar, even more grateful it has a fireplace. But it’s especially cold tonight, maybe even nearing below zero temperatures. Even with a glowing fire and a shelter preventing the chill of the wind piercing you to the bone, he’s not sure that’s enough to keep you both warm. Joel shivers, “This shit’s not workin’.”

You shake your head no. It’s not.

Joel’s not quite sure how to offer up his idea. It’ll be fine, or at least, it should be fine. What needs to happen is you and Joel need to get cozy and share body heat, the real way, with both of your bodies completely bare and pressed against each other.

Most of the time, you and Joel fall asleep separately. Occasionally, however, Joel will wake up in the early hours of the morning with your body inexplicably tangled in his, your head laying on his chest. The first time it happened, Joel was annoyed. “Get off of me,” he grumbled. “Not your fuckin’ teddy bear,” You whined in response, and when Joel tried to move you from him you clung to his body tighter. “Jesus,” he mumbled to himself.

After about the fifth or sixth time of waking up with you clinging to his body, he stopped trying to fight it. In fact, he even started to hold you closer, stroke your hair. Sometimes he’d wake up holding you, other times he’d wake up with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It was nice, mostly.

Mostly. You have the most uncanny ability to tease Joel in your sleep. Your hand will mysteriously travel from his side up to his chest, your thumb rubbing over his nipple. Other times, it’s your leg that brushes against his crotch. Or your ass, wiggling against his morning wood. After you wake, he’ll leave you alone for a few moments to quietly take care of himself, stroking his member to the thought of your naked body, your soft curves and smooth skin. Sometimes he’s not able to sneak away in the mornings and he’ll be hard as a rock and miserable the entire day. It’s unbearably frustrating. He’s never brought this tendency of yours up to you and he never will, because you’re not doing anything intentionally, at least he thinks. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of teasing, he thought he saw you smirk as he left to take care of himself. It was probably nothing.

That’s what he’s worried about. Your body, naked against his, teasing him. His arousal won’t be so easy to hide without the protection of clothing, not to mention he may not even be able to fall asleep. It’s not gonna be an easy night, but it’s the only option at this point.

Joel clears his throat, “We’re gonna try somethin’ different tonight,” he starts, “An’ we’re not gonna talk about it. Ever.”

“Okay,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“You trust me?” he asks. You nod. “Good,” he says, “We’re gonna share our body heat. An’ it works better with skin to skin contact, which means we’re both gonna get naked and close under the blanket, but we’re not gonna talk about it. Not tonight, not ever. Can you do this?”

“I can,” you tell him. You’re not totally surprised by Joel’s idea, but you’re glad he was the one who brought it up. Truthfully, it’s been something you’ve been thinking of doing with him for quite some time now, since the weather’s been getting so cold. You’ve pictured it, rubbing your bare feet against his legs for some warmth. He’ll probably kick you away, complain that he’s cold too. You’ll tell him too bad.

“Okay,” he mumbles awkwardly, “Okay, s’good. I’m gonna turn around and get to it then, f’ya wanna…”

“Yeah, got it.”

You and Joel separate, he places the blanket at his end of the couch as he begins to unbutton his flannel. You remove his coat from your body then shimmy off your pants, leaving them crumpled on the floor. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, the firelight dancing on his toned and broad muscles, the scars and stretch marks decorating his skin like art. Quickly, you avert your eyes and begin to remove your shirt. You don’t notice Joel stealing a peek at your body, the blush creeping up his cheeks when he sees your bare breasts.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, but you’re anxious. You’re not sure how it happens, but you’ve been waking up with Joel here and there. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with his limbs inexplicably wrapped around you, his chin resting on your head. The first time it happened, you were confused. You tried to shrug him off of you, but Joel only held you tighter, sleepily mumbling in an annoyed tone.

After about the fourth or fifth time of waking up with him holding your body, you stopped trying to fight it. In fact, you’d back yourself into him, even scratch his forearms to relax him. There’d be times you’d wake up being spooned by him, other times you’d wake up spooning him, with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It’s nice, mostly.

Mostly. Joel has this inexplicable habit of teasing you in his sleep. His hand will mysteriously travel from your side up to your breasts, his thumb catching on your nipples and rubbing them softly. Other times, he presses his cock against your ass, nudging you and gently grinding against your ass. When you wake, you find somewhere quiet to touch yourself, rubbing your clit to the thought of his body, his warm eyes, the groaning noises he’ll make when he stretches in the morning. Sometimes in the mornings, you can’t sneak away and you’ll be soaked all day, miserable as your core pulses and aches for him. It’s god awful, unbearably frustrating. But you’ve never brought this tendency of his up to him and you never will, because he’s not doing anything intentionally, at least you think. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of him teasing your nipples, you felt him touch you a little more intensely, like there could have been conscious thought behind the action. It was probably nothing.

This is what you’re worried about. His body, naked against yours, teasing you. It’s gonna be a difficult night, but you know it’s the only option.

Joel reaches for the blanket, spreads it out as he inches back towards you on the couch. “You can lay on your side like that, facin’ the fire,” he offers, and you follow his suggestion. Joel slots himself behind you and tucks the blanket around both of your bodies, then pulls you closer to his body. “Yeah, good girl. You got it. M’gonna hold you tight like this,” he tells you.

Good girl. His words send desire flooding your veins. Sweet talking in your ear, his hands holding you close and tight. God, this is trouble.

“Just need to scoot a little closer, like–” you back your ass into his crotch, “M’just so cold, Joel.”

Fuck. Joel can feel his growing arousal pressing against your ass. “I know you are, hon, just–don’t move like that on me,” He keeps you as close as he can against your body, pressing the length of his arm against your torso to keep you warm. His hand brushes against your breasts, thumb caressing your nipple. You gasp.

“Need you closer, though,” you mumble, wiggling against his crotch once more. His length hardens fully, prodding against your ass. His breath hitches, “Ignore it,” he grumbles, now annoyed. How many hints does he have to drop? Or are you doing this shit on purpose?

You’re annoyed too, honestly. He’s not directly groping you, but his fingertips have not left your nipples, lightly grazing over them and setting your skin on fire. Do you need to spell it out for him, what he’s doing to you? Surely it’s intentional on his end. Has to be.

There’s a moment where you’re quiet and so is Joel, both of you tired and confused and sexually frustrated with the other. Maybe you��re looking for a fight, but something’s gotta give. Fuck it, you’ll be the one to instigate. “Ignore what, Joel?” you ask, voice incredulous and laced with sarcasm.

“I’m–my–fuck,” Joel stammers. He feels your body move with your stifled giggles. “Knock it off.”

“It’s all for me, isn’t it Joel?”

“Dammit, just–shut up,” Joel stiffens as he feels his face and neck begin to warm. “And mind your business. S’not for you. S’not for anyone,” he lies, cringing internally for his defensiveness, definitely overcompensating. He rolls his eyes, knowing he was right. Five minutes into sharing body heat with you and it is not going well at all. You twist your hips once more. “I said ignore it,” he grumbles, his hand finding your hip and holding it firmly in place. “Not rub your ass on it. Now sit still. You’re testin’ my patience.”

“I can’t help it, Joel. I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you lie.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re gettin’ me in trouble is what you’re doing. Now for the love of god, quit it.”

Ten minutes go by without an incident, and Joel is focusing on trying to sleep with your naked body pressed against his. He’s certainly beginning to warm up but at what cost? He’s breathing in your scent, feeling your warm skin under his hand, which is hard enough to deal with. And then you fucking do it again, because his fingers are still lightly touching your sensitive nipples. “What did I just say?” Joel flips you on your other side so you’re facing him, then holds your jaw between his fingers. “Look at me,” he tells you. “Knock it off. Quit your squirmin’, quit wigglin’ your ass on my–” You can’t hide the grin that forms on your lips at his accusation. You purse your lips in an attempt to hide the amusement you’ve garnered from your payback, but Joel sees it. “Why’re you fuckin’ with me?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You know exactly what you’re doin’. Why are you fuckin’ with me?”

You shrug, “You started it.”

“I never fuckin’ know what you’re talkin’ about,” Joel complains through a deep sigh, exasperated.

“The teasing,” you explain, “You snuggle me and end up teasing me, playing with my tits and whatnot. You know what you do,” you accuse, “So I’m getting you back. Fair’s fair.”

“So you get worked up and you retaliate by givin’ me a hard on. Charming,” Joel grumbles, “And you’re one to talk about wanderin’ hands. Do you know how many times I’ve woken up with your hands in places they shouldn’t have been? Shouldn’t even be fuckin’ sleepin’ together.”

“You never complained about it before,” you retort, referring to the accidental snuggles that take place between Joel and yourself.

Joel wears a confused expression for a moment, then glares at you. He narrows his eyes at you, completely misunderstanding what you meant. In his head, he’s thinking that you’ve just admitted all of that accidental teasing–it has been fucking intentional on your part. He knew it! “Before? You’re tellin’ me this is a hobby of yours?” he spits, “I knew you had ulterior motives with that late night cuddlin’ of yours. You’ve been gettin’ me hot an’ bothered on purpose, haven’t you?”

You sigh, “No, I’m talking about—” and then you realize, if Joel thinks you’ve been intentionally getting him worked up all this time, he’s been doing the same shit to you to retaliate. “Only because you did it to me first,” you accuse.

Joel scoffs. “I don’t believe this,” he scoffs, “I don’t care who started it, I’m finishin’ it right now.”

Your heart pounds as desire pools in your gut, a warm, sticky feeling. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin about,” Joel whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “I’m gettin’ you out of my system once and for all. You’re fuckin’ ridiculous. We’re done with this.”

Joel shifts his arm, reaching for his cock. You watch as he wraps his palm around his member, thumb swiping over his red and swollen tip. His soft belly bulges against his arm that’s pressed tightly against himself as he strokes his member slowly, patiently. When you reach for his cock to replace his hand with your own, you’re in disbelief as he swats your hand away. “Joel,” you whine, confused.

“Was never really teasin’ ya, by the way. Think you’re a little selective in that way. Seein’ and hearin’ what you want to.” Joel accuses in a gentle tone as he continues to massage himself, “And even if I was, you don’t fight fair.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, sweetheart, all that shit you do to me, I’m gonna do right back to you,” Joel reaches for your leg, grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg over his hip, pulling you closer and exposing your pussy to him. “Not going to go easy on you sweetheart, you sure you want this?” he asks, giving you an out. But you nod anyway, your tummy fluttering with desire as your mind begins to race, wondering exactly how he’ll retaliate after being pent up like this for so long. “Good,” he says.

Holding his cock in his hand, he guides the tip to your center, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance and taps the thick head against your clit. He pulls you closer and begins to drag himself through your folds. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ out your modus operandi,” he breathes. “Isn’t this whatcha were just doin’? Rubbin’ up on me?”

“I wasn’t–mmmm,” you hum as he continues to rub the head of his cock against you, “Wasn’t like this.”

“You’re full of shit,” Joel groans as goes up and down, up and down, notching his tip ever so quickly inside of you to gather your increasing arousal and dragging it through your folds, paying special attention to your clit. You’re pulsing, clenching around nothing as he teases you agonizingly. “You’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess. S’all for me, isn’t it?” he taunts you, using your words from earlier. “God, you don’t take much at all. Soakin’ me, sweetheart.”

He notches his tip inside you to collect your wetness once more and you cry out, “Just fuck me.”

“You’re not gettin’ it,” he breathes, “Told ya, you’re gettin’ your comeuppance.”

You feel like you’re gonna burst. He rubs the head of his cock over your clit in circles, listening to your whines of displeasure when he pulls away from you to focus on his own pleasure. When presses himself against you again, he focuses his tip only at your clit, your slick helping him to slide up and down with ease. When he begins to roll his hips for added pressure, you bite into his shoulder to contain your cries. This is agonizing and so fucking delicious all at the same time.

You adjust your hips, simultaneously reaching for Joel’s cock to guide him to your entrance. You need him now. “C’mon, now. You mind your manners,” he chides you, “S’not any way to get what ya want.”

“Please, just fuck–need you inside me.”

“Sure thing,” he says in a honeyed tone. He replaces his cock with his fingers, leisurely dragging them through your slick folds before dipping first one, then two fingers inside you. He finds that delicious spot inside you, but curls his fingers lazily, not yet providing you with what you need. You’re throbbing, aching, hungry for more.

“Joel, not–”

“Shoulda been more specific, then,” he interrupts. Bastard. When you try to argue, Joel flips you on your back and guides his cock to your entrance, notching his tip in you again, this time not leaving. You whine eagerly, wrapping your legs around him and pressing your feet into his ass, trying to pull him closer. You need him inside you, now.

“Not all at once,” Joel purrs as he enters you at a glacial pace. He pushes inside you gradually, letting you feel every inch of him, stopping momentarily to adjust the blanket over his shoulders to keep both of your bodies enveloped in warmth. Joel bottoms out inside of you and pulls back out, then enters you again, so fucking slowly. You’re not sure how he manages to tease you while fucking you, but he’s doing it. You just need more, need it faster, harder, more. You reach for your clit, but Joel pins both of your hands under one of his own as he fucks into you. Tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes. “You can cry all you want, sweetheart,” he coos, “You made your bed. We’re not done with this yet,” he continues, “But, maybe if ya sweet talk me, apologize for startin’ somethin’ you couldn’t finish…”

“M’sorry, Joel,” you apologize quickly. All your fire, your mischief, Joel’s now extinguished like a flame.

“I knew you’d be sorry,” Joel murmurs. Knowing how badly you need to release, Joel snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you, taunting you with what you could have and never giving you more.

He’s fucking you at a steady pace now, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. It’s not enough. The wet, gushing sounds of your cunt and the way Joel’s skin feels against yours has you feeling dizzy. Joel’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows you’re aching for release, but he’s determined to teach you a lesson, even if that means torturing himself.

Yes, as pleasurable as this is for Joel to watch you fuck around and find out, it’s misery for him too. Fucking his fist with the tip of his cock kissing your pussy was no easy task, and neither is holding back from how he truly wants to fuck you. Because, truthfully, he wants to fucking ruin you. Show you just what he thinks of these stunts you’ve been pulling. Show you just what he thinks of your wandering hands and your innocent ‘adjustments’.

“Please,” you gasp, “Just make me come, Joel.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. M’not feelin’ particularly generous at the moment.”

“Please,” you whine, “Been needing y–this for so long.”

“Ahhh,” Joel hums, “And the truth comes out,” he groans as he rolls his hips against you, “S’that what all of this is about? Been needin’ me?” you nod quickly, “Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

“Fuck, Joel, I don’t know. Forever,” you cry, “I need to come now, please. Need to come on your cock, fuck.”

“F’ya said somethin’ earlier instead of toyin’ with me like you’ve been doin’, we wouldn’t be in this mess, sweetheart.”

You don’t know how much more you can take. Tears of frustration trail down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides, intentionally, powerfully.

Joel’s right there with you, struggling as well. He wants nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, having never seen anything before so erotic and beautiful as your squirming, writhing body. Your soft body, those sweet noises, that frustrated face of yours. And it’s all at his hands, he’s the one responsible for turning into this mess.

“Fuck,” he whispers through a shuddering breath, “Not gonna–”

“Joel,” you cry, the only word you know anymore being his name.

“Let’s be done with this,” he decides, fucking finally. He circles your clit steadily now, finding a pace and a pressure that has you letting out breathy gasps and moans as your orgasm approaches. “Want you to come for me,” he says.

His words are all you need. That warm, sticky feeling in the pit of your stomach builds quickly and releases almost instantaneously, sending pleasure erupting through your veins. You feel it everywhere, the back of your thighs, deep in your gut. Wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body as Joel’s thrusts quicken as he fucks you at a now frenzied, sloppy pace he chases his own release.

“Fuck,” he hisses, coming with a deep, stuttering moan of your name. His muscles jerk and tremble as his cock pulses inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his spend. He pulls out of you groaning, his hot, slick release making your thighs sticky. He places a gentle kiss to your lips and then to your forehead, the action a stark contrast to his previous demeanor. All's right with the world now. Sexual frustration solved.

He takes his place behind you again, pulling you close to his chest for the last time and making sure the blanket is covering you both. You’re certainly warmed up now. A little too warm, even. But you’re not complaining.

“Still not talkin’ about tonight,” Joel reminds you, “Ever.”

“Nope,” you agree.

Another quiet moment passes. For shits and giggles, you rub your ass against his crotch. “But I take it we’ll be doin’ this again, won’t we?” he says, defeated as you continue to tease him.

“Definitely.”

“Good god,” Joel sighs, “Get back over here, then. You drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he adds, pulling you back for round two. He was right, it’s a long night ahead of him.

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