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dearbraus · 1 year

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Amour Courtois⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn afab!reader, aged up characters, reader is referred to as "your grace", their title is "heir to the throne", you wear a dressing robe, knight!Chigiri, slight ooc, power imbalance, slight dubcon, slight manipulation of station (reader using their power over Chigiri), kissing, oral (reader receiving), undressing, intimacy, light body worship.

⊹ Run time. 3.8k

⊹ Note. This is incredibly self insert and selfship coded so I am a bit nervous to share but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

❝As the heir to the throne it was important to have a devoted knight by your side and Chigiri, your sworn protector, well he was as devoted as they came. Even when your requests were unusual.❞

Your father's words have come to haunt you as you gaze into the set of rosy hued eyes that lay beneath the bruised silver armet– or perhaps taunt you. They’ve hung over your head and plucked at the strings pulled taunt around your joints, tossing you around to his whims. Marionette or heir to the throne, you wondered what the small folk saw when their gaze settled upon you, in those rare times when you were more than just a precious jewelled bared behind cold stone slabs. You didn’t wish to be either. Not now, in his presence or ever really.

“Chigiri Hyōma you are henceforth indebted into the care of my only child, under their care you are expected to serve, protect, and fulfil their every wish or need.”

That is what your father had told him, the day he was assigned your protector, your keeper. He was yours, and in some inexplicable way you were his. A mimic of the real thing to come, you too often thought, with the way you two were tied together. It was a curious thing, this charade. You couldn’t help but push the bounds, to see how honourable a man really could be in the face of temptation.

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” Chigiri questions for the second since he stepped into your private chambers that evening, “If not, I’ll return to my postage outside your doors.”

Your dressing gown leaves you feeling too bare as he pins you beneath his eyes, “Yes, there was,” you can’t see any of his expression but you’d imagine it lies in a state of perplexion, “Come here.”

At your command, he saunters away from the door. He’d been practically glued to it, keeping himself pressed flush against it as you stared absentmindedly. The metal of his armour clanked uncomfortably with each tentative movement.

“Your Grace, surely you know that this is uncouth.”

“Is it?” You hum, your head falling to the side, “Why do you suppose that is, Chigiri?”

Resting his arms behind his back, his head dips into a slight bow, “You and I are unwed, alone together in your private chambers at the hour of the witch,” silence drifts between the two of you for a moment, “Forgive me but if I may be so bold but, if I recall your father forbade me from entering.”

“You are in my charge, you answer to me not to my father.”

The floorboards creak as you dare to take a step closer.

“He’s the king.”

“And one day when he has well and truly gone cold within the ground I shall be ruler,” you whisper, standing only a hare's breath away, “Even then, you shall still answer to me just as you do now.”

Your fingers itch to curl beneath his armet so you allow them to. The metal burns against your soft palms, the heat of his body’s melted into it, keeping it warm like a stoked fire. His long hair, the colour of the wild raspberries that grew a stone's throw away from the castle's carefully manicured gardens, was plastered with sweat against his alabaster skin. The apples of his cheeks were painted red. He was pretty, you would not have thought that he’d have such pretty lashes or delicate cheekbones. If you were to have imagined what he may look like beneath the layer of armour and thick cottony padding, you’d have assumed he’d be gruff and a bit rough around the edges with calloused hands and a splintered nose that had not quite healed right after a failed joust.

If you hadn’t known better, at first glance you might have mistaken him for a prince.

“You’d do well to remember that, Hyōma.”

Chigiri stares with wide eyes, blinking rapidly in place of using his words, “You should not”

“Should not what?”

It’s an innocent question, one you already know the answer to; you should not call him by his first name. He was far below your rank, it was not only too casual but inappropriate– such intimacies were supposed to be reserved for only a special few.

“You know, your Grace,” Chigiri practically whines in discomfort, “If this were to go on, I could get in trouble.”

His adam's apple bobs uncomfortably when you bring your face closer to his, noses just mere centimetres apart, “Trouble? What such trouble should you be in if you’re fulfilling my whims?” Chigiri blanches, a blunder skewing whatever excuse he was ready to lay before you, “I wished to become acquainted with the man behind the armour, whomever Chigiri Hyōma was when unfettered by duty.”

“I-“

“Do you find that inappropriate?”

Tugging at the collar of the tunic he sports, Chigiri frowns, “I do not,” pressing his lips together, he tips his head downwards, “However might I remind you that I am far below your post, that I work for you. A friendship between us would surely complicate …”

“Who said it was friendship that I wanted,” You question. His helmet falls from your fingertips with a thud. Chigiri winced, forgetting that with a snap of your fingers another would replace it, “When did I say I wished to be your friend?”

“But, you said you wished to know me.”

Placing your hands flat against his chest plate, you laughed, “There are many ways for a person to know another.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flit away from your face, cheeks heavily flushing.

The corners of your lips lift without your permission, the smile crackling into something devious. He’s cute, the bashful look of shock somehow even more delicious than even the sweetest candied plum. Your hot breath fans across his face, with two fingers pressed against his jawline, you bring his gaze back to yours.

“Hyōma?”

“Yes, your Grace?” He whispers, like he’s scared to raise his voice an octave.

“Look at me,” you command, perhaps for the first time in your life.

His hands curl into fists at his side, “I am looking at you,” Chigiri’s voice crackles from the strain.

“No, really look at me,” it’s your turn to whisper. You’d scare him away if you didn’t, “You’re not seeing me.”

“I do not understand what you …”

There’s something ethereal about how he’s bathed in the warm, soft candle light that flickers. Even if he’s unable to see you to truly see what has been simmering for months on end— you saw him. Inexplicably it was there even if he didn’t notice it, but you liked it. You liked the way he unknowingly pressed his cheek further into the palm of your hand as he searched in earnest to understand what you meant.

His gloved hands come to rest upon your shoulders, the leather is rough against your supple skin and it makes you shiver. For a moment his eyes roam from yours down to your lips, and then they slip down the length of your neck to where his hands sit, for the first time taking notice of how your dressing gown has begun to slip, exposing you to him.

Curling his fingers around the thin fabric, he tugs your robe shut, “My apologies,” he mutters, swiftly turning his head away from you.

“It’s quite alright,” your thumb smooths across his skin, just barely skimming the corner of his mouth, “I appreciate how earnestly gallant you are.”

Sliding your hands down to his chest piece, you allow your eyes to drift down the expanse of his torso.

“It’s a shame I’m not.”

Chigiri lifts his arms when you hook your fingers beneath the chest plate, without a word, “You weren’t raised to be,” he says it like he understands you. He hasn’t tried to, he couldn’t have if he wanted. Conversations in passing revealed to little when you wished they’d reveal more, “How could anyone expect you to be.”

“I’m selfish,” you supply before biting down on your bottom lip. The white tunic he sported clung to his frame, exposing the shapes of his body that were usually so well hidden, “You can say it, I’ll allow it.”

“You’re not.”

The smile you offer him is weak, but it placates him all the same, “But I am,” laying your hands flat against his chest, right where his heart erratically pangs against his ribs, you sigh, “That is why you’re here because I’m selfish and you, well you’re the very best of them.”

“I have my faults, more than you know,” Chigiri admits, his breath catching, “You just don’t know me well enough to have seen them.”

You would have liked to tell him that it was for the best but that’d make you a hypocrite too.

“That is untrue.”

Chigiri opens his mouth to refute but he snaps it shut when you hold up a finger before him.

“And remember it is treason to question my judgement.”

The chuckle that escapes you brings a small smile to his lips, “I shall continue to keep that in mind, your Grace”

“My name.”

The tips of your fingers graze against the collar of your dressing gown as you smooth them against your chest. Chigiri’s eyes follow the movement of your hands, a certain intensity simmering behind them as he watches. You wonder if he’s expecting you to slowly unwrap yourself, chaste and pious even when twisting the bounds of the society you’re meant to uphold one day.

“Pardon?” Clearing his throat, Chigiri forces his eyes to focus back onto your face.

“My name, I want you to say it. No more of this “your Grace” nonsense.”

Chigiri has always been good at taking commands. Your name rolls off his tongue with practised ease. A delightful shiver trickles down your spine and you have half a mind to ask him to say it again. It sounds like it was destined to live within the crevices of his throat, whispered over and over again against the shell of your ear and mouth like some sort of well sought secret. Maybe it was.

He says it again without you having to ask, his eyes growing lidded.

It was his duty to fulfil your every whim and wish but only within the confines of this castle. With the way he said your name, tasting each syllable like they were the rarest of wines, you thought it might have been his life’s mission. In this moment at the very least.

Chigiri’s hand shakes as he brings it towards you. The palm of hand is calloused just as you thought it’d be. He cups the underside of your jaw, his thumb biting into the fat of your cheek uncomfortably. His touch is awkward and clearly unfamiliar even for himself but his smile is tender. Furling the worn material of his tunic within your fists you tug his body against yours. He’s warm and firm, the feeling of another all too heavenly.

“May I…” A small frustrated whimper crackles through his words, “May I kiss you.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

He’s fighting the urge to call you by your title, the need to be a gentleman, to be perfect, was strong. Any ounce of couth or refinement had left long ago, if it had even been there in the first. You weren’t sure it had. You had spent many moons dancing around the complicated feeling that arose whenever you allowed your thoughts to linger on him for too long. If you asked, no matter how much Chigiri tried to deny it, you wouldn’t believe that he hadn’t harboured any impure thoughts for you. No matter how genteel or well mannered he was. A fire lived within his eye, his pink irises burned a dastardly rouge from within his large silver helmet. Even when you couldn’t see them you could feel it, directed towards you even when the room was filled with gossips in search of something to bite, it was there. There was nothing chaste or respectable about a man being plagued by all consuming thoughts of another.

“Please,” you all but whine, your voice turning low and needy, “Please kiss me.”

The lack of command or conviction behind your words shocks him but it thrills you. Tomorrow you’d laugh at how pathetic it was, to feel so fulfilled simply by giving your control to your knight but for now you relish in the uncertainty and the feeling of anticipation as you wait for Chigiri to make his move. Your entire life has been nothing but that, acting first with or without thought. It was exhausting. But, you had always supposed there were worst things to experience in life and now you were faced with one of them— the desperation of deprivation as you sat in wait.

His breath fanned across your face as he leaned in closer to you. Stray strands of his hair tickle you as he hovers close. You think you’ll begin to beg if he makes you wait any longer, hoping that he’d get any such satisfaction from bending your resolve so effortlessly. As if your need hadn’t been so apparent.

“Hyōma, please,” you pleaded.

It borders on desperate and you like it.

The press of his lips against yours is firm and pleasant. You don’t have much to compare it to but then again neither does he. What matters is that you like it. Your toes curl within the confines of your plush slippers as a feeling of elation sweeps through you. It settles goosebumps on your arms and burns your face uncomfortably hot but it gratifies you.

If you could pull Chigiri any closer you would– squishing your two bodies together to be one if you could, your hands would settle on fervently twisting his shirt as if that would placate your need for him. Teeth and tongue clash awkwardly when being flush against one another isn’t enough. It couldn’t be, the fire that stirred deep within your belly was ravenous. You were unsure there was anything that would be enough to quell that aching flames that wished to consume you. It’d see you ruined, leaving you nothing but ashes amongst the floorboards and you’d allow it– for him. Chigiri’s hands have dipped past your shoulders and rested low on your hips, it’s far past the respectable touch you thought he’d been so keen to keep.

Your name sounds like a melody when it's whined between sloppy, depraved kisses. If you could commit it to memory you would, “Your Grace,” he shudders, embarrassed by how debauched he’d been, “I’m … I-”

His lips are swollen and slick with saliva. The sight only makes the fire roar even greater within you.

Chigiri’s mouth falls shut when you shush him, all too eager to devour him once more. Tugging at the buttons that keep your dressing gown close, you haphazardly unfasten them. Somewhere in the back of your mind your thoughts begin to wander, wondering if Chigiri were to unbutton them with ease. You’re quick to settle on an answer as you gaze back at him; he would, he was good with his fingers and hands. It was almost dastardly the way Chigiri always managed to draw attention to the skillful way his nimble fingers effortlessly laced his doublet up after a spar or absent mindedly twirled his dagger around.

“You can look at me,” you whisper, as the gown slips off your shoulders to pool around your feet. Your nipples pebble from the chill that carries in through the window, and you can’t hide the shiver that follows.

His gaze isn’t scrutinising, not in the way you feared others might have been. Still, you cast your eyes to the floor and allow an air of bashfulness to surround you. As if, averting your gaze would make his any less powerful. You could feel his eyes trailing up the length of your lengths, they roamed over the curves of your hips and drank in the sight of the thick thatch of curled hair at the base of your pelvis. Chigiri’s eyes burned holes into your body, they seared a path and stained your body with his essence– he had hardly touched you and yet you were marked.

Chigiri’s hands twitch by his side, “You are absolutely stunning,” he breathes, his chest heaving with each deep breath he takes.

Before you can muster up a response, he’s sunk to the floor in front of you. The floorboards groan beneath his knees as he shuffles forwards to grasp your calves.

“Hyōma?”

It’s his turn to shush you, quieting the questions on your tongue. Taking a step back, you stumble against the baseboard of your bed. Your fingers curl around the thick wooden post in hopes of disguising the way they tremble. You’re unsure if it’s the nerves or excitement. It might be both with the way your stomach lurches and is tickled by fluttering butterfly wings.

You wonder where his pride has gone when he shuffles forward once more, or if it was even there in the first place. Perhaps devotion took its place. Is that what knights were taught? To be dutiful was to shirk all sense of personal identity. That couldn’t be right, you thought. When amidst a spar, duel, or tourney, Chigiri seemed to be replaced with a fiery eyed monster in the face of competition. You wondered where it went in the quiet of night or when he stood five paces behind you.

It’s overwhelming, the sight of nothing but pure devotion in his eyes as he gazes up at you. His hands caressing your legs before an experimental kiss is pressed against your knee and then one to the freckle that sits just above it. His hair tickles and you giggle.

“Spread your legs,” he huffs into your skin, his teeth lightly grazing thigh as he speaks, “Now.”

Your heart feels funny when it begins to race. And it’s there again, that tiny pinprick of excitement that sends your head reeling with the rush. It electrifies you, the commanding tone he sports for the first time. You spread your legs just as he asks though your nerves thrum from within your veins. The looks he sports makes you curl in on yourself, you’ve never seen such a predatory glint rest so easily in a man’s eyes.

Delicately placing one hand under your knee, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders, “Is this comfortable?” Chigiri questions, “If not, I’ll happily-“

“Yes,” you breathily reply as you dare to slip your fingers through his silk hair, “This is perfect.”

“You’re perfect.”

The heat that fills your cheeks does little to rival the molten lava that fills your belly and melts your legs. Your breath catches in your throat when dips his head between your thighs, his tongue, warm and wet, darting out to lick up the seam of your cunt. His name becomes tangled with a moan as you struggle to take a deep breath.

Allowing your eyes to flutter, your nails press into the carved post of your bed, your other hand still thread between strand of his hair tug roughly on them with little care, “Fuck!” You curse, for the first time in your life, “You’re so … You’re so good with your tongue?”

You don’t mean for it to come out as a question but it does, your voice pitching upwards and morphing into a small squeal as his lips wrap around your clit.

“Gentle,” he whimpers against your mound, his eyes falling shut when your nails roughly bite into his scalp, “Be gentle with me.”

A small apology passes your lips but you don’t mean it, not really. It’s said to pacify the artificial wounds of red hot desire. You think he’d look darling with more– spatterings of hued violet that edged on yellow along his jugular and down his chest. They were marks that claimed him, they were far more tangible than gold rings and gaudy diamonds. If your insincerity was obvious, Chigiri doesn’t say anything too busy focusing his sights back on your wet, quivering cunt. He laps at you like he’d died otherwise, the obscenely loud wet smacks of his mouth and tongue against you filling the room and drifting out through the open window. At least, the courtyard below was empty at this time of night.

His nails dig into the fat of your thigh as his grip on you tightens. A heady haze settles across your mind as pleasure zips up your spine. It forces a truly pathetic mewl past your lips, one you weren’t sure you were capable of making.

“Hyōma … Hyōma,” you chant, like a melody, “There, right there.”

Your lolls to the side and your body threatens to become jelly as the fire is stoked and then awash with a chilling clarity that leaves you shivering in his hold.

It’s debauched, the way Chigiri slurps at your folds and tongues your hole to catch each drop of cum before it drips down his chin or smears across his flushed cheeks. But, you find yourself smiling at how eager he is, even when you know you’ll bruise because he’s holding you like you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye. Maybe you would. Once the sun rose and rosters woke the servants the castle would be alive and bustling– whatever bubble you created for the two of you would be broken. Still, it doesn’t stop you from yanking him into your embrace, your lips sloppily moving against his. You taste yourself on his mouth and tongue, and it makes you moan in delight.

His cock throbs from within the confines of his breeches and he can’t help but push himself against your puffy cunt in search of reprieve, “I… let me escort you to bed.”

“We’re already here,” you snort in a positively undignified manner but it manages to ease the earnest, rigid demeanour Chigiri sports the moment he realises what he’s done.

“Right.”

His smile is weak but it’s there nonetheless.

Placing his large hand on the small of your back, he helps you round the corner of your bed. Pulling back your duvet, you prop yourself up against your plush pillows. Chigiri stalls, standing awkwardly like there’s something more he wishes to say.

“Well, this is where I leave you, your Grace,” he smiles, pulling your blankets up to cover your bare breasts, “I hope sleep finds you easily … and happy name day.”

Just as he moves to turn around, your hand darts out to grab his, “Wait,” you pant, “I want you to stay, I command you to stay.”

There's no power behind your words, no real command but he takes it anyways, as if he could use your selfish whims as an excuse for the desire that burned him to.

So he says because how can he refuse his heir on their name day. It would be too cruel after the first taste of indulgence.

#chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri hyoma smut #bluelock smut #chigiri hyoma x you #chigiri smut #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk smut

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rebelfell · 11 days

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Hi. How's about prince!Steve and knight!Eddie?

Of all the things you’ve had to endure at this gods-forsaken tournament for your hand, the most debasing and demeaning by far is being forced to fraternize with the spoiled, arrogant, rogue Prince Harrington. Your father has all but rigged the games in his favour, hoping that your marriage will hasten an alliance with his father’s neighboring kingdom, shoring up the West and consolidating the power of both families.

With all of these men scheming to win you like some sort of prize sow, the only bright spot in your life is that of your oldest friend and the head of your Royal Guard, Ser Edward.

Seemingly the only man left you can trust.

But when the Prince catches you sneaking away from a banquet, presumably to escape a dance with him…again…he follows you and offers an inventive solution to your mutual troubles.

If the two of you pretend to form an attachment, perchance that will suffice to call off the tourney entirely. Only so long as the others believe they have a chance will they continue to compete.

You will be free of the torment of courtship, and if Stephen’s father the King is convinced of his son’s heartbreak when your “romance” ends, perhaps he will be granted permission to abscond to the Southern Isles.

Meanwhile, a mysterious Black Knight has arrived to compete for your hand in place of a Lord of a distant land. He never shows his face, never shows any part of himself besides a brief flash of alabaster skin. But as he wins joust after joust, offering you an ebony rose after every foe he unhorses, there is something familiar about him that stirs up a feeling deep within you.

How can that be when he is a stranger?

#I am not writing this #truly I'm not #I just see it very clearly in my head and the “dancing with your enemy but he’s falling in love” playlists are the score #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #knight!eddie #prince!steve #medieval!au #fantasy!au #stranger things au #moodboard

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januaryembrs · 5 months

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Reader [9]

Description: Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

Word count: 10.8k

Trigger warnings: MINORS DNI. 18+. SMUT UNDER THE CUT. (What the heck) Fingering, F!reader, blood, flares, guns, canon level murder. Hints at grooming (not between Steven/Marc obviously), hints at toxic relationship. (Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

Authors note: I have never written anything smutty in my life, I hope this is okay. It kinda hit me out of no where. Also there will be a full smut chapter when the series is finished as a little treat.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Life seemed to have this horribly funny way of ripping goodness out of Dove’s hands.

Just as Layla had found a match on her tablet for the constellations, coordinates popping up on the screen like a digital bat signal, Khonshu gave a groan of pain even a god couldn’t hold back. He dropped to his knees, one of his boney hands falling to steady himself on the warm sand, the other jutted into the night sky to hold the stars where they watched him weaken.

Dove watched in frozen shock as in a matter of seconds he slipped away into the darkness, though dragged seemed a better term for it.

The Ennead had imprisoned him, just as they said they would.

A flash of relief ripped through Dove as she watched the cruel god slip away, finally freeing the shackles he held around her Steven. A prison that kept him scared, kept him quiet, even more so than that of his own body, was gone.

Though with that went his suit, she thought with a moment of abject horror, frozen in her limbs as if waiting for her god to be ripped from her too.

Her breath caught against her chest, waiting, waiting to be freed from the chains around her legs, the leash around her neck. She wanted this over, wanted to be a gift shoppist again more than anything. She would take hours of Donna’s shrill voice berating her over merchandise any day than this sense of ownership he held over her.

Because if it was just Khonshu imprisoned, the mission would fall onto her shoulders. And she couldn’t do any of this alone, any of it without Steven. She could do none of it without Marc. She would be alone in this again.

She’d rather die than live long enough to see either of them hurt for real this time.

Just get it over with. She near begged the gods. I can’t be the one to save them. I couldn’t even save her, I’m not the one you want for this.

That is, until she watched Steven’s legs give out from beneath him and his eyes roll to the back of his lids, his body going limp, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Steven-Steven!” Dove called, lunging to grab him under the arms to hold him steady. But it was no use. His breath gave a rattled huff, his body completely yielding to unconsciousness, nearly toppling her over herself had she not put a hand out to stop the two of them face planting into the course sand.

Hoisting him over to his back, she brought a hand up to his cheek, his eyes flickering closed in REM, shaking his head with more care than she knew she should. She couldn’t find it in herself to strike him any harsher.

Layla fell to her knees beside her, more forceful with her shoves as she pushed his muscled body with a desperate sort of anger, begging him for the both of them to wake up.

“Marc? Marc, come on!” The other woman yelled, bunching his jumper in her fists until her knuckles turned just as white as the alabaster fabric, “Come on! Where are you?”

Then she heard it. Dove felt her ears prick up, an engine stuttering in the distance, tires crunching over sand, a metal rattling of bodywork against a motor.

A car. A truck, full of bodies. Full of guns.

She could hear the bullets rattling in their chambers, hear the men’s breathing, jeering to one another.

Harrow’s men. Or maybe even Mogart’s. She didn’t know anymore. She just knew they spelled danger.

“We have to go,” Dove said exasperated, scrambling to her feet despite the sand shifting under their weight as the sounds approached, “We need to leave now.”

“Leave him, they won’t shoot him if he already looks dead,” Layla huffed, dropping Steven’s arm, grabbing the scruff of Dove’s collar ferociously, “Leave him,”

“We can’t leave him, what if they fire for good measure?” Dove asked, smacking Layla’s hand away from her with a scowl, “I’m not leaving him-”

A blinding light lit up their faces, their heads snapping to where headlights lit up the dunes surrounding them. The wind seemed to hold its breath as the women stood, spooked deers with targets on their backs.

“Stop being so god damn stubborn for once,” Layla seethed, grabbing the younger woman’s arm tight enough to pinch, “We’ll come back for him in a second, now move,”

It took everything in her to listen.

She was all but dragged into a run towards their own vehicle where they had been piecing together the map not even twenty minutes earlier. She hated how funny time was like that.

They waited on bated breaths, hoping the truck would drive past them with no consequence, no interference.

Though of course, that would never happen. That would be too kind.

Bullets whistled past their legs, something bigger than the pistol Layla had held from what Dove could tell, something made for killing quickly, killing messily.

The women winced hearing the trucks engine slow to a low rumble, carefully rolling down the dune as it shot blindly into the dark where they ducked behind the body of their car, Layla’s breath panting loudly in her ear.

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, praying on everything she’d ever believed in that they didn’t see Steven, that they didn’t shoot Layla. It was redundant worrying about herself, though part of her wondered if the God of chaos had been forced into a ushabti too, she wasn’t willing to figure it out by throwing herself in front of the barrel of the gun.

Layla reached up for the cold metal of the handle, clicking it open and practically forcing Dove in by the scruff of the neck into the wagon end of the truck, the grains of sand crunching under her boots as she lay still, waiting for the truck to hopefully pass.

Clambering in after her and shutting the door quietly, Layla ducked down next to her, the sound of their exhausted breaths cutting through the quiet night. She had faced worse than these men, than this one big gun, yet she felt without Marc there to tell her where to hit them, without Steven there to hold her face and tell her how brave she was, she was nothing.

“I saw them running!” One of the men called out, the two women freezing in their spots, “Check around the truck!”

The flickering of the headlights filtered in through the dirty truck windows, dust smattering the glass though Dove still got a clear view of the vehicle cruising around them, circling like a shark in bloodied waters, searching for the rest of the kill.

She felt Layla tense next to her when her boot hit something near the door, a red satchel with a muddied flame printed on the front.

Flames. Fire. There was a crate full of ammunition she could hear rattling around the back of that truck which only meant one thing. Gunpowder.

“Layla,” She whispered, grabbing the woman’s arm and pointing to the red bag, “Are there matches in there?”

“Flares- why?” Layla murmured back, a scowl on her face at the stupidity of the girl to be talking.

Dove hesitated a moment, keeping an eye on the truck as it rolled past them and looped back towards where Steven lay unconscious still. They didn’t have alot of time left. They would surely shoot at him to be sure, and without the suit anymore-

“There’s bullets in that truck,” Dove whispered, meeting the woman’s eyes through what little light the stars gave them, “Flares set on fire when you pull them right?”

Layla’s scowl seemed to drop as she understood what the girl was suggesting. The woman scrambled for the satchel, ripping the zip open to reveal six red, waxy tubes, the metal hooks hanging off as the triggers.

Shoving one into Dove’s hands, she took one for herself, head snapping to the girl nearly ten years her younger.

“You know what you’re doing?” Layla murmured, the two of them looking through the front windscreen where the headlights seemed to zero in on Steven. Steven, who was running out of time. Steven, who would throw himself in front of endless amounts of guns if it meant she was safe. Steven, who would wake up any second now and meet his end in the middle of no where because she wasn’t fast enough.

“You throw yours to get them away from him, I’ll go after them,” She replied hushedly, her hand opening the door quietly, sliding forwards until her legs dangled off the edge of the carriage. That is until a hand latched onto her shoulder to drag her back.

Her head whipped over her shoulder, worried they had been seen already, only to see Layla’s brown eyes unsure. Remorse ate away at her expression, twitching her eyebrows, scrunching her mouth bitterly.

“You had better be careful,” Layla bit, though Dove knew what the meaning beneath it was. Don’t die. Don’t get hurt. I’m sorry for what I said.

Dove nodded, dropping onto the sand silently, waiting for Layla to slip out of and throw her flare away from Steven.

She lost sight of the woman, her soft, tight curls bouncing around the corner of the truck, her own fingers crossing that the woman would stay far out of harm. She knew she was sorry, knew Layla had a way of exploding at her because she was the easiest target, she was the only one who would actually give her the reaction she’d wanted. She’d always known that hurt people, hurt people. And that’s all Layla was. Hurt, at the fact her ex-husband seemed to dodge every phone call, spill every lie, brush off every argument. She couldn’t say she agreed with how Marc handled the subject of Layla, but in the same way she was hurt, Marc was hurt too.

It’s just who they were.

Seeing a flash of red fly into the dunes, and the rumble of the truck's engine as it practically turned on two wheels and flew towards the commotion, shooting at the flare in the hopes of hitting one of them. She saw where the sand sprayed behind the wheels, stepping out behind their car and drawing her arm back for the shot.

Pulling the metal hook out of its socket, a small crack like a party popper sounded from the palm of her hand, and the red flame sprayed out the end. Before the men even had time to switch the gun onto her, she’d thrown it towards the rear of their vehicle, where she now saw a heavy artillery weapon, the clink and rattle of bullets rolling in the seat as the car came to a stop in front of Layla’s distraction.

She heard a shout of shock as her flare made contact, bouncing into the rear, before a white spark flew into the air and fizzled, like a star reaching its supernova within the inky black night.

She worried for a moment that that was it, that was all her brilliant plan could give, until ten more shots of the same ivory light flew into the sky, a crackle lingering in the truck before a huge ball of flame engulfed the car whole. Yells of fright from the passengers were cut off with one final whoosh and the yellow blaze licked into the black once more, silencing whatever protests the men had.

They had died. They had burned at her hand. And yet, thinking back to how suddenly they could have stuffed Steven full of bullets, she struggled to fight the relief that had filled her body.

Steven.

Spinning on her heel, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she collided with a hard body, one that seemed to have watched the conflict splayed all over her face in the warmth of the fire. She readied herself to shove them away, to call Layla for help, until she snapped out of her haze and saw a very tired, very sandy face that looked at her as if he’d seen an archangel lighting his way.

Steven.

She said nothing, though she wanted to tell him how pretty his eyes looked in the dark. She wanted to tell him how she’d thought of him every single day since the day they’d met, that he’d be the one to drag her out of the shadows that smothered her, that if there was one thing that could take away her pain, her sorrow, that could make her feel alive again, it was him.

But she didn’t. Because there weren't enough words, wasn’t enough time, to tell him how she felt.

So she pulled him into the tightest hug she could muster instead.

She felt her breath leave her when his arms went around her waist, nose burrowing into her neck, sighing. She didn’t care he was dirty, so was she, didn’t care that he was breathing so close to her skin, she revelled in it in fact. Her every hair stood on end as he kissed her shoulder, bare from where her shirt had ripped, kissed it again for good measure, her whole body shivering under his lips. He was so warm compared to her, she’d felt cold ever since that night she’d died, like a constant reminder she was just a body, and he was so full of life. He was so Steven it filled her heart until she thought it would come running out of her eyes in tears.

“I missed you so much,” He whispered in her ear, as if utterly unaware how receptive she would be to the sound of his voice, “I thought I was going crazy,”

“You’re never crazy, not to me,” She murmured back, feeling him kiss her cheek.

She begged him to kiss her lips next. God she’d missed him. She wanted him more than the syrupy air they stood in, had a greed for him she’d never known before. One kiss hadn’t been enough, she needed more.

She needed all of him.

The pit in her stomach that had laid stagnant for weeks, that had been a dormant pit flared with heat as he pulled away from her, his eyes soppy and dizzy as he watched her, her heart caving in through her chest.

She could kiss him right there and he would kiss her back. She didn’t know how she knew it but she did.

Sighing as she heard Layla shuffling behind her, crawling out of her hiding place behind the truck, she tilted her head forwards until it met his forehead, the feeling of her nose brushing against his having her squeeze him tighter.

“I missed you too, Steven,” She whispered, feeling his body tense as her words fell in blankets on his lips.

Her mouth was right there for the taking, his head screamed to him. Her plush lips were seconds away from his, the scene he’d imagined for himself over and over and over was right there.

Yet they both pulled away, meeting each other's longing gaze once more before they turned back to the truck.

The drum and bass was pounding in her chest, constricting her throat. Her top rode up her stomach, breasts hiked up enough to touch her chin, the mini shorts hugging her legs much too tight for comfort. But this was what they paid for. For her.

It wasn’t so bad as far as nightclubs went. It was fast paced which kept her shifts moving quick, the drinks were easy to memorise, and for the most part she was behind a thick bar that separated her from the handsier customers. But tonight she was on shot duty, her job was to entice as many willing buyers into slamming little vials of jäger that would only drain their wallets. She knew it was unethical, knew she should have more shame, but life was shit like that sometimes.

Matty had brought home a whole baby, Billie, who she loved more than life itself, though the poor little girl couldn’t escape the colic no matter how hard the five of them rocked her, burped her, winded her. She kept them up most nights, and who’d have thought babies were so expensive.

Billie and Matty alone took the majority of their funds, if not the bills on the house, if not them then it was Sammy being bailed out of the holding cell every other weekend for “disturbing public peace”, that one she could believe.

Joey, her clever clever boy, had managed to get a scholarship to see him through most of university, but that didn’t negate the fact he was so busy with his extra classes, being the genius child he was, he hadn’t the time for an extra job to contribute to the family.

And then there was Mikey.

Mikey, who she had pretended to ignore came home with bloodshot eyes or a manic sort of excitement, or a slackened jaw. Mikey, who had done what he did best and tried to make friends, only to get mixed with the wrong crowd and end up addicted. Mikey, who needed to be sent to the very expensive rehab downtown quickly if they had any chance of pulling him out of this habit before he found himself too deep.

Times were tough, eighteen-year-old Dove liked to think she was tougher.

She pretended to ignore the way the men’s eyes trailed her body like a public footpath, barely any acknowledgement in their eyes that she was human and not just a nice ass and a tight top. She pretended they didn’t brush against her one too many times for it to be an accident, or even the fact they tipped her bigger if they were brave enough to brazenly touch her stomach, the soft of her arms, the plushness of her legs as she walked through the sea of dancers.

They began to blur into one horrid mess of men she choked out thanks to as they handed her a twenty and told her to keep the change.

“You’re worth more than that, you know?” A voice interrupted her, where she stood near the bar, the waitress refilling her tray with shots.

Golden painted eyelids flicked up as she caught sight of the man, ready to give a catty remark when she saw someone leaning against the glass countertop, sticky residue of sweet alcohol under his neat suit. Certainly out of sorts in a place like this.

“You think?” She asked, boredly, picking at her fingernails as the man spoke. She couldn’t lie to herself, he was handsome. Not the most handsome man to ever flirt with her, though the others usually were slurring and asking if they would get their drinks free if they give her something nice in return. This man seemed sober, however, his drink small and barely touched, “Good to know,”

“I think a girl like you deserves to have the drinks brought to you on a silver platter,” He said cheekily, sipping his drink slowly as the bartenders looked between her and the man with teasing smiles.

“Don’t bother, Frank,” Eddie said, shaking a cocktail over his shoulder with little more than an eyelid batted, “She’s hard to get. Even said no to a date with me a few times,”

“How could I ever be so cruel to turn down such a stud?” She sneered, though the grin on her face told an entirely different story. She was kidding, ofcourse. “Such a pretty boy, and yet my answer is still the same. I don’t have time for boys,”

“Who said anything about boys?” Frank asked, aghast, placing a hand on his chest, “I would never expect a grown woman like you to want a boy. It’s a man you need.”

She was painfully aware of how much older than her he looked, easily approaching his thirty year mark if his grown attire and mature voice was anything to go off of.

It had been her birthday two weeks ago.

“A man, huh?” She asked cockily, rolling her eyes at the lust in his eyes as she became meaner to him. Men were so predictable. She treated him nice, he was interested. She was a bitch to him, he wanted her more. “Let me know if any of you find one,”

With that, she slid the silver tray of shots off the bar and took off into the sea of people, a little snigger leaving her lips at the way Frank watched her like a hawk.

She had certainly not been expecting a hand to grab her by the belt loops on her shorts, spinning her back to where she had just come from, only to be met with the grey eyes of the man at the bar that she thought she’d left in the dust.

“Are you out of your mind-” Dove cried, slapping his hand off her, though his smile only widened with a snicker of his own.

“One date?” He asked, tugging her closer by the front of her shorts, “One date is all I ask,”

“You don’t even know my name,” She bit back, back when she had it in her to be mean, when he hadn’t ripped the disobedience out of her.

His finger came up to flick the name badge on her chest that she purposely stole from someone else, the one reading Sandie. She never gave out her real name, not just for her safety but for her boys too.

“One date, Sandie,” Frank said, producing a business card out of his pocket, “Just your start date,”

She recoiled. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting what so ever. She’d thought he was flirting, she’d been so sure of it. But a job offer, that was something else.

Ripping the card out of his fingers, she read the sparkly red writing on the front.

for a good night, simply follow the yellow brick road

-frank osbourne

“This is the fakest looking piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” She retorted, which only made him laugh at her attempt of damaging his ego, “I bet this number isn’t even real,”

“No?” He goaded, stuffing his hand even further into his pocket to pull out a wad of twenties.

Her eyes widened as he wedged the roll of money into her front pocket, squeezing it into the fabric where it clung to her skin. Her mouth bobbed open once, perhaps to ask what he did for a living or if he was compensating for something smaller elsewhere. But the usual smartmouth she had on her was gone.

In fact she couldn’t even say anything when he picked up a shot off her tray and slammed it back right there and then on the dance floor, the black liquor dripping down the corner of his mouth.

He smiled at her, wiping it away with the back of his expensive cuff, diamond cufflinks she’d missed at first glance flashing under the strobe lights as the beat in the song dropped and rattled through her chest.

“Keep the change, honey,” He yelled, winking at her smoothly and disappearing back into the crowd as if he had never even been there.

She was embarrassed at how fast she pocketed his number.

Her body was jolting forwards, saved luckily by the seat belt wrapped over her chest, a small gasp crawling out her lips.

She realised with a quick look out the front of the window that they had come to an abrupt stop, a terracotta mountain face staring back at them through the bullet holes cracking the windscreen.

Seeing Layla’s stoic expression and the tension that immersed the car as she woke up, she felt whatever words had been said while she slept bite at her skin, rubbing the sleep dust from her eyes.

“Damn, girl. What did the brake pedal ever do to you?” She muttered, and she hated the way her tummy flurried at the sight of Steven’s bemused smile. She loved making him smile. She saw the bags that dragged at his soft doe eyes, wanted to grab his chin and force him to look at her to get just a moment more of his honeyed gaze, his pretty eyelashes, his expressive brows.

“We’re on foot from here,” Layla ordered, unbuckling herself and hopping out the side of the truck, slinging her rucksack over her back. Dove thought for a moment if she should ask what had happened while she had been asleep in the back seat, yet then she thought better of it. Layla was a bear she never wanted to poke with a stick, let alone more than she already had.

“Good sleep?” Steven asked, swivelling around his position in the passenger side, watching her carefully with a giddy smile.

She licked her lips, fiddling with the tips of her nails, where the odd one had begun healing, where they didn’t hurt as much since she’d stopped gnawing at her loose skin.

“Not as good as our sleepovers,” She mumbled into the quiet of the car, the air like the inside of a candy floss machine; sweet and wispy as he giggled.

“Never,” He replied, the two of them sharing a childish glee. They near jumped out their skin when Layla’s knuckles came down on Dove’s window, harsh and interrupting.

“Are we going, or what?” The woman said loud enough for them to hear the frustration in her tone even through the thick glass.

Guilt flashed across the younger woman’s face as she unlatched her door, the desert heat smacking her in the face like a hand.

Layla simply rolled her eyes at the two bumbling idiots, the way Steven seemed to half tumble out of his own seat just to be near her faster, the way it was clear from the way their hands kept falling to their sides they itched to touch even for a single moment.

She kissed her teeth, spinning on her heel as they looked to her for direction, feeling more akin to a babysitter now Marc didn’t have the body. She hated him when he was in control, hated him when he wasn’t. The entire idea of him was exhausting her, the knife twisting deeper when Steven told her Marc had agreed to disappear without a single goodbye for Steven’s sake.

It wasn’t that she wanted him back. But she was only human. She would have appreciated a real goodbye at least.

“This way. Map says they should be just on the other side of this gorge.” She called behind her, Dove and Steven trailing after her mindlessly, their eyes flicking up to one another wordlessly every few steps.

They took it that Layla wanted some time to herself as she took off on her own, muttering under her breath with a sneer from what they could see. She would keep close enough to listen for trouble, but far enough that she had some peace with her thoughts.

Dove felt a guilty sense of gratitude that her and Steven had a moment alone. She hadn’t known such calm in weeks.

“Marc said-” She started after a few minutes of quiet, “He said you didn’t know about all of this before. How are you doing, finding out you’re sharing your body with a whole other person I mean,” She prompted, chancing a glance at his face, his lip tugged between his teeth.

“Honestly,” He sighed, his tired eyes falling on her face that gazed back with nothing but worry. No judgement, no fear. Never from her. “Honestly, it’s frazzled me a bit. I mean it’s like being in a dream where I’m watching everything happen around me but I’m stuck in the backseat shouting how shit a driver Marc is-”

She couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from her lips, the one that had him smiling too, not missing the way her shoulder bumped him lightly.

“It’s like I’m yanking on the reins, trying to get my own body back to being mine, and yet no one’s listening, you know?” He continued, and she felt the lump shift in the bottom of her throat.

Yes. I know exactly what you mean, Steven. I think you’re the only person who can ever know, only person since Grace who has ever known me-

And Marc. They were the only two to understand.

She nodded silently, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Oh god, what am I saying?” Steven muttered cursing to himself, looking at her with sorrowful eyes, “Seth still has you, doesn’t he? It was only Khonshu who they punished.”

She nodded again, keeping an eye on the ground as the terrain became a bit more rocky, stepping down carefully where she saw Layla’s boot print.

“Love, you have to know, that evening in the museum-” He began, following in her footsteps, stopping when his foot slipped on the grainy bank, feeling her hand grab his own, the very touch catching his breath as he stepped down safely to the rest of the sand. “Thanks- in the museum, I never meant for you to get hurt-”

“Steven, it’s okay, you don’t need to say that,” She brushed off bashfully, turning her head to the ground and pulling away from his saccharine touch.

But he wouldn’t let her. She needed to hear it. Needed more than the fair and few nice words Marc had given her the past few weeks. Not when she’d endured so much, so much for him.

He grabbed her hand again, feeling the cold skin under his warm palm, not letting her slip away so fast this time as her eyes flicked up to his and stuck as they traipsed through the sand.

“No, you shouldn’t have been hurt that day. You shouldn’t have had any of this happen to you, and I’m sorry, Dove.” He said perhaps the most serious she’d ever seen him and all she could do was nod wordlessly. “I’m sorry you’re in this mess because of me,”

“It’s not your fault, Steven,” She murmured, squeezing his hand with a frown, “It’s not Marc’s either. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, end of.”

“Still, I’m sorry it happened,” He said, bambi brown eyes falling over the planes of her face, “I promise, Marc and I will find a way to fix it when this is over,”

She smiled again, and he could swear he could feel his chest rattling with his own heartbeat. It was terrifying the effect she had on every inch of his body, the way his stomach and heart seemed to butterfly the moment she looked at him, the way her eyes softened under his gaze, the same woman he’d wanted even after so much hurt.

“It’s not so bad anyway,” She said, her attention returning to the path Layla trekked along, her chocolate curls glistening in the sunset, her lithe figure just close enough to see where she followed her tablet’s directions, “Marc has been a big help, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see me again after this. I can’t imagine he likes me very much,”

“Who wouldn’t like you?” Steven asked, as if it were the most obvious question out there. He felt Marc writhe with a flick of sorrow inside the body, the feeling of being on the outside still unusual to him. “I think he likes you just fine.”

She shook her head with a doubtful smile, “If you say so, Steven,”

“No, honestly!” He pushed, and she only snickered more as he pulled her closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I mean don’t tell him this, but I think he likes you more than he even likes me,”

“Me?” She giggled, entertaining the cheeky look in his eyes with another nudge to his shoulder, “Why? All I’ve done is annoy him since the day I saw him in my room and thought he was you,”

“Well, you’re my best friend for one,” Her cheeks heated at that, “And you’re the kindest person to ever walk the planet. And you’re honest, most honest person I know,”

Her smile dampened, not that he seemed to notice as he was lost in a dizzy world of his own, his thumb stroking the back of her hand gently. Honest. That’s what he valued about her. That she was honest.

She felt the life suck out of her stomache.

“Steven-” She started, her chest sunken. She was sure she could feel every breath rattling around the empty chamber, grabbing her throat.

Liar. They whispered. Liar, liar, liar.

“No, I know you’re going to go all shy, but you are, you’re the only one who doesn’t hide stuff from me like I’m a child, like Marc, all he does is keep things from me,” It was torture. Actual torture. It was as though he was bringing the knife down onto her chest with every sweet word, words that he meant to soothe and warm, words that tore and mutilated her. “You would never do that, now would you?”

It took her a moment to realise he asked a question, took a moment for her to snap out of the wallowing guilt that threatened to drag her under.

She needed to tell him. Needed to have it out with him, tell him what a disgusting, used up mess she was, tell him what she had done to Frank, tell him what she had let happen to Grace. He would be horrified, he would hate her.

She needed to tell him.

But instead she said;

“Never, Steven,”

They continued through the crevice in the land until they came out the otherside, onto a wide sandy ledge, Layla already scouting out across the remaining land.

“There they are,” She called over her shoulder as Dove and Steven caught up, the former much quieter than she had been initially, “Let’s keep moving. Looks like they’re already inside. We’ll need to find another way to beat them to Ammit.”

“After you, love,” Steven said with a besotted smile, holding a hand out for Dove to follow, “Promise I’ll save you if you fall,”

She smiled at him kindly, the ache in her chest weakening as she focused on the task at hand. He would understand. He would understand her reasoning for lying, he had to understand-

She stepped on in silence, carefully following Layla’s bootprints down the steep decline, the sharp rock edges scrutinising her every footstep. It wasn’t for another thirty minutes until they stepped foot on even ground, nearing the deserted campsite, fires reduced to a pile of small embers, not a soul in sight.

That is, until the trio talked to the centre of the camp, all three of them on high alert for any of Harrow’s men lingering for intruders.

Dove had barely seen the taupe four legged creature behind her until it bleated in her ear with a low grunt.

She squealed, stumbling back into Steven’s awaiting arms that wrapped around her shaken figure, her eyes wide as she turned to see two large onyx eyes blinking down at her through inch long lashes, munching happily on some hay.

A camel.

She felt her face warm as she heard the other two begin to snicker at her skittishness, Steven’s chest rumbling behind her with laughter. He stroked her hair softly, “Told you I’d save you,”

“S-sorry,” She muttered, releasing herself from him with a sheepish grin. Her hand came up to the camel’s snout to give it a short rub, the peach fuzz tickling her palm.

“You’d be scared of your own shadow following you,” Layla teased in probably the nicest tone she’d used all day. It seemed a brisk walk where you could curse out your ex all you wanted did the world wonders.

“You try having a god of violence following you, see how comfortable you are with bastards sneaking up on you,” Dove retorted, using the tips of her nails to scratch behind the camel’s ear, his lashes batting sweetly down at her.

Layla set off further into the camp, now it was clear they were the only ones there, urging them towards where an old mine shaft entrance seemed to open up into the middle of another mountain crest, undoubtedly where Harrow’s men had entered.

“Let’s check for supplies,” The older woman suggested, tightening the strap of her backpack with a small squint, the last of the Egyptian sun beating down on them.

Dove nodded, heading off towards one of the nearest tents, seeing a handful of tools resting against crates, small army grade beds set up, raised off the floor. She dug around the few crates, to find the odd bit of clothing, jackets she didn’t need, a torch she flicked on only to find it had run out of battery.

She snagged a few bits of mountaineering rope, tucking it into her satchel Layla had given her from the truck, a pickaxe she held and quickly saw how impractical it was to carry around.

The knife stared at her from on top of the bed. She should pick it up, she knew it was smart to defend themselves, if not for her then for Layla. Or for Steven. Sure, she would be fine, but they were human.

Her hand shook as she held the leather handle, the blade a good eight inches and covered with a rusty brown liquid she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She wasn’t there anymore, she repeated to herself in a mantra, she wasn’t with him anymore. He was gone, he could only haunt her now. She did what she needed to-

Dove was quick to wipe the blood off the metal onto one of the nearby jackets, stopping only when she could see her dishevelled appearance staring back at her in the shine of the blade. Chucking it into the backpack with the rest of her find, she stepped out the tent, heading towards the big canopy she’d seen Steven head towards.

Their conversation from earlier still gnawed at her gut, twisting and writhing inside her like a rot that ate at her. She needed to tell him. He would despise her, he would find her sickening to so much as look at, but she needed to. He deserved the honestly he thought he found in her.

Once they’d stopped Ammit she would tell him. She would hate herself every second until that moment, hate herself every second after too. She would be alone again, she understood. But even if her sweet, sweet Steven forgave her and wanted anything to do with her, there was not a chance in any hell that Marc would allow her around him. He might even turn her in himself, he’ll probably regret saving her life after all. He might even carry out some of Khonshu’s vengeance, might just finish her off, make her pay for lying to Steven, lying to him, liar, liar, liar-

“I know I’m not alone-” There was shouting. But it wasn’t that of Harrow’s men, it wasn’t angered, it wasn’t an order. It was Steven. It was raw, wounded. “I know I’m bloody not alone. I’ve got Layla, and I’ve got Dove. She’s got my back more than you ever have, Marc,”

This was wrong. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially when Steven and Marc seemed to be at odds with one another, it seemed intimate, like watching family fight. But Steven sounded upset, god she hated that sound, he sounded like a dog backed into a corner, unsure, lashing out.

There was no verbal response as she stepped closer, one hand on the drape that acted as a door, preparing to call for him, ask him to tell her everything so she could just fix it for him.

“I appreciate your concern, mate, I really do-” Steven continued, a bite to his words she rarely heard, a snappy tone worlds away from the sweetness he addressed her with. This was violating his privacy, this was wrong, she needed to go in, needed to help him- “So what if I do? You and Layla are divorced, and I definitely didn’t sign any papers or say any vows. The way I see it, I love her and even if theres the smallest chance Dove feels the same way about me, I don’t want you being a grumpy git ruining it for me-”

Her eyes widened. I love her. He loved her? Her heart pounded behind her chest, far harder than anytime it had from fear, from anger, from guilt even. It consumed her lungs, swelling with a warmth that numbed her legs, her hand drawing back the flap to enter the tent.

She had to see him. Had to hear him say it for real.

He cut himself off hearing her enter the tent, his breath catching in his throat. He prayed for a second it was Layla, it would be so much less humiliating, less to explain if it were, though he was sure he was about as flushed as a school boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he spun on his heel to see her gobsmacked face staring back at him.

“D-Dove?” He spluttered, nearly knocking himself on his arse as he stepped back, practically falling away from her, the very sight of her burning him, “W-we were talking- just talk about-”

“Say it again,” She said quietly, yet it spun the room into a stifling silence of its own.

Steven breathed heavily, gasping for a breath that seemed to come too late as he felt his brow begin to sweat, his ribs rattling with a difficult sigh.

“I don’t-don’t know what-what you’re…” He hadn’t even the heart to finish his sentence as she stepped fully into the tent, the drape slipping over her shoulder fluidly, her eyes wild, desperate.

“Say it again, Steven,” She begged, and he could hear her laboured breaths about as hard for her as it was for him.

He gulped, his mouth becoming as dry as it was outside of this little bubble they were stuck in, bringing the cuff of his jumper up to swipe away the sweat that bunched up at his temple.

“Well, the thing is,” He started shakily. He had to tell her, rip the plaster off. He could only hope she would ever, could ever feel the same, even if he was enamoured with her and she just wanted him to entertain herself for a while, he could die happy. Even if she realised he really was the weirdo everyone at work avoided like the plague, he would live forever grateful to have been given a chance. He had to tell her, her eyes were too big, too warm to say no to, “See, the thing, love, is I think- no, I-I know, I-” He continued, his arms and legs numb with the shock of seeing her here, shock of what he was confessing after so long, “I love you,”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her mouth gaping open, showing off her teeth that blew a held breath past them, her chest rising and falling irregularly as they settled under the weight of his words.

“You don’t need to say anything- or do anything-” He carried on after she stared at him with a gobsmacked expression and he began to fear the worst, “or even feel the same-” He felt like an idiot, felt like his face, chest, body was on fire, “If you want to stay friends, that’s alright with m-”

It only took her two full strides before she had grabbed his face with a fervour she had only ever dreamt about and taken his lips onto her own, silencing his bumbling words hotly.

Her body melted against his, pressing up against every crevice as he gasped into her mouth, hands squeezing into nervous fists at his sides before they seemed to wake up and grab her hips, feeling the plush fat underneath her shirt.

He made a sound, somewhere between shock and joy, something that slipped into a whine as her fingers wove through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Wait-” He gasped in the small moment they broke apart, his eyes fluttering open to see her face more at peace, more blissed than he’d ever seen, “Dove-”

“More.” She mewled, her face scrunching in desperation, brows pulling together as if in pain to be parted.

It took little to no thought on his part what came next after hearing her plea. Steven had never been one to take control, never thought he would be kissing a woman with so much heat, let alone her.

He tugged her closer, harder than before, so sudden she all but fell into him where he was waiting with dry lips that pressed against hers so hard she could feel his teeth behind them. His hands wrapped around her waist, clawing at the bottom of her spine, fingertips pressing into her skin as if worried he’d feel her slip through them like sand.

She breathed heavier into his mouth, whining like a dog for affection, her fingers weaving further into his chocolate curls and squeezing.

He gave an open mouthed bleat of surprise as she bit down on his lip, his own hand migrating up, up under her shirt, following her bare spine, feeling every groove, every mole, every millimetre of skin with a fire that burned her with feverish tingles. He seemed to freeze when he got to her bra, as if to forget such things existed, because he really did forget where and who and what they were wearing, his mind entirely unravelled, shedding all thoughts other than her, her, her.

He didn’t care that her shirt rode up as his arm pushed on, blunt nails pawing at her skin, until they reached the base of her neck, further until he grabbed at the roots of her own hair. He didn’t care for the surprise in her yelp as he flipped the two of them around, pressing her against the post in the centre of the tent, the thick wood scratching at her back, his hand protecting her head as he kissed even harder.

“Steven-” Marc’s voice pulled him out of his paradise. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her, that she was letting him kiss her. He couldn’t believe the way she grabbed at him just as tight, as if she felt the same frenzied need for his body on hers that he did, as only shown by the way she tried to pull him back when he disconnected their lips, “Steven, stop it. Steven-”

“Steven-” She whined, and if there was any chance of him listening to the American man screaming at him from the mirror, the same mirror he had been in a heated row with when she had first entered, that flew out of the window the moment he heard her soft voice in his ear.

He was so sure he had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

“Steven, stop it. This isn’t safe.” Marc tried to command again, his voice a venomous hiss, thick with something sad, only Steven didn’t listen.

Instead, his lips migrated to the bottom of her lips, catching the corner of them, his hand in her hair tugging tighter as she whispered his name again, the laboured breaths rattling against her chest that pressed impossibly closer to him. His hand reached up past her head, ripping the mirror from the nail on the wooden beam, tossing it far enough away he barely heard the clink of the glass breaking into three pieces.

“What was that for?” She whispered, her breath catching when he moved further down her face, a nip to her jaw, before he reached the soft, velvety skin of her neck, the air sucking out of her at the point of contact.

“Marc talks too much,” Was all he said, before he dove into kissing her pulse point, the beat jackhammering against her plush skin, vibrating on his lips as he settled back into kissing the very soul out of her.

She gasped a laugh, right hand remaining in the thicket of his hair as the other detached to reach for the toned fat of his hip bone, the sensation making him groan, flinching as her fingers glided under his own shirt.

He was a man starved, kissing harder and harder with every whimper of approval he received, a note to not stop whatever it was he was doing if it meant she would keep sounding so heavenly.

He tensed as her hand moved over his stomach, feeling over the wear and tear scars he had always wondered how he got. Ofcourse, being who he was now, he knew they were from Marc running all over the world, risking his skin for a moon god they both despised, the same skin she stroked softly where they raised in ugly white lines from his stomach.

He wanted to say something clever, say something to make her laugh, maybe about how Marc wasn’t as good a fighter as he seemed, but his every brain cells vanished when her fingertip so much as traced the hem of his trousers, teasing him with a slight tug at the material.

He felt the cotton brush against where his boner crushed against his soft tummy, harder and more vulnerable than he had ever felt it. The months spent pining after this woman did him no favours, granted him no justice as he melted at the knees under her touch. He felt her smile, not cockily nor with any semblance of lust, just happy. Happy to have him so close, feel him pouring over her with an affection she never deserved.

Feeling no signs of rejection, she tugged at his hemline again, her fingers looping under his boxers this time, the sensation of the warm dusk air flooding his underwear and hitting his sensitive tip like a freight train, the feeling enough to rip him from kissing at her throat with a gasp, his forehead falling down to rest on her collarbone, eyes squeezed together in a near pained mewl.

“Love-” He murmured, hand still grabbing at the back of her locks, pulling tighter when she tugged his clothes again, exposing him for the briefest of seconds to the thick air they’d found themselves in, “You make it so hard to think when you do that,”

“Do what?” She asked, the innocence in her tone snuffed out by the lust twinkling in her eye as she looked to him, gaze bleary, face puffing out from the thrill of it all, her chest rising between the two of them, taking in enough air to sustain a bird mid-flight.

He smiled back at her, a look of adoration and pure, unbloodied happiness smothering his face as he leaned in to kiss her lips a few more times, each one a little braver than the last as he nibbled at her lips, albeit a little too excited. But she didn’t care, it only made her smile wider.

“I want you so badly,” He said, the tips of their noses meeting as his forehead pressed against hers, sharing each other's breaths as her eyes shut in a dizzy sweet glow.

“Have me,” She replied without a beat of hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips again, “I was always yours to have,”

If he thought he couldn’t get harder, he was sorely mistaken.

His stomach flurried with what felt like a sea of warmth that spread down to his legs, numbing his body as it crawled over his olive skin. He wanted to devour her with a hunger he had never known, wanted to commit every inch of skin to memory, wanted to kiss her until they both lost breath and then kiss her some more, even if his lips turned blue and his brain shut off from deprivation, because he was already feeling giddy from the taste of her alone.

“Really?” Steven asked, his nut brown eyes fat with puppy love, the hearts practically swirling in his gaze like a comic book, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Pictured a bed and candles and chocolates, the whole shebang,”

She giggled at his Steven-like ways that hadn’t faded away even when his lust was as clear as the boner that poked at her leg.

“The whole shebang?” She echoed with an amused smile, but the desire for more had yet to die out, “That sounds lovely, Steven, but there’s just one problem.”

“Which is?” He asked, the frown that flashed over his face smoothing out when he felt her kiss him again, a sharper bite to his lip than before, a harsher tug at his boxers to where she stood patiently waiting, her touch edging even closer to where he wanted her most.

“I want you now.” She whispered, trailing off into a whine, “Please,”

He stared at her with a slack jaw, only spurring her to kiss along the bone with a sweetness soft enough to rot teeth.

Pulling her hair back firm enough to move her away, not hard enough to hurt, he forced her back into his line of sight again, his eyes darker than she would have thought possible for a sweetheart like him.

“You ask me like that ever again and I’ll give you anything,”

A breathy laugh bled into a gasp as his hand released her head, moving down to her flowy trousers, the elastic waist giving in almost too easily as his large, warm hand skirted across the skin of her stomach, goosebumps chasing after the tips of his fingers as they brushed gently over her skin too quickly.

He wanted to kiss every spot of the velvety plushness he could get to, but he could save that for another day, instead he knew exactly where he wanted the most.

“Are you sure-”

“Please,” She whined, his fingers that lingered at her bare hipbone, freezing for a moment before they edged towards the lacey hem of her underwear.

The two of them gasped as his shaking hands went further, crossed the line in the sand, went further down. Steven was sure the air was sucked entirely from his lungs when he brushed over soft, neat hair, as if the feeling of it woke him up from whatever trance he was in.

“Oh my god,” He whispered against her cheek, nose pressed against her temple as she mewled under his palm, melting into where his other hand held her waist, “Oh god-”

He dared himself to go further, though he was sure his heart was in his throat. He could stake his life on waking up in his bed any second now, ankle tied up, a raging boner against his sleep shorts. This was too much for his poor, tender pulse, the sound of the thumps ringing loud as her voice in his ears.

Shaky hands ventured down, until they reached her waiting entrance, already soaked from where his kisses had weakened her insides, melting her into putty under his saccharine lips.

Fearing she would moan all the louder, her hands returned to his shoulder blade, looping under his arm that was busy trailing light touches over where her cunt waited patiently for more of him. She pulled his face back to hers, kissing him hard where she could groan comfortably, the sheer thrill and terror congealing in her gut if they were found in this position. It made her want him more, because no one had ever wanted her, her, so much as to risk their own life.

She felt herself squeak into his searing lips, a drawn out kiss that branded her for all to see, all to know that she was entirely his, when his index fingers curled up, exploring, mapping out what got the best reaction.

“You’re so-” He tried to say. Wet. But she had pulled him back for more the moment he tried to pull away, groaning as his digits slipped between her sex effortlessly.

It was then that he braved another finger, pushing just that bit further into her, still relatively unsure about what he was doing.

“You can go harder,” She seemed to sense his hesitation, but then why wouldn’t she. She knew him sometimes better than he knew himself. Read the exhilaration that faltered on his face as if as easy as flipping a page in a book, “You won’t hurt me,”

Steven nodded, the confirmation exactly what he needed to push his fingers into her further, eyes wild with lust as he watched her face contort in pleasure, her cushion walls squeezing his fingers tightly as he went deeper.

“Like that?” He said, the bite of her lip taking his attention wholly. He tried to hide the glee, the smugness in his tone as he said it, but when he pulled them out only to enter her again and she gave a mewl under her breath, his face was entirely cheshire cat.

“Yes,” She said, and he could have sworn it was something out of a dirty movie. Her face was something out of this world as he kept up with his movements, his mouth watering as her eyes flicked open to stare up at him, entirely at his mercy.

His breath was swept from him for the fourth time that day.

The thousands of years of faces passing this early, the sculptures and paintings even the greatest of hands had crafted, and yet it was his rough, tired digits that created the pinnacle of them all.

Feeling sure of himself with how his ministrations so far had been received, he pulled his fingers from her cunt, trailing back up gently to where he knew her clit would be. He fumbled for a moment, the spur of the moment confidence he’d found dwindling as he realised he was still as inexperienced as he had been the day before, that although he knew women’s anatomy, he had never actually touched a woman like he was now.

Again feeling him waver beneath her, his chocolate eyes dopey and pleading for help from anyone listening, she grabbed hold of his wrist and moved him to where she needed.

“Here, Steven,” She whispered, jolting into his chest when his warm digits met her sensitive nerves. She gave him a soft, loving smile and kissed his lips gently, not pitying but simply adoring his Steven-ness that she felt herself bathing in, felt his entire being shooing away every dark speck of dust that crowded her head too often these days.

“Here?” He asked, circling the small bundle gently, her head dropping to his shoulder with a knee weakened neediness. She drew a sharp breath, the bliss wiped from her face and met with a hot ecstasy, raw and soul sucking as he continued to kiss her cheek where her face buried into his neck more.

“There,” She moaned again, her fingers pulling harder at his hair, clawing at his back like an animal begging for mercy, “Fuck, Steven,”

It was muffled into his jacket, and yet the sound of his name said like that only had him pulling her closer, practically keeping her standing as her legs went to jelly, and he rubbed over her nerves faster, her arms shaking as she yanked at his clothes, his hair, anything she could hold onto.

“I love you so much,” He confessed into her hair; he just needed to say it again. If this, all of this, even without what they were doing, even if it meant he could hold her in his arms tight enough to hear her hummingbird heart against his for the rest of existence, he would die happy.

“I love you-I love you so much,” She returned in a needy whine that made him growl and move his fingers all the more faster. He pressed into her more, his cock raging against his seams to be inside her, to have her as much as she’d asked for, her body pressing harshly against the wooden post behind her as his legs straddled her thigh that shook weakly.

He was everywhere. His voice was in her ear, his chest was in her face, his scent was in her nose, his fingers were inside her, his hand tugged her even closer where it spread widely across her spine.

She felt it pooling in her stomach before she could put a name to it, her squeals and pants getting lost in his neck as he moaned with her, and she realised his own sex was pressing angrily against her, a problem that only made her cry out more, grab at him harder.

“Steven-I’m gonna-” She gasped, pressing her forehead to his jaw, “I’m gonna-”

If Steven wanted to say something, it seemed lost to his glazed eyes that watched her like a man on death row, took note of every facial feature as if he’d ever be able to forget how she looked when she came.

She felt the heat in her stomach fizzing up, felt the whole of her pelvis knotting together, her legs jittering as they fought to hold her up, Steven’s body taking the brunt of it as she all but fell into him, dragging his lips onto hers in a harsh, toothy kiss, her moans spilling onto his tongue, his fingers never halting or slowing in their circles.

“Fuck-” She cursed, the last of her pleasure seizing her body, ebbing and flowing away from her until the touch on her clit became too much and she grabbed his wrist desperately and pulled him away, “Steven,”

Fearing he had done it incorrectly, he pulled away as if burned, his free hand immediately freeing her waist to cup her cheek, eyes searching her face for signs of disappointment.

“Was that not it? Was that not right?” He whispered, face heating in regret, only to be met with a breathless smirk before she pulled him back towards her with a quick yank of his sweater.

She kissed him much sweeter this time, a worn out giggle weaving in between their lips, pulling away with dazed eyes that stared at him as if he’d handed her the entire universe in one go.

“That was perfect, Steven,” She said, pecking him again when he seemed unconvinced, “I’ve never been so happy as I am right now, here with you,”

“Neither have I,” He said, his gaze entirely dopey with love as he watched her breaths even out, lips twitching into a sweet smile as she stared back at him.

He wasn’t lying. He’d give her anything if she asked for it.

She seemed to snap out of their honey glazed daze, fingers fiddling with the somewhat softening pull at his trousers, her nail that had surprisingly not been mauled by her stress for a week or so, trailing over where his sensitive tip pressed at his leg, the sensation drawing in a breath from his chest once more.

“Wait,” He started, holding her wrist gently, pulling her hand up to his mouth where he gave her palm a gently kiss, “I want to just be here with you, we don’t have to do that,”

She smiled, though her eyes seemed incredulous that he would deny such an offer. She couldn’t say she was entirely surprised however, Steven had this way of proving her wrong about everything she worried he would be, had this way of making her feel ridiculous for ever expecting anything but softness from him.

“Don’t you want a turn?” She asked quietly, his nose brushing against hers gently as he shook his head, “I just want to make you happy,”

He pulled away then at those words, smiling at her disbelievingly, “If you think that didn’t make me happy, then you’re a very, very silly girl who needs convincing, I guess,”

Without giving her much room to reply, he grabbed her in for another searing kiss, before pressing small pecks all over her mouth sweetly.

“Don’t worry,” He said with a smirk and a mischievous twinkle in his otherwise soft brown eyes, “I’m more than happy to convince you over and over and over again once we get home,”

Her cheeks ached from the smile that grew at the thought of home, home for the two of them.

There was no place like home.

Taglists:

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant smut #Marc Spector smut #not safe for minors

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gataritoons · 1 year

Photo

mini-oc roundup since I only finished 4 characters in the last few months-

in order: Alabaster -> Mimosa -> Confetti -> Cinnamon

#ocs #original character #original characters #oc #alabaster knight #mimosa #confetti geburtstag #cinnamon

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renstardust · 2 years

Text

Daddy Lessons

Kylo Ren x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,103

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

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AO3 Link

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Kylo Ren was a patient man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ushar-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spoke up as her face paled. “Oh?”

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

A beat, then a deep chuckle.

“I see.”

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

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

“You are with child, Miss Ren.”

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

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

“…No.”

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

A beat. Then, a deep sigh.

“Okay.”

Three months passed by rather quickly.

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

A fetus that was half of him.

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

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

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

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

You felt…. beautiful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will. Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Oh?” Her eyes widened.

“You…you won’t tell him, right?”

Alaia gave you an empathetic look, shaking her head.

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

You nodded. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Get out. Now.”

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

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

“Master.”

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

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

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

Your body shook like a wet kitten.

“I-…I was going to-“

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

That, was precisely what made you snap.

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

“Watch it.”

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

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

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

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

Coming off of his head.

In front of you.

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

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

Kylo Ren was fucking unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I would’ve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ushar can wait.”

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

“I- um- ohhh…”

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

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

“A little dream, all for daddy?”

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

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

DATPD 08179:

Congratulations, Master.

We knew you could get it up.

Sent 17:36

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

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