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0vergrowngraveyard · 2 months

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The day had started pretty average all things considered.

Eggman had decided to attack yet another poor, defenseless village but at this point, that was pretty common (as depressing as it was to admit).

It was a peaceful little spot. The village was pretty small and had its own little beach a few miles away. Why the doctor had decided to attack this place out of any village on Mobius was beyond Sonic but hey, why question the bad doctor’s plans when he can just wreck them?

Which is exactly what he and his team, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy, were doing. Knuckles had decided to get off his island and pay everyone a visit for once in his life so when word got out about Eggman’s attack, Sonic had to bring him along.

Y’know, just for some fun.

The gang had managed to drive Eggman’s attention away from the village and solely onto them. Sonic, Knuckles, and Amy took care of the badniks on the ground while Tails handled a few of the larger flying ones in the Tornado.

At this point, they were just fighting on the beach. It wasn’t ideal for the hedgehog, but it was away from the village at least, and that’s all that mattered. He could begrudgingly sacrifice a bit of comfort in order to keep the people safe.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t audibly complain about it though.

“Why’d you have to choose a beach to fight at, Eggy? D’you know how hard it is to get good traction on sand?” He charge up a homing attack and shot through three buzzbombers, “Actually, now that I think about it, you probably wouldn’t!”

“Aren’t you the one who led us over here?” Knuckles asked, punching a hole straight through a badnik and tossing it into another one which exploded on impact.

“Maybe, but Eggman’s the one who attacked the village so it’s ultimately his fault!” Sonic responded. Knuckles couldn’t argue with that.

Amy slammed her hammer into the ground, a shockwave taking out at least six of the robots. “Is it just me, or are there a lot more badniks?”

Sonic paused and looked around.

Yeah, there were definitely more than usual, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle!

He pulled up his communicator, “Yo Tails! How’s it going up there?” He asked his brother. The Tornado was flying over the ocean, keeping a lot of the flying badniks away from the ground fight.

“Not too bad!” He pulled on the yoke, driving the plane upwards as two bots crashed into each other. “What about down there?”

“Easy peasy!” He pulled his hand away to spindash through a bot before continuing, “Though it doesn’t exactly reach lemon squeezy criteria.” He held back a snort as he heard the kit groan.

“You sound stupid, I hope you know that.” the fox said.

“I second that,” Knuckles added, “though I’m not entirely sure what this fight being simple has to do with peas or lemons.”

This time, Sonic did laugh, to which Amy spoke up about, “Leave him alone, Sonic. It’s just a saying, Knuckles!”

“Once again, your figures of speech make little sense. Why do they all involve food items?”

Sonic opened his mouth to quip back at the echidna when an explosion rang out, echoed in the communicator.

“As much as I’d love to participate in explaining Mobian phrases to Knuckles, things are getting a little dicey up here! I’ll talk later!” Tails said, performing some tricky maneuvering around a few bots as they exploded.

The Tornado had been getting further and further away from the shore.

“Alright bud! Be careful!” Sonic said, taking notice of how far the biplane had suddenly gotten.

“You too, guys!”

“Don’t know the meaning of the word, lil’ bro!” The hedgehog responded as he lowered his communicator, bringing his attention back to the fight at hand. He could almost hear the kit lecturing him about his hypocrisy from the biplane.

The fight on the ground went on for about 10 more minutes. The three had started making a game out of it. Who could throw/smack Sonic into the most badniks in a row? Amy ended up winning when she sent him flying through five badniks in a row croquette style. Her reward was bragging rights, of course.

As Sonic was recovering from being tossed around like a ball for the past few minutes, he decided to have a chat with the old doctor.

“Ayo, doc! You’ve been a little quiet!” He yelled out, “Is this a defeat silence or a disappointed silence or-“

“Quiet rodent. I’m waiting for the finale.” The doctor said, pressing a few buttons on his control panel and muttering something under his breath.

Sonic laughed as Knuckles and Amy walked up behind him, the former keeping his eyes on the Tornado as it was still fighting off a few of the bots.

Were they getting more aggressive?

“Finale? You mean when I knock you on your butt and—!”

(It all happened so fast.)

There was an explosion, a big explosion. It was loud enough to echo through the entire area (or had it just been amplified in his mind?).

He didn’t register Knuckles cry out and bolt towards the shoreline. He didn’t register Amy pulling up her communicator and screaming at the person on the other end to respond. He didn’t even register Eggman’s triumphant laugh as he said words the hedgehog couldn’t hear.

The world moved in slow motion as he turned his head towards the water just in time to see the flaming body of the Tornado crash into the ocean, sinking to its depths.

Time froze. The world around him muted. He stared at the spot the biplane had crashed.

(It happened too fast. Everything just needed to slow down.)

He couldn’t breathe. A suffocating sense of dread blindsided him, smothering him alive and he didn't have the strength to fight back. His heartbeat pounded in his ear and his legs itched to run.

To run away from the entire scene. To run and not look back because maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t look back, that would mean it never happened. That everything was fine. They would go back to the workshop later and bicker and have movie nights and play fights. They’d complain about one another’s habits and laugh together.

He’d lecture the kit about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and drag him to his bed. He’d tuck him in and the kit would later wander into his room after having a nightmare and the two brothers would snuggle up together, fighting off the bad dreams that tormented the little fox in his sleep.

That would all happen. It would. It had to.

It had to because if it didn’t, that would mean Tails was really…

Tails was…

(He just needed the world to slow down. Just this once. He wasn’t ready to catch up yet.)

He didn’t realize he had walked waist deep into the ocean with Amy having to hold him back. Knuckles had tried to swim to the wreckage but soon realized it was a fruitless endeavor.

The crash had been too far out.

There was no way to get to Tails.

All Sonic could do was stare out across the body of water he feared so intensely. It was a fear that was ingrained in him.

The ocean didn’t care about who or what was in its depths. If it wanted to keep you there, it would, and there wasn’t much you could do about it. Especially someone like him who sank instead of floated.

The dark depths were always out for him, wrapping its hands around him and tugging him further and further down whenever the opportunity made itself known. It was like the ocean was determined to make itself his final resting place. It joyfully filled his lungs with water and never allowed him up for air.

There was one person he could rely on to get to him before the water did. One person he knew that could fight off the thing keeping him down.

But that one person had just had his small body grabbed and dragged under by whatever malevolent force lived in those waters. Never to resurface.

It was as if the ocean was laughing at him. Annoyingly tapping at his waist with waves as if to say, “Hey, look what I just did. Did you see that?”

Of course he saw, how could he have missed it?

How could he miss the sight of the biplane he took with him from Christmas Island, the plane that allowed him to meet the kit in the first place, crashing in a flaming wreck and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, taking his little brother along with it?

The waters laughed at him.

They bragged about how they were the ones holding the kit instead of him. That their hands were running throughout the fox’s soft, golden fur, surrounding him in his final moments.

They teased him about how he’d never be able to hold him again. His hands itched with the feeling of his kit’s fur beneath them. He wanted to find him, to rescue him from his captor. Even if he was taking his final breaths, he wanted them to be in the arms of someone the fox trusted more than life itself. To tell his kid how much he loves him and how much he meant to all of them. That he would be missed.

But the kit was alone.

And that’s exactly how the ocean wanted it.

…

Knuckles didn’t know how much time had passed and frankly, he didn’t care.

He didn’t want to think about it because if the kit hadn’t gone quickly in the initial explosion, then the alternative would’ve taken time. Minutes he could’ve spent swimming to get to him. He should’ve been able to get to him. He was an incredibly fast swimmer, he should’ve been able to get out there.

As the seconds went by, the already cavernous pit in his stomach grew tenfold. He tried not to think about the fox kit who was alone in the cockpit of his beloved biplane, possibly conscious and just waiting for his time to come.

He didn’t want to think about the youngest — one of his first friends, someone he had grown to consider to be a younger brother just as the hedgehog had — in that scenario. It wasn’t right, not after all the kit had done for them.

He had managed to pull Sonic a little closer to the shore. The blue hedgehog had fallen to his knees, no longer being able to carry the weight of what just happened. It was haunting, the way he just stared at the horizon. Never in his life did he think he’d see the hedgehog in such a state of despair and defeat.

Then again, he never even began to imagine something like this happening. Not to Tails.

He pried his eyes off of the grief stricken big brother and looked beside him.

Amy wasn’t doing much better, her head was in her knees, fist clenched and body tense as she cried. She was sobbing her heart out. He could only imagine the thoughts going through her mind.

He looked at the sand in front of him and closed his eyes out of respect for the kit, a few tears he didn’t even know had formed slipped down his cheek. His mind flashed with memories of the fox kit, from the one of him first arriving to Angel Island with his hyperactive yet silent blue brother all the way to the call just a few moments ago.

It wasn’t right, they (Sonic) had just been teasing the echidna about his lack of knowledge for common Mobians phrases. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Why was there no heads up or warning? It was all so sudden and they didn’t even have time to process anything.

Knuckles knew it was foolish to question why people died, he was the last of his kind for crying out loud, he should be used to this.

Except he wasn’t. The kid may not have been an echidna, but he was still part of his tribe. His family. They all were.

And their tribe had just lost their youngest. Their little golden ball of sunshine. The kid who could brighten an entire area with his laughter and knock someone’s ego down several pegs at the same time. The kid he for the longest time just assumed was magical because of how skillful he was with machines, creating their communicators out of seemingly nothing just so they could stay in contact with each other. He created incredible defensive mechanisms and weapons just to keep people safe. He was only 8 years old.

He had done so much for them, and this was how they repaid him? How the world repaid him?

How dishonorable.

#fic #finally finished this holy shit #sorry not sorry #i think this might be the one time my inability to smoothly transition between plot points actually works-#talking about how sudden death can be and all #anyway #happy wednesday :)#i’m coming for you next marie #miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #unbreakable bond #the brothers ever #knuckles the echidna #amy rose #they’re a tribe your honor

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bonesandthebees · 10 months

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okay im typing this in my notes app but im reading burning gold

this is just going to be me screaming and going “i like this” so uh yeah enjoy!

THE TREES ARE WATCHING

also i didn’t read the summary or the tags i like to just go in blind (is this stupid? yes do i do it anyways? yes)

okay your descriptions are like heavenly they scratch an itch in my brain like idk the way you pick apart the world and describe it in a way that feels natural is just so eieisjwidj like i always have to take a moment to just read it and let it soak

TALLULAH MY BABY

wall of trees you say 🤨 that emoji is my fav it’s so silly

PEOPLE!

oh a machete! that’s my favorite way to greet people too!

CREEPER MINECRAFTS GRIM REAPER sorry it’s late

ive watched qsmp but habe not watched in a while so im just smiling and nodding as i figure out who these characters are i really gotta get back on that

WUALCIRYI wow way to go with the spelling there. what i meant to say was QUACKITY

WOAH! abandonment and theft that’s wild wilbur

one night stand you say 🤭 ive been using that emoji too much man

PHILZA MINECRAFT!

TILIN

wait why am i reading in silence where is my bg music

i have no clue what’s going on not for lack of the story but because i just zoned out

tallulah and eye contact so something about something yeah go me

AWKWARD EX SITUATION I LOVE PHIL

something something about the gold that was on those trees earlier right maybe something something can’t wait to figure out what is going on

tallulah is not like other girls that’s what im gathering she got that ichor blood presumably bc wilbjr is being dicey af

TOUR MY LITTLE MUSIC MAN

eye balls

GOOD PERSON WILBJR!

wilbjr come close you can tell me *puts ear as close to him as possible*

SHAKES HIM AGGRESSICELY TELL EM

TALLULAH IS INFECTED ISNT SHE

LEABE HER WITH THEM?? THAT IS MY CHILD SHE IS NOT GOING ANYJEUW THEY ARE MY FAV LITTLE PAIR

my darling lil girl infected but alive like a cool kid

OH!

haha how silly… how did that happen? HAHA!

GOLD EYES THE LITTLE CHILDRNE JUST LIKE MY DARLING TALLULAH

TJE tkost tiltin:( WOW MY SPELLING IS BAD IM SO SORRY

yay! happy ending! i love your worldbuilding it’s so aifiqjrjwjfjwdj this was great thank you for the serotonin

this was longer than intended my apologies

- 🪿

I've always thought aspen trees are super pretty but also extremely unsettling with the way their trunks look like they're covered in eyes. I knew I wanted the forest to be an aspen forest bc of how gorgeous aspen forests look in the fall with the contrast of the bright orange leaves and the white trunks, and I thought the eyes in the bark just lended itself super well to the idea of the trees 'watching' everyone around them

honestly going in blind can be very fun I hope it made the fic more enjoyable for you!!

aaa ty I loved playing around with the descriptions in this one shot

LMAO yeah there are a lot of qsmp people here who you might be confused by if you don't watch qsmp regularly or haven't seen it in a while

philza voice: I Know What You Are

I really enjoyed playing around with the foreshadowing and worldbuilding elements of this one. specifically with the gold by mentioning the tree covered in the stuff at the very beginning, but it not being properly discussed till later on. then the little hints that something's going on with tallulah but trying my best not to make it obvious until the very end. a lot of fun balancing aspects there lol

I'm so glad you enjoyed!! ty for giving your thoughts this was very fun for me to read :)

#ask #goose anon #burning gold

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xcertaindarkthingsx · 3 years

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make you mine

pairing: jealous!mando x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now as a healer and caretaker for the Child. one day, the Mandalorian needs your specific skills to help him catch a bounty, and needless the say he is NOT happy about it.

warnings: two idiots that don’t know they like each other, some fluff and yearning, a smidge of possessiveness/jealousy, canon-typical violence, swearing in basic and mando’a, brief mentions of unwanted touching, mentions of taking care of injuries/stitching and blood, SMUT 18+ (minors BEGONE), porn w/ plot i guess, thigh riding, finger sucking, grinding, a lil’ dirty talk (if i miss any just please let me know!)

word count: 7.6k (i’m soRRY)

a/n: WHEW OK so i originally wrote this for #dincember but because i suck at deadlines and take forever to write it just turned into something else. reader is a lil insecure but mando makes it all better (self-projection, anyone?) ummm, this is my first time writing for din AND my first time writing smut but i hope you guys like it! comments/likes/reblogs/feedback are completely welcome and much appreciated! i apologize if this is a mess kladjflkd but shoutout to @a-dorin and @princessxkenobi for being wonderful beta readers and helping me when i got stuck. i am planning on making this a two parter, so if you want to be added to my tag list let me know! if you prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here . mando’a translations at the end!

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

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Soft coos filled the air inside the Razor Crest as you desperately tried to rock the Child back to sleep. You were almost certain he was starting to get hungry, but you were out of snacks and Mando had told you not to leave the ship under any circumstances.

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no. Not odd. More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it. It had been quiet and awkward the first few months. He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt). But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence. It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up. You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut. How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad. It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now. He shook his head.

“Not yet. I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease. Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Complications?”

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily. “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back. Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued. “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information. I came back for you and the kid first. I know you guys must be hungry.”

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you. “I’ll get the pram ready.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town. It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale. You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender. Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion. On Mando’s end. Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you. “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“No. Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.

“Listen, Mando. This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.” The Weequay sighed. “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man. You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out. You were non-negotiable.

The bartender just shrugged. “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in. All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so. He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.

But Mando needed this, right? You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you. This was the least you could do for him. You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty. It was a lot of credits.

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself. “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room. “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

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The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.

The dress was too… everything. Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure. His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you. It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous. The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform. As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one. One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you. “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it. Good?

You gave him an exasperated look. “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid. You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this. And well, he tried. The whole way back to the ship, in fact. But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.

The reality was, Mando wanted you. He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception. And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get. He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him. And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well. The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Mando. Everything will be fine.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

The night had started well enough. After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside. He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you. You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze. The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose. Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him. His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business. The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention? You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours. Kriff, he had caught you staring. So much for subtle. Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering. With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was. An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche. You wanted to smack him for being so close.

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning. You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street. You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow. Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall. A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse. Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted. Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse. He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me. “You bi—”

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick. That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made. He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you. As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor. What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise. That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg. He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty. He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times. The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething. You could have sworn his hands were shaking.

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless. The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl. Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room. The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long. When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship. You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels. Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears. He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.

Worry bloomed in your chest. The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it. You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine. You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped. You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists. The tremble in his hands. Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me? I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine. “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways. Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red. But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.” He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly. Wh-why did he care so much? A lump had lodged itself into your throat. “Mando, I—I’m fine. Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure. “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again. You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work. Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel. The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream. You must have been freezing in that dress.

Your head snapped up at him. “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.

You couldn’t believe this idiot.

“Mando, seriously?” Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him. “I promise you I’m fine, thank you. Really.” You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one. “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind. His lips twitched under the helmet. “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared. “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache. Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child. A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel. The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand. Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit. “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray. I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.” You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you. You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work. Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it. “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged. “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.” You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound. It could have been worse, but it was still very deep. An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk. “You got lucky. Any higher and this would be a lot messier.” You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching. Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position. You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use. The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle. “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake. “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor. It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered. You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat. “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft. He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap. You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh. You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do. And so, you went to work.

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him. “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg. A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips. His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself. In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working. The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle. But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place. Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up. How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out. “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.” Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit. The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand. Regret began to bubble up inside him. He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it. Your next words caught him off guard.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did. There was no question about it. You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise. He took a steadying breath before answering. “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care. “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up. He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face. “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage. “My name. It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation. He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate. How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear. His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable. Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face. “I like it.”

I do too, he thought. Especially when you say it. “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.” For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile. You were the first to break it.

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”

You shook your head. “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again. “No, I… I would protect you every single time. Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine. Instead, you tried to change the subject. “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person. A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips. “You need to teach more Mando’a. Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him. “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din. You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now. It was endearing. The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping. “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors. You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest. May as well be honest.

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.

Din tilted his head, trying to understand. “Why?”

You scoffed. “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”

Din was dumbfounded. Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache. How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy? That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself. Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be. I—you are absolutely stunning. Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh. The front of his pants tightened in reminder. “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.” He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames. “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words. It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now. You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him. Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone. It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants. Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath. “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it. “Use your words, cyar’ika. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din. Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had. The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle. Desperate, but tender. Rough, but passionate and loving. The contrast was making your head spin.

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you? Make you mine?” He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach. He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that? Just like this?” You frantically bobbed your head. “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek. “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core. If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now. But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep. He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut. His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed. Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them. A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg. He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh. “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants. The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck. His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you. “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard. Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair. He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high. You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure. It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.

“Mesh’la,” he commanded. “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself. You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly. He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body. You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name. He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm. A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow. You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor. “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear. “Just like I said.”

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs. “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured. You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission. “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat. He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you. Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants. You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room. “We’ve got a problem. I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel. “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee. You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing. Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed. “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing. His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

thank you for reading! let me know what ya think!

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #make you mine #certaindark writing #the mandalorian smut #smut #AHHHH I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT #IDK HOW TO TAG LOL #I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS BUT IT’S FINE #din djarin x reader

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roanniom · 3 years

Note

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

#paper-n-ashes #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #Charlie Barber/reader #Charlie Barber/you #Charlie Barber fanfiction #Charlie Barber smut #marriage story fanfiction #Marriage Story smut #writing #smut #Roanniom #tw: unprotected sex #tw: choking

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days. I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

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kinkymagnus · 3 years

Text

hey speaking of convoluted roleplay, personally i like playing with truth serum. and look, i’ve got three modes with truth serum (maximum angst, tender fluff, and KINKY SHIT) and we’re just gonna stick with the third one for now so this isn’t ten years long.

so like you know classic fun fake power dynamics scenario like (damn now i’ve got the whole “mob boss” alec on the mind fuck) boss/secretary or maid or some shit, or the hero/villain shit i’ve had brewing for like a year, or the dragon/prince stuff i’ve had for longer, or whatever, the point is magnus is tied up and helpless and being “”made”” to take it, trying not to “break” as alec drags orgasm after orgasm from him, except at some point in all his cute “struggling” and weak “denials” of how he shouldn’t do this, alec casts a truth spell or gives him something and when he rubs the head of his cock at magnus’s wet pussy and teases him, asks him what he wants, magnus chokes out a please, please fill me with your cock, i want it so bad, and whines and begs for him all flushed cheeks and humiliation at being such a slut ;)

like this works in so many scenarios like magnus trying to get himself under control, or even to just make what he’s saying seem less desperate (”i need this” comes out as “i want this so badly”) and his face burning as alec whispers dirty things in his ear about what he could do to him and magnus can’t help the yeses and pleases that are torn from his lips, can’t help how he sobs out thank you, thank you, oh, fuck, when alec slides into him (and sure they slip up and magnus can’t help but whine i love you or fuck i’m so glad we did this but honestly it’s just another sweet reminder you know?)

and like even just in different specific roleplay scenes like. mob boss alec and lawyer magnus or even just you know in some way magnus getting bent over a big scary mobster’s desk and getting teased and examined and licked until he’s sobbing, told how pretty he is, pinning him down firmly so he can’t struggle or squirm away (there are many potential roleplay scenarios just specifically with mobster alec actually like. “paying off a debt” or “teaching him a lesson” lol) and then alec slaps his ass and asks him to say exactly what he wants and magnus tries to say whatever his “lines” are (you know like just let me go or i’ll pay you i swear or whatever you want to go with i don’t know) but instead all he can do is whine fuck me, please, make me cum on your cock and alec laughs at him and he’s embarrassed but so so wet??? amazing. or like alec “”threatening”” him you know but magnus is just like oh fuck i want you so bad i want you to pin me down and fuck me hard and alec’s like well i guess we could work out....an alternate arrangement ;)) (i picture these dorks not being incredibly good at those scenes bc they keep making cheesy puns or winking or slipping up with an i love you or a gentle kiss lmao but honestly it’s sweet and who cares about immersion when you’re having fun)

boss alec pinning his secretary or his maid against a wall and teasing him, rubbing his clit through the thin fabric of his skirt or slipping a hand under his shirt and magnus melting into it and wanting to kiss him so badly, like, alec bending him over the desk or taking him against the wall and when it kicks in magnus is just babbling about how much he loves alec’s cock and alec’s hands and alec and alec asks him if he’s a little whore and magnus Very Eagerly is like yes yes i’m a whore i’m your little slut sir and i mean alec just has to reward honesty, doesn’t he?

also idk why but i just imagined a sorta bad boy alec/nerdy magnus vibe? like. twi malec perhaps, and who knew “””shy””” nerdy lil magnus was such a kinky slut when you got to him open up a little? for some reason i’m imagining seelie magic in this one. lmao like this feels more au than roleplay (although it could just be REALLY lore heavy or some shit) but like they’re college students. alec’s a sexy Bad Boy with a cool leather jacket and magnus is like a quiet nerd but they go to some seelie party and truth shenanigans (magical truth or dare gone horribly wrong? just seelie pranks making the place of partying a no-lies zone, and then either magnus blurts something out or alec blurts something out or they hook up normally (magnus feeling Weirdly Bold, bonus if one of them did blurt something out because of the truth thing but didn’t realize) and then when they start hooking up they’re like “hm mayhaps something is up” lmao fuck idk

ANYWAY dragon alec pinning “”””””””innocent””””””””” prince(ess for some fun feminization kink perhaps?) magnus to his bed, exploring his body and stripping off his layers of clothes one by one, magnus helpless and loving it underneath him, all oh we shouldn’t, i shouldn’t, and half-protesting even as he sighs and melts into every touch and whines and shivers with pleasure, and like, hey, CONVOULTED ROLEPLAY WITH A STORYLINE, he’s supposed to be an ~innocent virgin~ or you know ~wait for his prince charming~ or whatever and here he is getting fucked and ruined by the dragon guarding his tower instead, letting a dragon kiss his tits and spread his legs and lick his clit and fill his cunt with that Big Dragon Dick which just adds to the whole humiliation, pretty “”innocent”” little princess lifting his skirts and begging a dragon to raw him hard) and then, you know, bing bang boom truth spell and suddenly all those little half-protests and bitten back whines of pleasure (what if someone sees? and i should call the guards and alec laughs all low like wouldn’t you like that, if your guards came in and saw you like this, saw me about to stuff your pretty cunt full--go ahead, sweetling, call the guards, we’ll give them a show--) morph into very loud slutty moans of pleasure and begging breathlessly for alec to do all sorts of filthy things and even magnus looks shocked at some of the things he’s saying

actually that was supposed to be mostly in character but there’s another fun part--obviously magnus consented to the truth whatever beforehand but this could also lead to him blurting out something even he didn’t expect (like, especially kinky/filthy and/or Soft(TM)) so it’s just like. magnus tied up, legs spread, face burning, pussy wet, having just let out a very long string of pleas for something incredibly explicit and dirty--i can’t think of a good example but like bonus if it’s twi magnus (bc u kno ;) ) and alec’s just like.....damn and magnus is like was that too much and alec is like no hold on i’m just taking notes babe

but really tho like even if he’s at that point a little too fucked out to notice or care, sometimes alec gets just the incredible pleasure to see magnus totally fucked out and shamelessly begging for alec to fuck him and call him a whore and spank him and edge him or whatever else and he’s just like 🥰 i love my husband 🥰

ALSO this one is a little more dicey but pandemonium/public sex? i imagine it’d have to be a controlled crowd bc, you know, truth serum, but like, magnus getting fucked nice and hard and babbling all these sexy whiny desperate things????? in front of everyone??? (bonus actually if it’s more of like. an area thing, or if alec had some too--this wouldn’t work for all of the scenarios probably but also magnus losing his mind and getting the living daylights fucked out of him all while alec is whispering just like. the softest validation in his ear and he literally Knows it’s true? good.)

speaking of the whole knowing it’s true part that in particular makes it very hot for alec like magnus is babbling and whining so much about wanting alec so bad, wanting alec to do all these filthy things to him, and like, a) validation, magnus wants him This Bad, b) consent sexy and knowing just how much magnus likes it when he bends him over and spanks him and pins him down and makes him cry with pleasure? good. c) again just Hot like all these things he’s saying he a hundred percent means and it’s not that he doesn’t other times but there’s something really good about knowing magnus literally can’t lie and is one hundred percent not holding back and he’s just begging for alec’s cock :)

i have so many thoughts on truth serum, even just this like, one third of the categories i have for truth serum ideas lmao

#dlfgdfg yeah lots of air quotes oops.#trans magnus smut #also consider.... dragon alec 'catching' magnus #just saying

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

Tattoo Party

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes and I talked about this a long time ago but I'm finally writing it. 💕 oneshot.

"Mane, I'm sweating! My face feel hot like my makeup melting off. Do I look shiny?"

"You glowing li-"

"You look like Rudolph, bitch," Moriah yells over the music, cutting Jainayah off.

"I asked Jainayah, patchy. I already know I look fuckin shiny," I yell back, irritated. Moriah ass mouthy as usual. That's why she got a bigass white bandage on her arm. Who gets tattoos at a house party? "It feel like my glue sweating off like my lace lifting right here," I point tilting my head to Jainayah who looks closely but their crossfaded asses can't and ain't trying to really see shit. "Where the bathroom at."

"Ask one of Viche boys," Moriah yells, turning to drop with her hands on her knees to whine.

The house ain't but so big. Turning, I'm bumped by the wide back of this tall nigga whose just backed into me while getting whined on. "Move out the way!" I have to push his big ass up off of me because he's acting like I'm not standing here. "Move. Move!"

All these funky ass people up in the way. I'm upset now. I'm already hot and tired and I have to push past them because they still tryna dance. Somebody perfume smell good as fuck but I also smell somebody ass right now, I just don't know whose.

I poke my head into the kitchen and there's about four women and three niggas there congregating around the liquor.

"Where is the bathroom," I ask to no one in particular but one guy with a sandy blonde fro hawk points behind me, red cup in his other hand.

"Back down that hall, first door is a closet. Second door is a bathroom."

"Say no more."

The music is loud as hell now that I'm not dancing to it and I know.. I KNOW I was just over there for five songs throwing ass, but whoever owns this house is acting like they don't have neighbors when the houses are close together, like almost connecting. There are like ten different neighbors who could be opps itchin to bust some shit and people are all throughout this house! In the kitchen with the liquor... and out on the lil side deck playing pool and beer pong.

"I'm in here," a muffled voice yells through the bathroom door when I knock. The toilet flushes twice and suddenly I don't want to go in there.

"Who doing tattoos," a girl asks and when I turn back she's talking to a girl with a white bandage over her boob under her clavicle.

"It's this fine nigga," she gushes brushing her fingers lightly over the bandage.

"Hurry up," I sigh knocking on the bathroom door. There's another flush. Tapping my foot, I look down at my glittery silver strappy heels. I could've saved these shoes, but I thought I'd see someone fine tonight. Maybe I'll see what this tattoo artistè look like.

"Move," I warn pushing between two bitches to make my way upstairs. It smells like boodussy and weed.. But I want some weed though.

There are like ten guys and three girls in a bedroom room playing GTA with a bigass dresser mirror on the wall. A few look up when I walk in but then their attention is back on the game and they're talking. There's a joint sitting on a dish on the dresser that no one's smoking. Pulling a kleenex from my bag, I blot my face and trash the brown tissue before checking the perimeter of my lacefront to make sure it's still laying. "You're welcome," I point after spritzing ten pumps of A Thousand Wishes in the air to take away some of the smell. A few snickers and a thumbs up. Mhm. I snatch the joint from the dish and put it in my bag since no one's paying attention and walk out with a case of the giggles.

Ah shit, someone done started playing City Girlz downstairs and I'm missing it. I start to head back down, already dancing, but there's another room and I'm nosey so I fix my jacket and I walk in.

Shit, they weren't lying. The boy is cute all focused with his thick ass fingers holding that tattoo machine. His hand is steady but what the hell is he doing.. the tattoo look ghetto as hell.

The girl in the black chair with her arm out looks up and I walk over being nosier still. Her eyes are red as fuck and her arm bleeding like she got water in her blood. The words ain't even lined up right and he wrote "The Moon." Maybe that's what her drunk ass wanted.

"Um, did you ask for 'The Moon' to be put on your arm," I ask earning a look from the artist. He want me to shut up.

"Yeah, I like looking at the moon so I wanted it on my arm," she replies eyes closed.

"Oh you got 'The Moon' on your arm alright." She gone be mad when she sober up and see that shit. He smears petroleum jelly over it and tapes a white bandage to cover it before popping his lips at me. "You ain't shit," I mumble.

"$80 cutie." He smiles, gold slugs showing on his bottom canines.

"Oh shit, here you go," the girl blinks scrambling to pull her money together. She hands him 3 twenties and 3 tens. I almost tell her.

"Thank you sweetie," he nods kissing her hand before pocketing the money. I wait for her drunk ass to find her way out the door before I speak again.

"Sir, you're a crook. Oughtta be ashamed of yourself."

"I'll give you $20 to not say nothing," he smirks.

"Hell nah, someone need to say something! Do you even know what you doing or you just been in here bullshittin all night?"

"I'll give you $50."

"$50 plus $5 off each tattoo I get to watch cuz this shit funny as hell."

"Who's the bastard now," he smirks. "Deal."

Sitting on the bed next to his chair, I can see he has a tattoo on the back of his thick neck. It's black roman numerals and they look clean.

"Who did your tattoos I know it wasn't you."

"Hell nah, I get my shit done professionally."

"Wow so you really don't know what you're doing?" Who let him do this?!

"You gone turn down money," he turns to ask with eye contact. "I got tuition to pay for."

Oh shit, college boy.

"Who hired you, Viche?" Viche was dicey as fuck anyway.

"None other," he smiles, arms out.

"Mm." Yeah that made sense. Long as it was money, Viche ain't give a fuck. He was making a profit.

"Yo?" He looks toward the door at another girl who saunters to the chair before him.

"Thasyo bitch?" She slurs pointing at me and he speaks up.

"She getting tatted. She thinking right now, what you getting pretty girl?"

"Ha," she smiles, tongue out. "You is fine as hell.. Okay so I want.. my bellybutton pierced.."

Not here, sis, I wanna laugh.

"..And.. a black butterfly on my shoulder.. right here." Removing her arm and shoulder from her shirt, she pulls down her bra strap flashing her nipple before covering it. She points to the back of her shoulder.

"Right here," he asks scooting closer to touch her shoulder.

"That's my titty," she giggles and he pulls his hidden hand back. Perverted mothafucka.

"My bad, my bad," he says with a chuckle in his voice but she definitely does not mind.

"Uggh," I groan and he looks back with a smirk.

"You good?"

"Mhm."

"Aight so the tat would be 80 and the piercing 10. That cool? I bumped off 20 since you so fuckin cute."

No the fuck he didn't, I wanna screech. He is such a damn liar, but her drunk ass starts giggling again.

"You gone change your gloves," I whisper. Immediately, he removes his gloves but doesn't put any new ones on. He must not have any.

I watch him start with the piercing expecting a piercing gun. The nigga pulls out a safety pin and burns the poin with a cigarette lighter. I have to stand up and walk to the door to keep myself together because I almost scream.

"What the fuck is that," the girl whines, her pitch high in question. That's what I wanted to ask!

"The guns are great to use when you're piercing someone sober, but I find this original and basic method is best when working on someone inebriated. There's less force, less bleeding, and it's just more sanitary. Little trick anyone would tell you."

"Oh okay." She raises her shirt exposing her bellybutton and I almost have a stroke. He rubs his index over her stomach slowly before wiping her bellybutton with alcohol on a cottonball.

"Get me a piece of ice out that cooler," he says nodding to the blue drink cooler in the room. I start to say get it yourself but I'm curious to see what all is in this cooler.

Beer is in the damn cooler sitting on the ice. Ghetto as hell! Grabbing a wet cube, I hand it to him and wipe my hand on the back of his t-shirt. He doesn't seem to care. He holds the ice on her bellybutton for a few moments and lines the needle up with where it's going through on her skin.

"You ready?"

"I'm scared."

"Poor baby, I'll make it quick. I'll count from 6.. 5.. 4," his lips peck hers briefly and her jaw drops. "3," he pushes the needle. "You got a belly ring to put in this?"

"I thought you had some.."

"Nah, I just pierce.. uh.. that's okay put your earring in it until you get your belly ring. It works the same and you don't want this to close or get infected. Let my wipe it with the alcohol."

She hands him her gold hoop and he wipes it along with her bellybutton. She hisses as he puts the earing through the new hole.

"Make sure you don't forget.. get a real belly ring okay?"

"Okay," she repeats.

"The tattoo," I remind wanting my cut. He licks his lips hiding a laugh and picks up his machine to change the needle.

I watch him etch a blacked out butterfly onto her shoulder and it actually doesn't look that bad, but I could've done it. When she stands and looks over her shoulder in the mirror, she's smiling until she looks closer. Her smile slowly drops as she frowns.

"I don't like it," her face scrunches.

"It's what you asked for. You ain't show me a picture," he shrugs.

"I'm not paying for this shit!"

"The fuck you ain't. I did the work, now run me my money.. Lock the door," he nods to me. I blink before getting up to lock the door. Technically he did give her what she asked for.

"I'm getting my money," he chuckles turning the tattoo machine on again. His eyes meet hers with a threat. "Gimme my money and you won't walk outta here with a dick on your forehead. I'll hold you down and that shit right over your eyebrows."

"I'm telling my boyfriend," she threatens. "He downstairs and he gone kick ya ass when I tell him about this."

"Tell him entrance into this room is $80 and he can get a dick on his forehead too, call it bae goals."

I can't hold it anymore, I squeal and he chuckles as the girl throws the cash at him. Bending, he picks up from the floor. "You short $20. Find it if you don't want 2 tats tonight," he says gesturing to his forehead. It's so petty. She digs out $20 more and throws it. It doesn't go far, floating to her feet. He walks over and picks it up stuffing it in his pocket. "Thanks. Open the door," he nods.

I do and step back as she storms out flying down the stairs. It's bout to be some shit, I can foresee it.

"I hope you can fight," I say to him as he sits back down in his seat. He looks unbothered, wiping down the machine.

"I gotta give this shit back to Frank at the end of the night."

Who Frank is, I don't know.

"How much you rent it for?"

"Rent? I borrowed it. He just don't know it yet. I'm a have it back to him tonight though."

"Oh my g-.... CROOK."

"Entrepreneur," he smirks turning his attention to the door as this tall ass nigga walks in. "Can I help you?"

The last girl comes back in with her arm still out of her shirt as the nigga spins her to point at the tattoo.

"What is this shit? I'm a fuck ya ass up," he yells, squaring up. Charging at tattoo guy, he swings and connects but gets socked in the neck and crumbles.

"Pressure points nigga. Now I told your bitch $80 if you walk yo ass up in here so you must've wanted to pay me."

"RONDALOUS. YOU OKAY," the girl yells almost causing me to plug my ears. She's trying to help her man to his feet.

Tattoo guy grips her forehead and brings his tattoo machine to a buzz and she hops back.

My breath is stolen.

He's then able to go through the nigga's pockets taking the open pack of Extra gum and the $80.

"Thank you, come again," he mumbles dismissively before heading to the cooler for a beer. Drinking gulp, he pours some on the guy's face waking him up with a start before drinking some more. "Get the fuck out."

Once they're gone, I take a long look at this tattoo man. "Who the fuck are you?"

He chuckles with another sip. "Name's Erik."

"Erik you must have a death wish. When these people sober up-"

"I'm a be long gone, sweetheart. I don't live near here," he shrugs with a grin. "Finna get my ass up out of here now."

"Lemme go witchu, I'm bored."

"Hell nah," he snorts. "I'll give you your cut but my ass is outta here." Bending, he starts to gather all his shit.

"Nah, you taking me with you," I say snatching his beer and freeing his hand. "And you dropping me off at home or else.. I'm snatching bandages in this party and exposing."

"Shit," he sighs humored. He pulls car keys from his pocket. "If you was scrubbin and needed a ride home you could've asked, Left Eye. But you owe me gas money."

"I don't owe you shit," I laugh on my way out the door following him. On the way out the house I see Jainayah drinking out a red cup in her own little world. I see Moriah through the glass and she's outside. I know she's gonna be pissed when she sees that shit she got etched on her tomorrow.

"Let's go," Erik mouths turning back and with a tickled smirk, I follow him out.

#original #tattoo party #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger imagine #erik x oc

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psychodelic-insomnomaniac · 4 years

Note

Oh dear, if Giorno is a shiny and just a wee lil level 2 bab, the gang are going to have to fend off quite a few trainers who want to capture Giorno for their own collection. I have a friend who would kill for a shiny Roserade, he loves grass types.

Yeah, the Bucci gang is a lot more blasé about getting near trainers than Giorno has been. Their territory is far away from anywhere humans frequent, but they wander near humans pretty casually.

As I’m imagining it, there’s generally something of an agreement between trainers and wild Pokemon. The Pokemon that jump out at trainers are Pokemon that wouldn’t mind having a trainer. They make the trainer prove their worth, sure, but they’re into the idea of having a trainer. The Pokemon with no interest in having a trainer just don’t interact with passing humans, and the general agreement is that both parties will ignore each other.

This works perfectly fine for most Pokemon, but when it comes to more rare Pokemon, things get dicey. Sometimes, trainers are so determined to have a certain Pokemon in their possession that they’ll completely disregard the agreement, and try to catch the Pokemon anyway, even if that Pokemon doesn’t want to be caught.

Giorno’s just been avoiding humans in general, because he knows they can be nasty and he wants no part of it. He’s been staying in places humans don’t go, so he hasn’t had much issue in that area before. Now that he’s with the gang, though, they’ve been encouraging him to branch out a little. They know it’s not healthy to just hole up and hide all the time, so they try to take him for walks. Other Pokemon won’t bother them too much, because it’s just not worth it, so that’s not an issue.

None of the Bucci gang really understands the concept of shiny Pokemon, though. They all realize that Giorno’s coloration is different, but it’s just kind of a “huh, cool” type thing. They have no idea that that sort of thing is a huge deal for trainers, so imagine their surprise when they run into a trainer that won’t take no for an answer.

Bruno and Mista, who are the ones walking with little Budew Gio, are really confused. They keep trying to politely signal that they’re not interested (usually conveyed by making a point of looking away and refusing to engage), but this human won’t stop chucking Pokeballs at Giorno, and it’s really stressing the poor guy out. The human also keeps trying to get its Leavanny to attack them, but thankfully, the Leavanny doesn't seem to have inherited her trainer’s poor manners, and understands the common courtesy of not fighting Pokemon who don’t want to fight.

They keep trying to be polite about it. Bruno greatly values diplomacy, and generally just tries to assume the best in people. Perhaps this trainer was never taught the proper etiquette. The Leavanny, who introduced herself as Silkie, was certainly very polite, and kept apologizing for her trainer’s behavior, so Bruno certainly had no quarrel with her.

The problem was, though, Bruno was an empath, and poor Giorno was clearly freaked out by this human’s relentlessness. The Budew’s distress was seriously starting to stress out Bruno, too, and that was making it quite a bit harder for him to keep his cool with this human that keeps. following them.

He can also feel the human’s frustration, but he doesn’t sympathize. He understands that it could be annoying for a trainer to be unable to catch a Pokemon, and he’s still holding out hope that this trainer is simply ignorant rather than malicious, but really, he doesn’t know how they could possibly make it any clearer that they aren’t interested here.

The breaking point comes when the human finally gave up on the Pokeballs, and instead did something Bruno had never seen a human try to do before and lunge toward them, trying to just grab Giorno with its bare hands. The sound of Giorno’s terrified squeak, combined with the startled yip Mista let out when the human nearly trampled him to get to the Budew behind him, finally made Bruno snap. He was a male Meowstic, after all, and they were defensive of their loved ones to the core.

With a quick apologetic glance toward the horrified looking Leavanny, Bruno exploded, lifting his ears to blast the errant human away from his packmates with considerable force. Non-lethal, of course, but still enough that that trainer was going to have quite a few bruises. He scooped Giorno up into his arms and hissed toward the collapsed trainer, just to drive the point home. The three of them made their way back to their territory, Bruno muttering under his breath all the while about the *nerve* of some people.

#jjba pokemon #GioGio's Budew Adventure

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writingjusttowrite8 · 5 years

Text

Keeping Warm (Tom Hiddleston One-Shot)

Hi friends! So, I’ve been in a bit of a writing lull lately, and I wanted to work on a couple ideas just to get out of it. So naturally, a two-paragraph idea of mine stretched into a 5K fic...

All I can say about this is that I am both v cold and v horny, and this is the product of the collaboration! Also the gif below is kinda what inspired this, but it’s just a supplement. Just a fun lil smut fest to enjoy during this polar vortex. Please enjoy! Any feedback is always appreciated!

You can also read this on AO3!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Smut, Sharing a Bed, Friends to Lovers, Sharing Body Heat, Porn with Feelings, Dry Humping, inordinate amount of shaking, because of the cold and also the smut, slight d/s if you squint real hard, Aftercare, Making Out, Biting, it gets a lil dicey but this is mostly just real intense sex with the thought of other darker stuff, enjoy!

Hot shower, warm tea, and toasty bed.

It’s all I could think about all day. In fact, it was just about the only thing getting me through the day at all. I repeated the mantra in my head.

Hot shower, warm tea, and toasty bed.

I finish this scene, then I get a whole three days off and I’m going to kick it off with the three best thing’s on earth. A hot shower, a warm tea, and the toasty-est of beds. Bless.

“You’re thinking about being warm again, aren’t you?” My co-star asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at him on top of the snow embankment. Tom Hiddleston, one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, was staring down at me like I was a helpless little kitten, all while looking like the freezing temperatures were barely even fazing him. A posh, charming, intelligent, upstanding British lad who was capable of looking like a Vogue model in the worst of circumstances; typical.

“Well, I figure if I can’t actually be warm, I can at least think about it. Serendipity, or whatever…” I mumble through my near frozen lips.

“Synchronicity, actually,” Tom corrects me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “So, I take it you’re not going home for the long weekend?” He asks. I shrug.

“Three days isn’t long enough. I’d spend most of it traveling anyways,” I wasn’t sad about not being able to go home, but I was sad that I’d be kept from the heat of southern California. “I have a plan, actually. Spend the entire weekend in my warm cocoon. I even stocked up on groceries so that I wouldn’t have to leave. What about you? headed back to jolly ol’ London?” I asked.

“Nah, it’ll either be just as cold there or even colder. Why travel all that way for more snow,” He says, and I nod in agreement. “Seems like we’ll be the only two poor souls shacked up here this weekend. We should do something together, babe.”

His proposition and term of endearment make me blush, warming my cheeks, and I’m almost grateful. Tom was a flirt. Polite teasing was his superpower, I’m sure of it. And honestly, who could resist him? He radiated such intense vibes that made anyone within a 10ft radius swoon.

“For sure, but you’ll have to come to my place. Once I’m inside, I will not be touching any of the snow until I’m contractually obligated,” I stated, making him giggle. Good god… a grown man shouldn’t be able to giggle that adorably.

“Of course babe; I’d track through the snow all day to get to you,” He teased. He smiled sweetly, but there was a darkness to his look that made me shiver. Or that could have just been the wind that picked up. I smiled and rolled my eyes at him. This is just his way of teasing… I think.

Hot Shower: check.

Warm Tea: check.

Toasty Bed: about to be blessedly checked off.

I moved quickly around my room, getting everything I needed for my little cocoon. Once I got in bed and away from the cold that was somehow seeping into my little space, I wasn’t getting out of it until kingdom come.

I had my Netflix show to watch, my snacks, my books, glasses, glasses cleaner, extra blankets all prepped. I took a deep breath, allowing myself the momentary bliss of this weekend to wash over me. I was finally going to be warm.

But my momentary bliss was just that: momentary.

Cccccrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnccccckkkkkkkkkkkk

The heater in my room shook and rattled a minute. I stood deathly still, afraid any movement would scare it.

Ccccccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk- PPPPppppfffffffffttt-

Oh fuck me.

I approached it slowly, with a feeling of imminent dread tailing right behind me. I got up to the little screen, looked at it’s dead, blank face, and gently touched it.

A few touches; pressing the power button seven thousand times in four seconds; tapping the screen the same amount.

A few bangs that did more harm to my wrist than anything else.

Any attempt I made at this point was futile; my heater was gone. And with it? My spirit.

Hot shower, warm tea, and toasty bed. Close, but no cigar.

I paced the room for a minute. Could I call the maintenance guy? Would the nice, middle-aged, maintenance guy, with a warm house miles from here, come to me in this blizzard? Could I even ask that of him?

No; I may be cold, but my heart hasn’t frozen solid… yet.

The only person I know for sure is still here is Tom. Oh good god.

It would be so easy to call him and ask for help if I weren’t so helplessly attracted to him. Hell, I’d probably be okay as long as he didn’t call me babe, the term of endearment that meant eternal blushing on my part.

I need to suck it up an call him. Tom is one of, if not the, nicest people I’ve met. He’d help, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. But it’s the how he would help that made my insides shake a bit. Would he come here to help me fix it? Would he say ‘damn it all to hell’ and make it worse? Would he just invite me over to his place? Could I even survive that? I chewed on my lip for longer than I’d like to admit, nervously prepping what I was going to say to him.

How do I ask a guy to come fix my heater without sounding like I’m in a bad porno?

Short answer: I can’t.

Long answer: the person picks up the phone and I immediately babble on about how sorry I am to disturb him, but that he’s the only person I could think of, and end on “basically I just really need you to fix my heat.”

Good job me. I’ll be thinking about that conversation every night while I lie awake for the next fifty years.

“I’m sorry, darling, are you propositioning me?” Tom asks. His tone was teasing, but it made me blush nonetheless.

“My heater broke and I’m just worried I’ll freeze to death. I don’t know what to do…” I didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, but I definitely felt it.

“Oh, okay,” Tom could sense my desperation, and shifted his tone. Ever the gentleman. “Why don’t you come to my place? I’ve got heat and a warm bed. I’d offer to help you fix the heater, but I’m afraid I’d only make it worse. I’d rather not like to assist in freezing you to death, babe.”

Ugh, that word again.

“Are you sure I could come over? I mean, I don’t want to put you out or anything,” I said.

“Nonsense. I was the one who suggested we get together anyway. This is just an advance in the plan. Please, babe, come over. I’ll be worried sick about you if you don’t. It’s pretty bad out there and I’m from the UK,” Tom said with a light laugh. I found it in myself to laugh too.

“Okay, I’ll head over. If you see a large, fleece-blanked mass lying unresponsive in the snow, just know that it’s probably me,” I joked, only half-heartedly.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Tom said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

Nearly seven layers of coats, two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, and the fluffiest gloves in the known universe, and I still felt like a popsicle when I arrived at Tom’s door. He really must have been looking out for me, because he was pulling me inside before I could even knock. As he helped me peel back the many layers I’d covered myself in, I could hear his laughter.

“I don’t think I realized just how deathly afraid you are of the cold. You look like you’ve just returned from climbing Mount Everest!” Tom laughed. I shivered in response, and just pure instinct, and shed until I was in a normal amount of clothes.

“Thank you again… I’m so sorry to bring this on you,” I said. I meant it too. I felt sick imposing myself on him like this. It might of been a bit of selfish guilt, thinking back to all the times I imagined him… intimately. Not that he would ever know that, but it still make the hairs on the back of my neck prick up.

“Don’t be silly,” Tom said, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to warm me up, “You need heat; I am in a position to give it to you. I can’t think of anyone else in the world I’d rather be keeping warm with.” I didn’t know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if he really did wink.

I gulped.

Oh, this is going to be a long night.

“There is one thing that I didn’t mention on the phone… I don’t have a couch or anything else to sleep on really. I’d offer but the bed is the only thing I got,” Tom said, gesturing to the gigantic bed taking up nearly 50% of the room. “I don’t have anything against sharing if you don’t,” Tom finished. He scratched behind his neck, sheepishly looking little guilty.

I gulped again.

“Sharing is, ugh, good- sharing is good. I’m happy to share,” I said. I gratefully stopped myself from giving a thumbs up before my body receded into total and complete mortification.

“Good! Well, the bathrooms right in there if you want to change or anything,” Tom said, eyeing me up and down.

The final layer I was wearing and now standing in front of Tom in, was what I was planning to sleep in anyways. I had wished I’d donned a bra before heading over. But that would have taken cognitive brain function, and any time Tom Hiddleston in involved, I didn’t have that.

“I’m just going to go brush my teeth. Thanks,” I said, before grabbing my bag and going to the bathroom. I saw Tom pull the covers back as I went it.

I also caught a glimpse of him checking me out again in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

I wondered how long I could use the cold as a reason my skin was so flushed.

When I got back out, after a good five minutes of deep breaths and calming mantras, Tom was already under the covers. The lights were out, so I had to feel my way around to the bed, praying that I didn’t bump into anything unexpectedly. Or anyone, for that matter.

I climbed tentatively under the covers, letting out a grunt of relief when I felt how warm it was underneath. I quickly pulled the covers up to my chin and turned onto my side. I stayed on the far edge of the bed, not sure of what to do. Would this turn into a cuddle session? Would we wind up with our backs pressed against each other? Would he even touch me?

His deep voice snapped me from my thoughts.

“It’s warmer near me, you know,” Tom whispered. I bit my lip, refusing to turn over.

“I didn’t know how close you wanted me to get,” I said.

“Oh don’t be daft,” I felt his arm grab onto my waist and pull me over towards the center of the bed; to his body. “You’ll get warmer quicker.”

I moved my body towards him so that I could feel his chest brush against my back. Despite our new proximity, my teeth were still chattering. This time, Tom didn’t give me a verbal warning. Instead, he wrapped his arm around my core and shoved my back to his chest. It was much warmer, undoubtedly, and I could feel his breath next to my head.

“’s alright?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly. Any more verbal communications and he would hear how out of breath I was, just by his touch. Instead, I put my arm over his, holding on his wrist.

I really tried to relax. To just drift off in a warm, comfortable environment, but sleep alluded me. Normally, I toss, turn and squirm until I find the right position, but that wasn’t an option. I could feel every inch of myself pressed into Tom. His thudding heartbeat against my back, his shins resting near mine, his arm holding onto my stomach. But most importantly; I could feel my ass pressed into his crotch. Any squirming I did would press against his crotch and would defiantly cross a line.

I cursed myself for thinking about that particular aspect at the moment. It would be truly horrific if I got turned on in this position, while Tom peacefully sleeps behind me. I sent that message directly from my nipples, which were already started to grow stiff.

I focused on my breathing and not the hot, giant of a man sleeping practically on me. That was until I felt… him.

At first, I thought it was my mind. Dirty thoughts lead to dirtier thoughts, so obviously my mind is just in the gutter, right? Then, I felt a twitch. It wasn’t particularly incessant, but it was there. As the minutes ticked by, I could feel his cock stiffen against my ass. I gulped and tried to settle my heart rate.

“Sorry,” Tom mumbled, “I don’t mean to… pester you,” I wanted to laugh at his choice of words, but my anxiety kept me in check.

“It’s okay…” I said, barely audible. “Honestly it’s kind of impressive, considering how cold it is.” I wanted to make him feel better if he was embarrassed, but that was challenging.

“You’re perky little ass is keeping me nice and warm. Don’t sell yourself too short,” He laughed lightly. I attempted to push myself closer to him, to get more warmth, but I ended up pressing myself further into his crotch.

Fucking perfect. I stilled immediately

“Women are lucky with that” Tom started, clearing his voice a bit, “that their arousal is less evident.” He said into my hair. His voice was closer now, making me gulp and giving me perhaps a bit of courage.

“That’s not necessarily true,” I said. I wrapped my hand around the top of his and pulled up. His giant palm drug across my t-shirt, feeling the stiff peaks of my hardened nipples. I rested his hand on the top of my chest and brought down my arm again.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. I felt him dig his face into my hair and I arched against him. Tom pressed himself firmly into my back so that there was no mistaking what I felt anymore. His leg nudged between mine so that we became a huge mess of limbs. He pushed his leg up so that his thigh was shoved right against my crotch. I whimpered at the contact, which spurred him on more.

Tom moved his hand back down my chest, this time without my assistance. His large palm skimmed over my hard nipples, making me push my chest into him for more contact. He cupped my breast, rolling my hard nipple through my shirt and I had to bite my lip to keep quiet.

His hand inched back down to the edge of my shirt while I ground into him. His hips moved in sync with mine, slowly and deliberately. Tom reached underneath my shirt, splaying his cold hands across my abdomen. I gasped at this and Tom shushed into my ear.

“Is this okay?” Tom asked. Verbal communication escaped me at the moment so I just nodded my head. Tom got the message and began moving his hand further up until it cupped my bare breast. The feeling of his skin on mine was euphoric and made me feel like putty in his hand. I ground myself harder onto his thigh, cursing the number of layers that separated us.

We stayed like that for a while, wordlessly moving against each other, letting him explore my body. I could feel his cock throb against me and I pushed harder into him, wanting that friction just as much as he did.

Tom quickly pulled his hand out of my shir, and went to cup the side of my face. He pulled me around so that we were now chest to chest, and he didn’t waste any time pressing his lips to me.

It was sloppy, wet, and intense. We hungrily devoured each others mouth, like even a split second apart would break us. It was defiantly the best kiss of my life.

His tongue explored my mouth, tangling with mine as his hands went to my waist. I immediately responded by pulling up my shirt to get it over my head, and Tom helped get it off while rolling us over.

He slotted between my legs and went right back to kissing me as soon as my shirt was off. I ran my hands along his sides, feeling the thick muscles trapped behind the light grey shirt (that was too tight for its own good). I moaned into his mouth when my hands traced the clenched muscle of his ass.

“You like that, baby?” Tom said, breathlessly.

Baby.

I could have cum right there.

I nodded fervently and gave what I hope sounded like a noise of approval. Tom stared down at my chest, moving his hands over my chest. He bit his lip as I felt him run his thumbs over my nipples. I whined and pushed my chest into his hand, getting desperate for more friction. Tom immediately lowered his head and latched his mouth to my stiff peak. His tongue swirled around it, teasing, as I dug my fingers into his hair.

He licked and nipped at one before moving to the other, his hand massaging whichever breast was neglected by his tongue. Tom was steadfast in his assault on my tits, but his hips never faltered while grinding into me. I was becoming desperate, humping against him, and trying to pull him closer.

“Tom…” I whined, not recognizing my own voice. “Please…” I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

“Tell” kiss “me” kiss “what” kiss “you” kiss “need,” Tom said, working his way across my chest.

“Fuck me, please,” I begged, bringing my hands up to dig into his shoulder blades. Tom groaned and shoved against me with such force that the entire room shook. He lifted his head back up to kiss me again, wrapping his hands around my face. I could feel him twitching against me, so I shoved my hands between us in an attempt to get my sleeping pants off.

Tom’s kiss pressed deeper into me, like he was going to swallow me whole. For a moment, I forgot how to move. It was deep and intense, consuming every fiber of my being. I could only think of him.

Of how he felt against me.

Of how he moved with me.

Of how he smelled.

Of how his mouth tasted.

Of how warm we now were.

Of how desperately I wanted to fuck him.

Of how desperately he wanted to fuck me.

I snapped out of my daze when I felt Tom pull back and look down at me. His eyes, bluer than ever before, were intense and demanded my attention.

“Are you still with me, baby?” He asked, his voice deep and restrained.

I nodded and moaned, trying to move my hips against his, but his body was forcing me down.

“You sure you want this baby?” He asked. The confidence of his last question wained a little bit, but he still sounded very much in control.

“God, yes,” I breathed, the words involuntarily falling from my lips. Tom cracked a crooked smile before bending down once more and capturing my lips with his. This time, our hands worked in tandem to get ourselves naked. Though I would have settled for just getting him inside of me, regardless of how far our clothes fell.

Tom made quick work of his pants, tossing them away, before helping me shimmy out of mine. He tossed them to the side as well, but kept ahold of my ankles. He lifted my right leg up, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my ankle. If there had been any air left in my lungs, I would have made the most obscene sound at the sight.

Tom smirked against me, eye locked with mine, as he pulled my legs further apart, and positioned himself flush against my core. His hands traced the underside of my thighs before moving up, dragging along my stomach, and back up to my breast. He held them in his hands once again, weighing and massaging them. His hands traced back down to my cunt; throbbing with need.

He used one finger to trace my outer lips, oh so lightly, sending shivers up my spine. The tip of his finger came up glistening with my slick. Tom quickly stuck his finger to his mouth, sucking it off. His eyes closed as he slowly pulled his finger back out, and made a deep, guttural noise of approval.

“I’ll feast on this later. But right now you need me to fuck you, don’t you baby?” He asks again. This time, it isn’t a question. I still nod my head.

Tom places his fingers back down on my pussy, gathering my juices as his fingers work their way inside of me. He uses the pad of his thumb to slowly swirl at my clit and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. With his other hand, Tom holds down my hip as I attempt to buck against him. I don’t think I’d ever appreciated how strong he was until I felt the full weight of his arms pinning me to the bed. It thrilled me more than words could say. Not that I even understood what words were at that point.

Tom works two fingers deep inside of me before removing his hand and wrapping it around his cock. My juices make him slick, and I can see his chest breath deeply when he gets a hand around himself.

His cock is red and leaking, bumping up against his abdomen. He was thick. I could see the veins pumping against him, making his cock twitch. A million thoughts were running through my mind. Ideas for what I want him to do to me; what I wanted to do to him. Just the thought of blowing him made me horse.

I’ll make time for that later.

Tom works my juices over himself, making a slick sound that I personally believed deserved a grammy. When he was properly coated, Tom leaned down so that we were chest to chest. His arm came around my head, and his hand worked itself tot he back of my head, holding me there.

I didn’t realize it before, but I was shaking. My body was covered in goosebumps and I was acutely aware of every part of our skin that was touching. I could feel his cock twitch against my thigh, ready for more. I wanted to shout ‘just go for it, already!’, but my mind and my mouth were not connected at the moment.

Also, Tom was in charge. Completely.

He was going to fuck me when he was good and ready, and not a moment sooner. I was in his room, surrounded by his things, covered in his scent, and draped by his body. It was Tom’s show, and I was along for the ride. Literally.

“You ready for me?” He asked, eyes boring into mine. I nodded.

“Words, baby,” He said.

“Yes… please,” I said immediately. My body was thrumming in anticipation and every second without him felt like a year.

He kissed me again, deeply, slowly, like time meant nothing to him. His tongue coaxed mine into his mouth, twirling against each other. I felt his body shift against mine and felt his hand between us.

Tom guided his cock into me, pushing deep into my core. I felt his hand clench on the back of my head, and I inadvertently pushed my head back, baring my neck to him.

Tom waited a minute before moving. I could hear him breath deeply, feel his chest expand with every breath. It made my head swim.

I felt his lips against my throat, hot and slick with our exchanged saliva. He peppered kisses along the column of my throat.

I wanted to beg him to bite me.

To mark me unmistakably as his.

To skink into me and stake his claim, as if he hadn’t already done that.

But my verbal abilities were nonexistent at the moment, so sweet slow kissed would suffice. I’d added that to the list of things we’d do later, too.

His hips started moving, shallowly thrusting into mine. He was getting me adjusted to his size, and for that I was thankful. I was also thankful for how quickly my body adapted. It wasn’t long before the thrust got deeper and sharper. Tom’s hips were working in earnest now, snapping against mine with ever-increasing force. I clung to him, digging my nails into the hard plane of his back.

Tom’s hand stayed clenched on the back of my head, pulling my face up to his when he wanted to make out, and pulling my neck back so he’d have full access. I was more than happy to comply. His other hand went to my breast, kneading it and pushing it against his chest. His thumb worked on my now hyper-sensitive nipple, and the little pain each rough tug inflicted was laced with a sweetness I couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t long before we got even rougher. Tom was thrusting hard and fast, making the headboard and bed frame quake under our ministrations. If I’d been able to think with coherent thoughts, I’d be grateful that we were likely the only two left in the immediate vicinity. I’d probably be mortified just thinking about the possibility that we weren’t. But my mind was blessedly clear of anything other than Tom.

He was getting sloppier in his movements. He was still in control, but his carnal desires were taking over. His hand slipped between us, down to where we connected. He pressed his thumb on my clit, making me sputter. A few swirls of his finger tips, and I was tipping over.

My body arched up into his as I threw my head back. My whole body quaked, somewhat violently, as my orgasm washed over me. I could feel even more of Tom moving within me, as my walls clamped down, sucking him in.

My eyes rolled back, but I willed myself to remain coherent.

I wanted every bit of this committed to memory.

I knew, even in the throes of my orgasm, that I was ruined for anyone else.

No amount of masturbation would ever suffice. No other cocks would ever be enough. Nothing other than this intensity would do this to me. And the only provider would be Tom. I wanted to tell him this; I wanted to curse him and thank him in equal measure.

My orgasm was enough to pull Tom over the edge too. Just as I was able to open my eyes once more, Tom pushed one final bed-breaking thrust, that sent him over the edge.

I could feel his cum in thick, hot spurts. It was deep in my core, exactly where Tom wanted it. I got the unmistakeable feeling that pulling out wouldn’t be an option with him. He comes in you, or not at all. I didn’t mind in the slightest; it gave me a silent thrill to think of how deep he was within me, how my body would absorb everything he gave me. His hands were on my hips, pressing us together as tightly as possible, ensuring it.

Tom’s forehead pressed against mine, his eyes still screws shut. We were both breathing erratically, him more-so than me. Our faces were flushed and hot, but I’d rather burn up than give up even an inch of contact.

We stayed that way for a few moments, coming down from our respective high. My eyes were open wide, waiting for the first place into his. When Tom slowly came to, I could something in his face that wasn’t there before.

Complete and total admiration.

It was a lot to take in.

The weight of his stare made me shy, but his hands kept our gaze firmly locked. His hands cupped my face, and he pressed a sickeningly sweet kiss to my lips. If I hadn’t melted before, I surely did now.

Once again I was reminded of my body quivering. I still had goosebumps all over my skin, but I could no longer tell if it was from the sex or the chill that led me to his bed in the first place. Tom looked at me deeply, and without words, seemed to know exactly what I needed.

He didn’t rise completely off me, just enough that he could reach the box of tissues that blessedly hadn’t been knocked from his grasp. He pulled a few out and placed them between us before he even pulled out of me. I understood why when he finally did.

Tom was slow, slower than we’d been all night, like he was reluctant to leave my body. I accidentally clenched around him, when only the head was left, and I could hear a faint gasp from Tom. Our cum slowly dribbled out of me, but I tried to retain what I could.

I don’t know entirely why I did that, but the answer seemed obvious enough to me at the moment, so I didn’t question it.

Tom finished cleaning us up before discarding the tissues haphazardly. He shifted us around a bit, so that I wasn’t completely underneath him, but his body was still covering mine. I was still slightly shaking, but I got the impression that I wasn’t going to stop any time soon. My body was still thrumming from our high, and I was going to do everything in my power to keep it that way.

Tom arranged the covers around us, tucking us in highly, so that the soft fabric of his comforter and the silky feeling of his skin were totally encompassing me.

For a moment I was convinced Tom had fucked me into heaven.

I was completely cool with it.

I felt his thumb brush a strand of hair out of my face, the over my swollen lips. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to me, that would have taken my breath away if I’d had any left. When he opened his eyes, I couldn’t help but break into a smile.

“Are we good?” Tom asked, voice still low and deep, but returning to the normal tenor I was so used to.

“Yeah, better than good,” I admitted. Good wasn’t even remotely the right adjective to describe what I was feeling right now. I doubt a word existed that would properly convey it. But this wasn’t a time to reel in philosophical questions of what I was feeling on a greater scale.

It was time to bask in Tom’s sweet smile, as he looked down at me, and to relish in this moment.

“I’m really glad I have you to keep me warm this weekend,” I said, thinking of the mental list I’d configured. A deadly smirk broke out on Tom’s face that would have knocked me off my knees if they weren’t already jelly.

“Oh, baby, I intend on keeping warm for much, much longer than that.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston imagine #imagine tom hiddleston #smut #smutty fanfic #sharing a bed #sharing body heat #friends to lovers #imma be real with you cheif #its a whole lotta smut #my husband #my writing

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iphoenixrising · 6 years

Text

Dr!Tim Drabble: Robin

Well, Babes. You both must have fucking read my mind and shit because really. I kind of started this to be such a teaser when BOOP I got this ask and my fucking heart here. You’re right on the same page when it comes to Dr!Tim getting the real Robin experience, yeah? Lol. So, just a note. B’s bad guy persona is Matches. The dude with the epic porn ‘stache. Dick’s persona is Robbie Malone, which is pretty obscure and I looked it up on a good wiki to make sure.

HOWEVER *ahem* An incredible artist @kaciart did a thing here: http://thingsfortwwings.tumblr.com/post/55338349568/kaciart-it-was-never-made-clear-whether-tim-knew. Which helped the muse.

So… so there’s that. XD Hope it's as good.

The Robin in Gotham that night is just a little bit taller. Not by much. He's hesitant, a newbie to the vigilante game, and even if he's got a grapple on his belt, he only uses it once. Only a drunk or two catch him strafing across rooftops, the flicker of yellow, red, and green against the lamplight.

The rest of the city is asleep. As luck would have it, he stumbles on some baddies with a leg up on him, tossing a pellet in the right spot with knockout gas to make carrying him through the night that much easier. When Robin comes to, the blurry residual clears and behind the whiteouts, his vision is sharp. Being handcuffed in a crummy warehouse in the Narrows is not really the way he'd hoped to spend his first real experience in the tunic.

(And if he embarrasses the name, a certain little demon will probably eviscerate him.

"I allow you one night–"

"To my credit, I really thought those ninjas would go down easier."

"May I remind you–"

"I know, I know. It's not one of my hobbies. No more almost getting killed under your name, I promise.")

But a single dim bulb hangs with enough away to reveal the long, lean line of muscle still half in shadows watching him from behind whiteouts.

"Been a real pain in my nut, Robin." Is more dangerous behind the synths, more casual when the Red Hood, notorious enforcer for the Black Mask, straightens up and starts to move forward. "Gettin' in my fucking business means I gotta make an example outta ya, so’s no one else thinks they can stop the trade, you feel me?" Robin's eyes narrow but his pulse is picking up, his muscles tighten against the ropes.

“Or,” he tries with a bravado he doesn’t necessarily feel, “you could cut this chase short and let me take you in so you don’t make it worse for yourself.”

The sound is probably a snort but the synths make it hard to decipher.

“Mmhm, an’ any other damn day, ya might be right. But since I know the Bat is outta town, and the rest a’ yer little cape n’ cowl crew are busy, n’ yer own yer own, little birdy. Even fucking better, I got me an old friend in Gotham t’night, and I gotta say–” the way Hood moves, hips swaying, something of a swagger, all indications the vigilante has a plan, makes Robin catch a breath with what the hell else?

“Ya might be in over yer head.”

And oh God.

He’s in for it.

(Teasing his boyfriends can have some interesting results, so even with the plan they’d had for him tonight, there were so many things they hadn’t told him.)

Because the shift in the shadows and the crimson slash is just what the bad guy ordered, and the man coming out of the shadows to stand beside Hood is nothing short of mouth-wateringly dangerous– all done in sharp black and red.

Something in Robin’s abdomen goes unbearably tight when Renegade puts the intense focus of those whiteouts right on him, folds his arms over his chest, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Even while he might be melting into a puddle of oh God, please, please, I’ve been a bad Robin, he can maneuver his hands well enough to get into the green gloves for the small lockpick set he’d completely kyped out of B’s utility belt the last time they’d had a little snatch n’ stitch. Since he’s completely used to working with fine instruments wearing gloves, working the small end into the handcuffs is easier than he’d originally calculated.

(So much win going on right now.)

“So nice to know you’ve got friends in town, Hood. I hope you have an itinerary to show him the sights. Robinson Park is really nice this time of year.” He tries to keep the banter, give himself time he needs to work the cuffs.

(Still, watching them walk toward him like a fucking bad ass wet dream is really making the night look up regardless of how things are going to go from here.)

“Too much mouth on ya, Robin,” and the flex of hips and thighs, the glint off the gun in Hood’s hand, the feral-looking smirk on Renegade’s face make him take a pause to work his fingers into the back of the utility belt, bite down on his lower lip to try and get–

Yes.

“Looks like we need to shut him up, Hood,” is Renegade’s deep response, that tone rolling around in the abandoned warehouse, makes a shiver work up his spine.

Which causes him to drop the pellet he’d been holding, the little ball rolling right under his chair.

Fuck. That’s bad.

He tries to think fast, using his weight to throw his chair back, out of the way of the little blast and following plumes of smoke. It’s really nothing more than dumb luck that the chair is probably older than all of them and pretty much breaks into kindling on impact.

It’s even luckier that the small blast is inconsequential but the smoke screen gives him the opportunity to wiggle enough to get his cuffed wrists down far enough to get his feet over them so at least his hands are bound in the front.

Rolling to his feet, he tries to duck away from the chair in the thick smoke, cape hitting him in the back of the ankles, and fucking right, he didn’t even lose the lockpick.

(“Damn. Good one, Baby Bird. Didn’t see that shit coming.”

“This is going to be much better than we thought, Jay.”

“Fuck right, Dickie, now we gedda chase.”

And with that little revelation, Robin is thinking, looking around at the high windows, making plans.)

He flips one of the few bat-a-rangs in his utility belt, awkwardly holding it up to throw with his bound hands. He manages throw far enough to knock it into an empty crate further down than where he’s hiding, but it draws the attention of the “baddies” coming through the dissipating smoke after him.

It does the job and he sees the outline of Hood and Renegade change course, closer to the sound.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself, Robin,” Renegade purrs low, his footsteps not even making a sound when he shares a side-eye with Hood and moves around to take the back for the element of surprise.

“When we catch ya,” Hood is cooing through the synths, popping the clip out of his .45 to make sure again he’s toting blanks (the one in his boot has the rubber rounds should things get dicey and they need ta make with the real crime fighting) before he circles around the smoky pile of old pallets and crates laying in dusty ruin, “we ain’t gonna be nice ‘bout it, you feel me, Robin? Gonna make ya one sorry lil’ bird.”

(But he totally hears, “gonna fuck ya until ya scream for it, Baby. Gonna make ya come ‘til ya can’t even stand up no more.”)

The handcuffs finally pop as the two bad guys jump in their planned strike, coming down on a whole lotta empty pallets with only a bat-a-rang there for them to stare at.

“Little motherfucker,” is all he needs to hear, shoving the handcuffs in his belt (in case he needs to have a plan) and pulling the grapple while his pulse throbs in his mouth and his adrenaline kicks up a notch. He’s got to shoot and reel himself in before they get to him, got to get out the upper windows and climb to the roof, got to at least get a few buildings over before they catch him.

(And he completely has a new appreciation for the reinforced jocks they wear under the suits because the things is literally killing him right now.)

The bang makes him flinch regardless, and with that, the jig is completely up. Two heads swivel toward the sound, trace the line up to the window sill where the hook sinks deep, and the shadow of the cape flares out like wings as the grapple pulls Robin from the ground and away.

“Fuck this is gettin’ good,” Hood breathes out, already pulling his own, watching the flex of Timmy’s thighs in those fucking tights and his ass outlined in Robin Red.

The window breaks with his momentum, and Robin pauses on the broken sill long enough to grin widely down at them, “I really need to be on my way, but we should do this again sometime!”

The cap flaps around the green tights and black boots as Robin scales the ancient fire escape and disappears out of sight.

Renegade puts a hand on his wrist, stills Hood from raising the grapple for the ole’ point-n-shoot. “Let him get a little bit of distance, Jay. He’s putting a hell of a lot into this.”

“Big Wing,” and even with the whiteouts on both sides, he knows how dark Dickies eyes are, is pretty sure his are just as dark. “ we’re gonna destroy that ass, you feel me?”

“You know we are. Damn, he looks cute in that suit.”

“Cute? Nah, ain’t where I’m at right now, yeah? Motherfucking sexy is ‘bout what I’m feelin’.”

“Fuckable, sure, but wow, he wears it so well.”

“Don’t tell Demon. That little shit won’t never let this happen again.”

“Right. We play it out with our boyfriend, fuck him on a safe rooftop, then take him home for a soak in the tub and cuddle-palooza.”

“You better fuckin’ add pancakes ta that list, Dickie. I like seein’ ‘im all full n’ sleepy after we fucked ‘im but good.”

“Done and done.”

In a smooth move, Hood raises the grapple again and loops his free arm around Renegade’s waist, pulling his Baby Boy right into his body.

The two vigilantes pause in the moment, and Renegade raises both hands quick, hits the right spot on the back of the helmet to release the catch, pulls the damn thing off so they can have just a second–

And anyone looking in the dilapidated warehouse down by Dixon Docks in that exact moment would be scandalized to see the Red Hood and Renegade writhing against one another, caught up in the taste of one another, just a tease before the grapple starts to reel.

Robin is panting with the effort, tries not to get tangled in his cape, tries to keep his eyes open to everything around him with the sharp vision he gets behind the whiteouts.

Luckily for him, he’s shaking off the residual of the sedative and this area of the city is one so absolutely familiar, he already knows he’s got an edge.

The same spots from those days when he was a kid with a camera, hiding while he followed the flying vigilantes are obviously still there, could still give him a place to duck if he thinks his pursuers are getting too close. If Dick and Jay had really been paying those old photographs in the shoebox enough attention, they’d probably be able to pick out the majority of his hidey-holes and make this game come to a quick and abrupt end (he’s hoping they don’t because he’s really, really enjoying this).

But, he’s already evaded them three times and he’s still too damn far from his apartment to believe he’s anywhere near home free.

Which is why he’s wasting time ducked down between two massive air conditioning units on the Mylar building instead of in Renegade and Hood’s path. A few feet away is an old bridge the maintenance crew used to get up to the next roof, giving him an out to use the grapple for a swing and give himself away.

He waits until the shadows recede and he can’t see either of them before he darts out and takes the bridge at a run, making a leap that immediately gets his adrenaline back up.

His chest is heaving a little because the climb is about a bitch.

A hard jerk on the suspension bridge takes him by surprise as both “villains” land it on either side of him, effectively boxing him in.

Well, fuck.

He pulls the grapple since, you know, the jig is up, but an escrima stick knocks the damn thing from his hand, and no amount of time he’s spent in the gym or hard-core parkour is going to get him out of this little sitch.

(Dammit. Trapped.)

Renegade clicks his tongue, “tsk, tsk, Robin. Nice try, but you should have tried to stay ahead of us. That might have gotten you home free.” And the two start advancing on him, getting closer. Robin looks from one to the other, bites down on his lower lip–

Until the plan pops into his head.

“Gonna enjoy this, little bird,” Hood drawls out, “after the run ya gave us.”

Panting, Robin tries to make the move subtle enough to miss, back up just a step, tries to make it look like he’s searching for a way out when he looks over the bridge and all the way down.

The action works because both villains jump for him at the same time, trying to keep him from throwing himself over, and it gives Robin just enough of a chance to let his knees give out from under him and fake fall to the wobbly bridge so Renegade can careen over his head at the same time Hood smacks into him, landing the two in a heap right at Robin’s feet.

The knock of Hood’s helmet against Renegade’s forehead gives him a crucial moment to slam the handcuffs he’d kept down on the Red Hood’s left wrist and Renegade’s right one, pushing the sides closed to cuff the two together.

(Oh fuck is he winning here.)

He’s already moving back while they untangle themselves and stare at their cuffed wrists before slowly, ever so slowly, turning to him.

“Well, damn.” And if he didn’t know better, he’d say Hood was, well, impressed.

(I have other hobbies, asshole, remember?)

“The surprises keep coming,” Renegade already climbing to his feet is grinning widely, Hood following in a smooth motion. “Too bad it isn’t going to save you, you know.”

“I just need to keep you two on–”

When he would have finished off the banter portion with on your toes, what he gets is the terrible sighing sound breaking the night, followed right by a sharp twang that is all too fucking familiar.

(Why do bridges have a tendency to break while he’s on them? Seriously now?)

His whole body jerks up, head turning to the sight of the old bridge coming apart and falling from under him, making him gasp in hard enough to hurt, making his knees knock, making a hard reality of Oh God, not again.

But cuffed arms brace under his and the bang of grapples firing shakes him out of breath-stealing panic, Hood and Renegade working in tandem to send the three of them flying through the night while the bridge crumbles to Gotham’s dirty sidewalk below.

Effortlessly, the villains land them on the Mylar, setting the three of them down in the shadows where one side of the building keeps it absolutely hidden away.

“Holy shit,” Robin pants out, held up between Hood and Renegade, his chest heaving under the tunic. “That...was not part of the plan.”

“Good to know,” Renegade lays his forehead against the base of Robin’s neck, exhaling slowly, moving his free hand down to push the cape out from between their bodies, to twist it around his hand for the next step.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Hood deactivates the helmet and tosses it down, moves a step closer to sandwich Robin between the two of them. With just a dom, his eyes are dark blue without the flecks of jade which means he’s probably still riding a little bit of the adrenaline from the almost-oops.

Robin looks up and over when Hood holds up his cuffed hand and arches a brow. “Still, ya gonna have ta work on them plans, Rob, if ya wanna get the better of us, yeah? This ain’t bad, but that don’t mean–”

And Robin gasps when his gloves wrists are gathered up by the cuffed hands, pulled over his head to stretch his body taunt.

Renegade is leaning down to talk against his ear, growling low and so fucking dangerous, “–you’re going to get away this time. Sorry, little bird. Looks like we win.”

Apparently things like capes are weapons and should not be used against him.

Or...well, maybe he’s going to re-think that since his wrists are bound together tight before they even worked the tunic open.

Renegade is keeping Robin’s bound arms down with a knee and a gloved hand over his mouth to make sure the noises are nice and quiet, kept between just the three of them. Hood had picked the cuffs in approximately two seconds to give them both a chance to get to work on making sure the young vigilante knew he was fucking around with the real deal.

The utility belt came off, lying just out of reach and Robin’s thighs spread open with less fight than anticipated.

The struggling, the writhing against Hood’s crotch, the straining muscle and taunt hold is just this side of perfect. For a little show, Hood pulls out a wickedly sharp knife, the glint dull in the night, leans down over Robin’s body and slides the sharp end of the blade right over the base of his throat, bare now that his cape is gone.

(But even though Timmy’s is half-assed struggling, he ain’t scared. No fear in those eyes, yeah?)

“Better be a good little bird, Rob. I like ta keep m’ implements nice n’ sharp. Don’t wanna make me slip by accident.”

Renegade’s hand on the younger vigilante’s mouth pulls so the head tilts back, eyes looking up. “I’ve known Hood for a long time, kid. You don’t want to see the master at work.”

When the struggling stops and the only thing Robin is doing is panting against Renegade’s hand, the sharp edge eases up slightly, slides down his chest, the tip fitting right under the tunic’s laces.

“Atta boy. Make it easier on yerself. Ain’t nobody gonna find ya, so don’t gotta have it rough unless ya wanna.”

“He might like it that way, Hood.” The first lace gives without hesitation. “Maybe we should go a little hard on him to find out.”

The second lace.

“But lookit how cute he is, Baby Boy. Gonna show ‘im just how things gotta go down on our side a’ the law, ain’t we? That don’t mean we gotta get nasty ‘bout it long as he behaves himself.”

The third.

Finally, the two villains are finally getting a little skin, and a gloved hands runs down Robin’s collar bone, moves to thumb and tweak until the little nub under is tight.

The hand on Robin’s mouth tightens down when the moan cuts through the stillness.

“He needs to learn, Hood. He can’t mess with business and get away without paying the price.” The thumb on Robin’s face moves over the domino and the whiteouts slide down, showing half-mast eyes, darkening by degrees.

“Mmhm. That’s the thing ‘bout Gotham, ain’t it?” And the hands moving down, pull hard, rip the tunic until there’s nothing in his path except the tights and reinforced jock. “Always got consequences, Rob, and you? You ain’t any different.”

The telltale tremble in his thighs makes the Red Hood grin wide and white (don’t be breaking character yet, Baby Bird. We gotta whole lotta play still left), and he’s nothing but a nasty bastard when he runs both hands up the inside of those thighs, grips tight to make sure there’s gonna be bruises there tomorrow.

Since he and Dickie pretty much engineered this whole thing (and made a suit with strategized weaknesses), the tights give under his hands, ripping open from the waist to the knee. He hands a sizeable strip to Renegade and leans down over Robin’s body, giving a little bit of distraction while his partner in crime moves just long enough to tie the strip in their little vigilante’s mouth.

“Much better.” He palms the grapple in his freed hand, and pulls out the line, throws the hook to catch on the lip of the roof and wrap the other end to keep Robin from going anywhere. Renegade pulls off the head piece, is in just a domino so he can flick the catch of his suit and pull it down to bare a tantalizing v-ee of his chest.

With the suit ripped away, helpless to whatever they planned to do to him on a roof in the middle of Gotham, Robin is gagged and panting, his chest stuttering with it, going pink down his collarbone and upper chest.

(Fingers slide into one of his bound hand, and the metal ball gives a soft jingle. All he has to do is drop it if he needs to stop, all he has to do is give the signal. He’s in control, he’s in control, he’s in control–)

And the feel of Hood’s gloves on his hip bone, tearing the strap on the reinforced jock makes his hips twitch, makes him unconsciously arch into the touch even when his hard cock springs up into the cool Gotham air.

“That’s smart kid. This’ll go easier for you if you try to enjoy it.” Renegade palms the vial in his suit and holds it up where the can both see it, smirks at the muffled noise right beside his thigh.

Hood grins back at him and pops the lid, dribbles lube on his fingers and lifts one of Robin’s calves for Renegade to hold. He hoists the other, runs his slick fingers over Robin’s balls, tugs a little, slides his forefinger up the underside of the vigilante’s straining cock, just a tease.

Getting his suit down far enough with one hand, Renegade shakes Robin’s leg, palms the side of his face to turn him, gets a load of those eyes, “My partner here is going to give you the fuck of a lifetime. And you? Are going to suck me while he does it.”

The jock is gone, and Robin gasps in hard through his nose, those eyes rolling over the length, teeth biting down on the gag in his mouth. He watches, mesmerized, as the gloved hand strokes himself, makes himself harder, gives Robin a preview to what he’s about to get.

When Hood spreads him open wider, slick and blunt finger sliding in, moving fast and hard, making Robin’s spine arch while he watches Renegade jerk off right in front of his face, mouth watering for it, his cock aching, his body clenching when one finger becomes two, and the desperation for more is starting to take over.

Pulling against the zip line isn’t doing anything for him because he can’t move, is caught between them, is already making noises with his body anticipating Hood (Jay) making him utterly senseless while he sucks Renegade’s thick cock to the fucking base.

(This is the best thing to ever happen.)

A jerk of his hips and a third finger slides in, gives him only a few thrusts against his spot, just enough for Hood to smirk and finally pull out.

“Gonna keep ya nice n’ tight fer me, Robin,” and while he’s been prepping the vigilante, he’d pulled himself out, lubed himself up to press right against the prize waiting for him. “But don’t worry. Since yer being a good, little bird, we’ll make sure you get yers.”

And Robin throws his head back, body arching in a clean line as well as he can with his legs caught and hands restrained. His fist tightens on the bell, keening through his gag as Hood pushes in, gives a few slow back-and-forths until he’s balls deep with a long moan.

“Lookit you taking all of his dick on the first go,” Renegade purrs down at him, and thumbs the gag out of his mouth, puts a finger over his lips. “Good for you, little bird. Now you’re going to give me mine. Don’t make me have to tell you to be very good.”

Renegade pulls with fingers on his jaw, and Robin opens up without a fight, taking the wide head in, moaning around it. Hood finally gets the point that he’s sure he isn’t going to come immediately when he moves, changing his hold to fit the bend of Robin’s knee and hoist his hips up higher, makes sure he’s in as far as he can possibly go (just the way Timmy likes it), then pulls back, starts up a few slow-n’-easies before he picks up the pace.

And Robin’s eyes are fluttering behind the domino, sliding his tongue around Renegade’s cock, leaning closer when he can take more, when he can take it deeper--

And suck.

“Holy–” and the villain’s hips twitch, a gloved hand threading into his hair, holds him still as hips twitch and fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts. “Fuck, know what you’re doing, don’t you Robin? Ah, you’re going to love my cock by the time we’re done with you.”

“Ya kiddin’ me, Baby Boy? Fuck him and you’ll be in love with his ass. Like a fucking vice.” And Hood leans over Robin’s body to get a better view of Renegade’s hips twitching, cock sliding in and out of his mouth, of Robin’s cheeks hollowing, of his jaw moving, of the tight nubs they’re both absently working.

In a calculated move, Renegade gives Hood a wink, and they both draw back, leave just the tip in him, gets a low noise for the effort, and fuck back into him with a vengeance.

“That’s right, little birdie. Found yer sweet spot, yeah?” And the strokes inside him are long and firm and fast, his spot abused by each one, making the pressure in his belly start to burn.

Renegade keeps up with a smooth, steady pace, sliding over his tongue, spilling pre-come in his throat, staring down as he pants, watching Robin take every fucking inch.

He’s moaning around the width in his mouth, in his throat, trying to suck, trying to scream while his cock throbs and the R still partly on his chest gleams in the night.

Hood’s balls slapping against his ass, and Renegade panting, groaning out above him, and a gloved hands fists him at the base, starts stroking him in time with the hits to his spot.

And the rhythm is driving, pound, rushing, his pulse racing in his ears, struggling to get a breath, but it’s all toomuchmoremoremore that he can’t think past the need to come, whimpering in his throat when he can, and trying to move his hips up into the fist pumping him and down into the pound thrusts driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s right, give it up, Robin,” Renegade pants, groans down at him, working his hips, fucking into that throat, “you’re gonna take everything we give you, and when you go back to the Bat, you’ll remember just what you get when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hood draws back to fuck in hard, tightening his hand down and speed up. “We’re gonna make sure this lessons sticks, Baby Boy. Fill ‘im up good, make sure he knows what happens ta bad little birdies.”

Robin screams around Renegade’s cock when fingers tease the tip of him and hips ground into deep, trying to move but he’s helplessly caught.

When Renegade leans down over him, talks low and feral, fucking into his mouth with fast, hard jerks, getting harder against his tongue, when it’s those blue eyes with the haze of need and want, (when it’s Dick talking to him), when the words, “come for us, baby,” are breathed so soft and fond, his body lets go, the knot of tension exploding, sending tingling pleasure from his ass to his cock to his nipples and spreads out until his eyes are rolling back in his head and all he can do is suck Renegade’s come down his throat while the pleasure loops around and keeps him going.

“Fuck, baby,” (Is Jay instead of–) Hood yells to the night sky, Robin’s body milking him, tightening down so hard, so fast, so wet, that he comes with a jolt, burying himself deep to fill the vigilante up.

And while Gotham remains completely serene at this time of night, three (two, technically) caped crusaders are laying out on the roof of the Mylar building in a tangle of limbs, panting, and weak, and so amazingly sated.

Boneless and content not to move another inch in his life, Tim manages to slide a gloved hand out of the knot made from the cape, and wipe his mouth, absently keeping track of his heart rate.

Dick is curled around his upper body, idly running fingers through his hair, the Renegade costume zipped half-way up his chest so he doesn’t get a whole lot of roof rash. On his other side, Jay has a heavy arm over his bare hips, a leg thrown over his and the Kevlar feels just as good on bare skin as it always does.

“That? Was fucking amazing,” he murmers, drowsy, shivering slightly now that he realizes he’s pretty much naked on a roof in the middle of the city after being fucked out of his mind, and somehow--

This is his life.

So it’s good when his vigilante boyfriends recover enough to maybe get them the hell off this roof before people like, office staff start coming into the Mylar’s upper floors for work.

Dawn is riding the horizon when he’s pulled to his feet and wrapped in Robin’s cape, rocking a toga to cover the torn suit and tunic, and carried off by his vigilante boyfriends so he can be absolutely lazy and just let Dick then Jay take him flying.

He has to make his body work when maneuvering through the window with shaky legs. Jay gives the helmet a toss in pretty much the direction of the kitchen table before picking Tim up by the back of his thighs, and let their doctor squawk but still flops his upper body flops over Jay’s shoulder.

Dick has the Renegade suit hanging off his hips, moving around the kitchen bare-chested with a domino, making coffee that is desperately, desperately needed.

“I’ll be there in a sec! I was promised cuddles, Jay, and I expect you two to deliver.”

“Bath first, Big Wing. Gotta let Timmy take a soak. Getcha ass in here so’s we can wash ‘im but good.” The abrupt smack and corresponding yelp from the path down the hall toward the direction of the bathroom makes Dick smirk and quickly scoop the grounds in while trying to get a glove off with his teeth.

“‘Sides, we might need ta give Sweets one more go ‘round, you feel me here, Dickie?”

“Wh-what?! How do you even expect me to get hard right now?!”

The bath is running in Tim’s massive tub (the real benefit to the apartment after all), and the sounds of Kevlar and Nomac sliding off of skin a soft sight when Dick comes to join them.

“You know, Timmy,” is a followed up by a very Dick Grayson smile, all full of bedroom eyes and promise, “we do have our ways.”

So if the tub sloshes over, and the neighbors complain about the noise this time of day (again), if maybe there might be...another suit buried in the back of their closet a few days later, if maybe he takes more detours when his boys are on the job and he can have time to scout hiding places and perfectly sized niches, when he can calculate more routes and moves.

He’s going to say, it’s always good to have a plan because of things like bleeding vigilantes—you know, on my fire escape. But in reality, it’s because now that he’s worn the tunic, flown through Gotham, and he’s pretty damn sure he’s got enough skill to make them work a hell of a lot harder–

Next time.

#for 500 Followers!#Post 5 #dr!tim #villain!RedHod #Renegade!Dick #role playing #warning for smut #tim/dick/jay #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #my fic #my writing #the post everyone's been waiting for lol

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zaraegis · 6 years

Text

Come At The King| Part 1 | T

Fandom: Cuphead

Pairings: Ride or Die QPP Wheezy & Dice

TW: haha, blood, violence, descriptions of injuries, unhealthy alcoholism, underage drinking

Notes: Female pronouns are used for Dice in flashbacks before transitioning, just to be clear.

/King

The one time that he spoke with someone about being King Dice as a child, they didn't even look up from their rifle scope as they crushed his dreams.:

"Girls aren't Kings, stupid. Men are are Kings."

He can't recall half his childhood as well as he can recall that conversation.

He enjoyed the dresses, the makeup, the careful application of things to accentuate his eyes or his figure. He loved it.

He never had a problem with that. It was other people that he grew weary of.

"What's wrong with being Queen, then?"

"Nothing, really." Dice sighed, twenty years old and already extremely tired of it all. Her favorite playing partner chuckled at her, as he upped his ante. Sucker.

"Don't like the dresses?

"No, they're cute enough I suppose."

"You know Queens ruled alone as well right? They didn't need a husband."

"Yeah. I just- there's something about being King. I want to be King Dice." She threw two cards into the discard pile, they overshot and hit the man's drink.

"That's it then" her partner shrugged, rescuing his drink from further assault. She pouted but listened to him. Souse and trouble-prone he may be, but he's always had good advice. He continued after an irritating slurp of scotch.

"You just want to be king." She knows, she's been saying it for years now."So become King, you'll hit your stride then, I'll bet anything on it."

Dice looked down at her cards, tempted to scoff at such simplistic advice. But… he's never steered her wrong. And she had him to thank for the job at the bar they work at now. A steady income is always nice to buy better cards and nicer clothes. And sharper knives.

"I'll think about it. I have reservations about your bets you know, you've lost to me how many times now, Wheezy?" She smirked, laying out her cards.

Wheezy shrugged and let his hand scatter on the table between them, graceful as ever in his defeat to her.

"Yeah yeah, you're the gamest in the bar King."

Dice laughed, delighted.

/Being King

So she uses her next check to buy her first suit. A fine black thing she wears to their weekly poker night.

It costs so much, she barely makes rent that month and she has to tailor it herself, but it makes her shoulders wider, and the loose sleeves make it easier to hide things.

She looks in the mirror and smirks, standing proud and springing cards between two gloved hands. There is something relaxing in her finally, a tense coil unwinding her shoulders until she can almost slump.

"Lookit you!" Wheezy whistles in such a sleazy way that half the waitresses working the bar that night twitch instinctively with a frown at them. Then they see who it is and roll their eyes. Well used to ignoring any shouting, scuffles and death threats when Mr.Wheezy and Dice start up their weekly poker game.

Dice preens, allowing Wheezy to pat his padded shoulders, and raise judgmental eyebrows at the gold heart cufflinks. It was worth it.

"Well King?" he leers, blowing smoke away from Dice to keep his new suit from smelling like ashes. There were some new faces in the crowd, sneaking glances at their table.

Dice blinks slowly at the fresh meat, before a smile crawls up his face, a sneer really, showcasing some truly alarming canines. Wheezy feels a shiver of fear up his spine, at that terrifying competitive streak no longer being slyly hidden with distracting clothing or a closed lip-sticked smile.

But that fear has always been there, in the back of his mind, since a little slip of a girl beat him in poker, proceeded to tell him how she cheated and then bought him a drink with his winnings. It was a nice change from the usual thugs and lump heads that hung around to play cards with. He's learned to be amused at how frightening his friend is, really.

Later on that night, Dice huffs out a breath.

"It's easier to move in this as well too," He muses aloud, carefully using his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his brass knuckles.

Wheezy is holding onto his suit jacket to keep it from getting wrinkled like the considerate person he likes to pretend he isn't. Someone on the floor groans in pain but doesn't get up when Dice tilts his head at the sound. Smart man.

"Hope to see you at the next poker game everybody!" He calls out as he makes his way to the front of the alley where they were jumped by their new friends.

"No one I have to help you drag to the doctors this time?" Wheezy asks, not turning to see the aftermath. Blood and violence makes him queasy. Dice notes the black velvet of his suit hides the blood stains pretty well.

"No, they were just kids anyway." All of them were several times his age.

Wheezy despairs at someone who actually knows how to fight ever deciding to go after his friend. He'd be useless in a fight and Dice would probably either end up in the hospital or in a grave.

The thought makes him nauseous, and he flicks open his lighter and lights up, every exhale now accompanied by a plume of smoke. Dice notices, of course, and steers him to his place.

"Did you drink too much again?" He asks, voice thankfully free of any opinion on his sometimes over indulging. Wheezy collapses on the familiar couch, the terrible thought of Dice carking it, the gross sounds of pain and fighting, and the scotch in his stomach churning uneasily.

"I- maybe," He hedges, taking the cool glass of water Dice hands him and cautiously sipping at it. He averts his eyes at the look in those poison green eyes.

He worries Dice sometimes too, he can tell. He's a horrible friend really.

Something heavy landing on him jolts him out of his musings. It's a towel and a change of clothes he's left here after waking up on this couch too often.

"Go shower, you smell like a bar."

"We work in a bar Dicey."

"I said if you ever called me that again I'd put you out with my HEEL, Wheeze."

"At least you're not wearing those six inch pumps right now."

Dice's neighbor hits the wall until they both stop laughing like idiots at 4 in the morning.

Dice of course, makes a point of wearing some truly horrifying high heels with his suits for the next week. Just to make Wheezy sweat.

/Gifts

"Birthday?" Dice parrots back, holding the box like one would a dangerous but amusing bomb.

"Yeah, isn't it coming up? I gotcha a lil' something. Not every day you turn 21 and are officially able to go into your own place of work."

Dice's fake ID pops up between his fingers, smiling fit to burst. "I don't know what you mean, I'm as old as you are!"

"Oh fuck off," He keeps smiling even as Wheezy tries to smother the man with his hand. He has to give it up as Dice easily, insultingly so, pries it off his face.

Damn the guy, Wheezy's seen his morning regimen, no one should do that many pushups before the sun is up. But that's besides the point.

"Yeah yeah, open it already."

There's a pause as those eerie eyes take him in. And then Dice opens the flat rectangular box. In it are several bow ties, high quality silk, or so the tailor told him.

"For your suits, I thought you'd like 'em." The last time Wheezy wore a bow, he'd been at his first job interview. God he feels old. He's only nine years older than Dice though, which is fortunate as King acts older than both of them at times.

"I ..I don't know how to tie one." There's a softness in him at that, as he picks one up to admire it in the light. It's a bright red, and Wheezy may or may not be having a flashback to the last time he saw certain unsavory people threaten the bar for protection money while King Dice was in hearing range.

He shakes it off and they spend their break tying on different bows until Dice keeps a purple one on for the night. The other employees and bar regulars, now having known Dice for five years, are able to finally spring a successful surprise party as soon as they step back in from the break room where Wheezy was stalling him.

It's a small cake, and a free drink for everyone, since they are all still working, but a round of "Happy Birthday" is sung/slurred/bellowed for a stunned Dice.

"Hey."

It's dark, and they're in Dice's apartment again, with Wheezy spending more of his time here than in his own home. He's also almost completely sober, aside from the shot he had as they sang for Dice. It's probably why he's still awake.

"What?" he whispers back to Dice, whose been sitting on the opposite sofa in the dark for an hour now.

"I'm glad you're my friend Wheeze." is the whispered reply. Wheezy doesn't look over to see if the other man is showing another emotion other than smugness. That seems like something he shouldn't see.

"Me too, Dicey."

There's a sigh, "It's just a shame I'm going to have to kill you because you keep calling me Dicey."

A silence. Wheezy is trying to keep a straight face.

"Please make my headstone out of as much gold as you can Dicey."

There's a snort before a cushion pelts him square in the face.

#cuphead #king dice #mr wheezy #dfab dice #my fanfic tag #come at the king!au #i don't know why i did this for three days #but I????? Just????

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