#I’m literally so hormonal and tired rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

two suns

ch. 6 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x f!reader)

previous- ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

next-ch. 7: “an old friend”

rating: explicit

6.1k words

warnings: smut, unprotected piv sex (seriously don’t do that), riding, oral f-receiving, communication?! we don’t know her, disturbing imagery, i think that’s it but pls lmk if i missed something

a/n: nothin’ for rn ! enjoy <33

It’s too much of a risk to allow himself to sink fully into the comfort of the moment, so he dozes while you sleep. Though it’s selfish, he’d rather have this restless night than allow you to return to your own bed.

He just doesn’t know what would be there if he allows his eyes to fully shut, what kind of images he’d be forced to face, and the last thing he wants to do is wake you.

There’s a small, foolish part of him that thinks if he concentrates too hard on the feeling of your body against his like this, something very bad would happen. As if all of this would literally disappear if he were too present, if he thought too hard about you.

He even has this strange image in his head of you evaporating, as if you were a mirage that would vanish as soon as he finally reached it. He has an image in his head of the way the sheets would billow around the emptiness of where your body once was, then quickly crumple in on itself in its fall back against the mattress. It would be a soundless departure, leaving nothing but the ghostly feeling of where your body used to lay by his side.

He thinks that anxiety started when you first said his name. You spoke so softly, Din.

At first it was just a repetition of what he had already said. It sounded like you were just rehearsing a word in a foreign language to yourself, like he’d seen you do while studying those little dictionaries you keep buying. It’s been so long since he’s thought of himself as anything but Mandalorian that he was hardly able to process the word himself.

Din. Cautious at first, testing out the sound. The weight of it heavy against your tongue. Then you gained confidence, as he’d seen you do so many times before. And it was his name you were saying. From your tongue, from those precious lips.

The feeling it gave him, hearing it like that, was a feeling he’d spent most of his life training against. He thought he got lucky, when he’d surpassed those turbulent years of his youth without having to fully engage with the tricky emotions most threatening to his oath.

There were always stories of fallen foundlings who sought the affections of another outside of the Creed. Whispered rumors about bunks found empty in the morning, wordlessly exiled friends never seen again. Hormonal imbalances confused for some mythical conception of companionship, their instructors told them. Natural, but easily fought against. That feeling would pass soon enough.

And he believed them. Of course he did. So when he reached those years, he quickly drowned himself in enough violence and meaningless sex to avoid the threat of succumbing to foolish desires. Bodies were bodies. A notch in your belt or your bedpost, didn’t matter either way.

He thought he was safe from the worst of it, he really did.

But you said his name as if it were a word for hearth. For home. And it made him want to unravel that shoddy piece of fabric from around your eyes and guide your hands to his face. It made him ache for some other world where it could just be this, you and him wrapped up in each other with the kid peacefully sleeping just a few paces away. That alone would be more than enough.

So Din doesn’t sleep. He dozes. And when he knows Karga’s men will be awake and able to unload the quarries from the carbonite chambers, he disentangles himself from you as gently as he can. You give a small whine but resettle regardless. He pulls the blanket up over your bare shoulders. Maybe he takes a moment to stroke your cheekbone, in dazed fascination, with the back of his knuckles. Maybe.

He dresses, body tired in a way he can’t exactly place. It didn’t come from physical exhaustion, he knows that. Something else. Something he doesn’t want to deal with in the moment.

The fresher’s cold blast of water is the only thing that begins to shake him from his mood. The unpleasant feeling is grounding—it reminds him of the skin he lives in, what it has endured, what it is still able to withstand in spite of everything else. All of it.

He downs a cup of caf before heading out to meet Karga. The cantina is sparsely populated, mostly leftovers from the night before, slumped in their respective booths.

The bartender is reading something on a datapad. She glances at Din before looking down at the screen in her hands and typing something. Din leans against the countertop, supporting himself on his forearms as he waits.

It only takes a few moments. He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Karga approaching, the frustrated pace of his footsteps identifiable enough. The man seats himself on the barstool to the right of where Din stands.

“Mando,” there’s a smile to the man’s booming voice that doesn’t reflect in his eyes. “Quite the performance you made back there.”

Under the helm, Din runs his tongue over his teeth. He doesn’t respond, just waits.

“I have some… news. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad, but certainly interesting,” he motions to the bartender. Din’s eyes flick from her, back to Karga.

“A bit early for that, isn’t it?” It feels strange to speak through the vocoder again. He tries to push the feeling away.

Karga crinkles his nose, waving Din away and grabbing the cup of spotchka as soon as the woman places it in front of him.

“The Guild is… grateful for how quickly you managed to capture Tyreus Cavill, but there’s been ah—” he clears his throat. “A bit of a hiccup. Nothing you have to worry about. But it does mean that you’ll have plenty of time to find the kid’s people without having to worry about chasing more quarries.”

“What.” Din says it sharply enough that the eavesdropping bartender flinches, nearly dropping the glass she’s drying in her hand.

“Cavill senior is having a bit of a hard time understanding our position as a Guild. He’s of the ‘blood for blood’ variety and he… well,” Karga shakes his head. “We’re working on it. He hasn’t demanded specifics yet but it’s best if you lose his men’s trail, earlier the better. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t stay sedentary. It should be no different, really, than if you were tracing fobs. And you’ll get to find the kid’s people! It’s a good deal, if you think about it.”

Karga’s weak attempts to reassure prove infinitely more irritating. Din closes his eyes briefly to re-center himself. An attempt at a calming breath proves futile.

“There’s a contact, Gor Koresh,” Karga continues. “He might have information about where your people are. Already sent his last known locations to your datapad. I’d say going to Coruscant first will be your best bet, someone might be able to point you in a better direction from there.” Karga downs the last of the spotchka effortlessly. “He’s a bit of a slippery one so I’d suggest you get a move on.”

Din gives a curt nod, pushing off the bar and straightening as Karga speaks.

“My men will follow you back to the Crest to unload. Tell that girl of yours I send my best--and Mando,” he slides on his forearms, ducking his head to look straight into Din’s visor. “For the kid’s sake, don’t stop moving.”

Din rips away from Karga before he starts something he didn’t have the energy to finish.

The kid is waiting for him at the door of the Crest when he returns with Karga’s men. Din wordlessly scoops him up in one arm. Something within him quiets when he feels a small, three-fingered hand wrap around his thumb. The gentle pressure against his glove is calming.

There’s the distinct sound of the shower running when he accompanies Karga’s men to the carbonite chambers. They finish the job, he gets his credits.

Once they’re gone, Din checks his bunk to find it, expectedly, empty.

Nevarro is a familiar planet for you, and it’s not like you’ve ever informed him of your outings. Still, he wishes you would have left him a note or called out to him as you left, just to prevent the brief surge of panic in his gut. He knows you’ve probably just gone out to run errands.

He knows this. But still.

The kid chirps from where Din holds him in the crook of his arm, stretching his little hands towards the swaths of blankets.

“No naps yet, bud,” Din places the kid on the floor in order to gather your things. There’s the small patter of feet toddling behind him, as well as the occasional tug on his pant-leg, as he moves about the tight space.

If he were brave enough, he’d acknowledge the tumbling litany of fearful thoughts roaring at the back of his mind. If others know what brings you peace, that peace will be ripped away from you before you can even blink. Learn to find solace in this. Gentleness is not something to be worshipped, to succumb to. Soft heart. Soft heart. Soft heart.

He isn’t brave enough. So he doesn’t dare recognize any part of it.

Keeping in motion helps him not to think too much. He steps back into the hull, the blanket and pillows tucked under his arm. He leaves them on your empty bed. Quickly scaling the ladder into the cockpit, he checks the information Karga sent him. He keeps the kid occupied by bouncing him on his beskar-clad thigh as he does. It works surprisingly well.

Din confirms the coordinates and his landing location after scanning the airwaves for any sign of Cavill’s men. The three of you are in the clear for now, but that’s not likely to last much longer.

Heaving a sigh, Din puts the child in his pram and sets out to find you.

The morning sun is high enough that the city is sweltering by the time he reaches the market. There’s a faint breeze that only achieves to move the heat around, the streets remain sparsely populated because of it.

That fact makes it far easier to spot you, conversing with two Devaronian smugglers, taking shelter from the pounding sunlight under the red awning of a disinterested vendor. You’re carrying a bag heavy with supplies on one shoulder, which you occasionally adjust as you try to speak with the men.

You’re using your hands to talk in a way that tells him that the language barrier is more of an issue than you initially anticipated it to be. Din is already bristling with the way one of them looms over you. The sneering expression the smuggler gives his companion while you aren’t looking sends a wave of anger pulsing through him out of pure instinct alone.

Din is by your side right as the Devaronian begins to say something. The hulking smuggler closes his mouth immediately, but his expression remains incredulous, eyes narrowed at Din from where he stands behind you.

You turn your head as soon as the Devaronian shifts his gaze, a stiffness in your shoulders relaxing slightly when you see yourself reflected in that all too familiar T-visor. Your expression remains tight, pissed off even.

“I’ll take it now, please,” your break into Basic is jarring. You’ve shifted your gaze back to the smugglers. The one who was eyeing you previously turns to the vendor, speaking to the frail woman in his native tongue. Din can only make out a few phrases himself, but it seems like you were bartering over some kind of technology.

Din’s hand hovers over the blaster at his hip as the woman reaches under the table, arm dropping back at his side when she places a small piece of Republic tech into your open hand.

It looks like a new comlink. You quickly stuff it into your bag and hand your credits over to the vendor.

“Forgot mine at Febhana’s,” you mumble to yourself or Din, he isn’t exactly sure. He grunts as you turn heel, pointedly refusing eye contact as you scoop the child from the pram. You rest him against your hip as you walk away. Din follows suit, keeping a few paces behind you.

“G’morning stinky,” you rub your nose against the kid’s in greeting. He coos happily, reaching up to tug on your hair—a motion you expertly dodge.

If it weren’t for the Devaronians boring holes into his back, Din would warm at the sight. With the threat of their witness, the image of you and the kid in front of him only serves to wind his anxiety tighter. His words are harsh because of it.

“I thought I made it clear to you that we have to lay low,” he grits out once you’ve put enough distance between the three of you and the marketplace.

“Don’t.” Your voice goes sharp in a way that’s genuinely shocking. You keep your back to him, pace quick and even. “I had that under control.”

“I never thought you didn’t,” he clarifies after a second. Din swallows, his body tense. He doesn’t know how to express how worried he is in public like this. Cavill has infinite men and infinite supplies to hunt you down? Too alarmist, he already wasn’t on your good side. To deliver the news now would just rub salt in the wound. If I could, I’d bear the weight of the sky itself to keep you safe. The truth, but he’d already confused you—and himself—enough in trying to express how he feels for you. To try and elaborate any further would just be cruel.

So he settles for silence as the three of you continue the walk.

You give a sigh after a moment, stopping in the middle of the street and turning to face Din, dropping the bag of supplies at your feet as you do. The kid’s ears droop from where you hold him against your hip, sensing the unspoken tension coursing between his caretakers.

“I don’t want to be mad at you anymore,” your eyes are big, brave in their vulnerability. You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, thinking for a second before your next words leave you in a rush. “What you said last night really hurt me. I’m not gonna pretend I understand all of it, because I don’t. But I.... I know you’re only trying to do what’s best.” The breath you take is quick, sharp. Your shoulders pull back, setting your posture with courage that doesn’t exactly reach your eyes. “I hope you can understand why I lashed out before I took the time to think it through.”

“I do,” Din resists the urge to flex his hands into fists at his side. He wants to reach out to you, to touch your arm or shoulder or cheek in reassurance. But there are the Devaronians to his back. City streets filled with watchful eyes. Soft heart. It’s a risk neither of you can afford to take.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Friends?”

Din ducks his head in agreement, shouldering your bag for you. “Friends.”

The smile you give is still a bit tight, but genuine in the relief it communicates. “Cool.”

The two of you walk side by side the rest of the way back to the Crest. The silence is easier this time.

It takes another day in hyperspace to reach Coruscant. He spends most of it in the cockpit, tracing signals and rewiring faulty panels, but he keeps the doors open. He’d like the convince himself it was just so he could hear your radio, which you have playing all day, but that’s just an added bonus.

There’s something calming about the noise you and the kid make as you go about your daily tasks. He likes the frustrated huffs you give when you try and fail to get the kid to work through the drills you’ve made for him, or how you turn the radio up when there’s a song you’re particularly enjoying. The child’s constant chattering serves as a reassuring white-noise.

The warmth of it all is enough to transform the general air of the ship in a way you’ve managed to do for months at this point. He doesn’t know why it’s taken him this long to acknowledge that. He allows himself to sink into the comfort it gives him, even if it takes several barriers of steel between him and you to do so.

It is late afternoon on Coruscant by the time he lands the ship in a remote hangar.

Din pushes away from the console and stands. He immediately has to catch himself on the headrest of the pilot’s seat, vision blackening at the edges for a moment before returning to normal.

Furrowing his brow in confusion, he quickly checks his vitals. The graphic flickers to life on his display screen. All normal, so--

Din heaves a sigh. He hasn’t slept for maybe… four days straight? That sounded about right. Since the Crest landed on Canto at least.

He rests his elbow against the pilot’s seat, briefly lifting his helm to his forehead in order to rub his face with his gloved hand in a weak attempt to rouse himself. It doesn’t work.

The informant most likely to know anything about Koresh’s whereabouts was at a law office of some sort, their schedule regimented enough that he could get away with finding them in a few hours’ time. It would be best to catch them right as they were coming into the office anyway, early morning hours usually means less people around. Waiting until morning would be ideal, really.

It’s a long-winded way of justifying a nap.

Din carefully climbs the ladder back down into the hull. You’re in the process of reading something to the child, who sits in your lap as he gnaws on a fruit leather. You glance up as Din passes, giving him a small smile in greeting. He nods in response, then makes his way to his bunk. A familiar, guarded, exchange. Back to basics.

Din allows himself the comfort of stripping down to his under-armor but keeps the helm on, settling onto the bunk with a grunt. The blue darkness is quick to agitate, the day’s frustrations and unsettled tensions quickly tumble into the memory of how this same faint light hit your bare body as you twisted around him. The press of your breasts against his chest. The hiccuping breaths you took when you were about to--

He sharply turns on his side, as if physical movement could push the thought away.

It takes a while for his brain to settle, so tired it’s nearly impossible to rest. He lays as still as possible, counting every inhale and holding before releasing the breath. It nearly works. He’s still so jittery he can’t keep his eyes shut for too long without it feeling as though he were being dropped from an unknown but impossible height.

Sighing, Din sits back up and slides the door of his quarters back open. He isn’t sure how long it has been since he first lay down, but all the lights in the hull have been turned off. The only source of light is the soft glow of a lantern just around the corner of the stacked crates that block off the alcove you’d fashioned.

You’re singing a lullaby. He can only guess by the small sounds of sleepy babbling that you still have the kid with you.

Din can tell it’s something in your native tongue by the foreign, lilting quality of it. Nothing like the siren’s song he knows you’re capable of—it’s far too soft for it to be anything like what he heard you sing to the mountains--but it has a similar circling quality about it that he’s only ever heard from your lips.

It takes the breath out of him. Din sinks to the floor, resting his back against the wall and drawing his knees up to rest his elbows on their caps. He allows his head to droop forward, just for a moment. Just to listen a little longer, to grab onto these moments and store them somewhere quiet and hidden within him.

When the kid finally lets out a snore, you cut yourself off. It’s quiet for a long time, but he doesn’t hear any rustling of fabric that would suggest you getting up to put him back in the pram.

“I love you a lot, lil guy,” it’s a soft whisper. He doesn’t know if he would be able to hear it if it weren’t for his helm. “Your dad does too. He’s weird with the way he shows it sometimes, but he does. I can tell. It’s important you know that.”

Din closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall between the two of you. He stays like that for a long time, listening as you continue to hum despite the fact that the child is asleep. When the lantern light finally clicks off, he clambers to his feet and retreats back to his bunk.

“Din?” It’s your voice, just outside. Panic surges in his chest, the slight warble of your words reminiscent of the night you woke up screaming.

He’s upright and at the door immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t sleep,” your voice is hoarse. “Can I…”

Din slides the door open without hesitation. You already have the blindfold around your eyes, your arms protectively crossed over your stomach in a weak attempt at self-soothing.

Your hand hesitantly stretches out, blindly trying to locate him. He circles your wrist with his large hand, gently pulling you forward to guide your palm against his chest. You follow suit, collapsing against his body, burying your face in his sternum.

It’s a motion filled with such warm familiarity that if he closes his eyes he could almost imagine that the previous night didn’t end in the way it did. Almost as if this were just some long awaited reunion. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against him.

“Hi,” your voice is a small, shy sound against his chest. It’s a greeting, it’s a let’s forget about all of it, for now. Just for now. Din lets go of you for a second to pull off his helmet, burying his face in your hair as soon as the thing is off. He breathes you in. He thinks you might be doing the same.

You eventually pull back, press your lips against his. It’s a small, chaste motion. He takes your hand and leads you back to his bunk, hoisting you up onto the mattress by your hips. Now eye-level with one another, Din stands between your open legs to kiss you again.

He doesn’t allow himself to think it through. Not as he leaves to retrieve the same blanket and pillow as he had the previous night. Not as he returns to find you exactly where he’d left, the sweater you were wearing in a crumbled heap on the floor. Not as your hot mouth presses against his as you undress him. Not as he sucks a constellation of bruises over your chest. Not as he stretches you open with his fingers, winding you into a quivering mess of exposed nerves with his tongue and hands alone.

In the haze of your second orgasm, you reach for the ridged tent of his boxers with a moan, legs still shaking from the come-down. He pushes your hand away gently, kissing your temple and tucking you into his side. The two of you tumble into a deep sleep quickly after.

There are a few points throughout the night where you wake him. The first is a small gesture, just a hand against the side of his neck, but the feeling is so new that is rouses him from sleep instantly.

Your bare body occasionally shifts away from his as you sleep. Not purposefully, just in small readjustments that usually involve moving your hips away from his, or curling a little further into yourself so that the tops of his thighs loose contact with the warm undersides of yours. Every time you do he wakes up to readjust, promptly curling back around you because he’s too selfish to not hold onto you while he can.

There are a few instances where he wakes up because you’ve turned over and onto him, draping your body over his with a little snore or an incoherent sleep-mumble. He’s never seen someone sleep this deeply, and he’s entranced by every little motion of yours. How you nestle against whatever is closest before giving a content hum once readjusted. How your breathing feels against his skin. How your body radiates enough heat that he had to push some of the blankets off the bed and onto the floor. How fucking cold your feet are.

He likes the weight of you there—against his mattress, against him.

At around 4am, you rouse him again when you get up to use the bathroom. He pretends to still be asleep when you return, clumsily managing to clamber back onto the mattress while blindfolded. You settle back into his side, pressing the length of your nose against the warmth of his throat, hooking a leg over his hips and flinging your arm across his chest.

Smiling to himself, he closes his eyes and turns his face further away from you, feigning sleep out of curiosity of what you’d do. After a moment, your hand begins to trail across his chest, settling with your palm resting against his sternum as you tilt your head back, tracing a series of kisses along the underside of his jaw. He shifts his head and opens one eye slightly to look at you, the curve of your body illuminated in the bluish darkness of the bunk.

“Din,” your voice is rough with sleep, speaking with your lips barely hovering over his pulse.

You push yourself further upwards, using the hand on his chest as leverage. Then, your lips against his cheekbone. “Din.” It’s a whisper. Husky in his ear. Another kiss, at the corner of his mouth this time. This one lingers. “Din.”

There is no possible way he could keep playing coy. He seizes you in his arms, pulling you onto his chest to straddle his waist. You let out a surprised squeak before he seals his mouth over yours. You can’t contain a giggle, quickly stifling yourself by deepening the kiss.

Din gently cups either side of your neck with his hands, thumbs rubbing either side of your jaw. It’s the most sustained contact he’ll allow himself—only fair, considering what limited access you had to his. It’s… very important to him that you feel like the two of you were on equal footing.

Maybe he isn’t doing a very good job of it, placing all the emphasis in all the wrong places, but he is trying. In the only ways he knows how, he is trying.

He trails his hands down your legs in a languid praise. When his fingers reach the bandages wrapped around your injured knee, his hands immediately go to your hips to lift you off of him and back on the mattress.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he mutters. “I forgot about the—here, lemme—"

“It’s fine,” you kiss him to make him stop talking. It works exceptionally well, he can’t help but chase your lips with his when you pull back to finish your sentence. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“But you shouldn’t—”

“Last time I checked I was the authority figure on the subject,” you tease, prodding him between the ribs with your knuckle in mock chastisement. Your voice goes low. “Lemme prove it to you.”

And he thinks there’s just no way he hasn’t died and been sent to a heaven he certainly doesn’t deserve because your hands are moving down the length of his torso as you kiss him and just the feeling of that alone is enough. It could have only ever been this feeling alone and it would still be more than enough.

Without breaking from you, he wraps an arm around your lower back to keep you flush against him as he uses his other hand to push himself up. Back now pressed against the wall, he lowers you to his lap.

Your hands resume their downward path, palms flat against the skin of his stomach. He tucks both of his own hands in the pits of your knees, holding you exactly where you are as your hands wrap around his cock.

Din moans into your mouth right before you pull away, his neck stretching to chase your lips until you lean too far back for him to reach you. You release him, bringing up your hand just below your chin. The saliva you’ve gathered at the tip of your tongue glistens in the low, blue light of the captain’s quarters as you let it drip onto your hand.

If you weren’t wearing the blindfold, he knows you’d be looking up at him through your eyelashes in that heated way he had seen you do while flirting with that rat-faced boy back at the Tagge mansion. The thought of that alone it enough to have him straining towards you again, desperate to erase the events of that night—for your sake or his, he isn’t exactly sure.

You stop him by placing your hand, now wet with spit, back on his cock. One hard stroke is enough to have his body straining towards you, covering your neck in hard kisses and sharp little bites. He moans into your collarbone as you continue the agonizingly slow pump, your thumb coming up to swipe the head of his dick with every upwards stroke.

Din can feel how hot your cunt is from where you hover over his lap, the plush skin of your thighs pressed against his quads—his muscles, taught with the restraint it takes not to pin you down and fuck you senseless, are ropes of steel compared to how your soft body sinks against his.

That restraint crumbles when you lean forward to try and kiss him as you continue jacking him off, pressing your tits against his chest, breathing against his cheek as you blindly try to find his lips again. He surges forward to meet you, mouths clashing together in a heated reunion.

Wordlessly, Din removes his hands from your knees, sliding them up your thighs and grabbing onto your hips. He begins to roll you back onto the bed beneath him, but you place your free hand on his bicep, halting him before he can.

You pull away, slightly shoving him to lean back against the wall as you drag your tongue over your lips, plush from sleep and the force of the kiss. Maddeningly, you finished the motion by biting the corner of your bottom lip, right as you lift yourself up from his lap to tease the head of his cock against your entrance.

He can tell you’re still sore from the small sounds you make as you sink onto him, but his ability to acknowledge that quickly flies out the window because Maker you’re so fucking tight it’s nearly painful. He’s about to urge you off him, to insist on foreplay so he doesn’t hurt you--

And he’s left in an absolute daze because he realizes that you want it like this. Because with the first few rolls of your hips you’re already soaking his cock, mumbling incoherent phrases between heady little moans as you arch your spine. You throw your head back as you do, exposing the delicate expanse of your neck that he’d spend the rest of his living days marking if he could.

Din presses up into you to meet each thrust of your hips, the arm he had braced around you shifting up to press against the curve of your spine, coaxing your chest closer to his face. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, the hand that was resting against your leg moving up to press against your lower stomach.

His hands are so big against your body that his thumb is able to reach your clit from where his palm rests. Your hips stutter slightly at the new sensation and it takes far too much self-restraint to resist pinning you to the bed when he feels how you clench around him. He’s able to thrust into you a few times before you continue to ride him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other braced against his bicep.

You slam your hand against the wall for leverage, grinding down on him with a series of sharp gasps, rapidly increasing in pitch as his thumb steadily rubs circles onto your clit.

It’s quick but heated. He lowers the hand on your back and returns it to your hip in encouragement for you to keep going, burying his face in the crook of your neck. With the pace you’ve set, he feels his orgasm drawing up in his stomach far faster than he’d anticipated.

“F-fuck,” he’s able to choke out. “I’m—where should I—”

“Inside,” you pant. You’re holding your breath in that way you do when you’re about to come. “’s safe. Please, oh M—Din, please.”

Your words are more than enough to have him tumbling over the edge. It’s white-hot, then nearly blinding as he feels you quickly follow him, your hips jerking under his thumb. When he resurfaces, cock still pulsing inside you, he realizes he’s bitten down on the patch of skin where your shoulder meets your neck.

Din lets go of you immediately, mumbling an apology and kissing the salty spot before he settles his forehead against where the indentations of his teeth dug scores into the delicate flesh. You’ve already assumed the same position on his opposite shoulder, breathing hard. He holds you against him with both arms wrapped around your lower back.

The two of you stay like that, catching your breath, for what feels a long time. You eventually shift back, messily kissing him. Din grunts, placing a hand against the side of your head as his lips slide against yours.

Muscles still shaky, he lifts you off his lap and guides you back down on the mattress. Grunting, he rolls onto his side to grab his discarded shirt, using it to wipe you off and then himself. You give a sleepy moan as he does, immediately rolling onto your side and draping yourself over him again when he settles back down on the mattress.

“Pel kar’ta—” he begins a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of. You shake your head against his chest.

“Go to bed, Din Djarin,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder. There’s an unabashed intimacy in how you say it, already half-sleep, all potential barriers forgotten in the haze and heaviness of your eyes.

In a dream, a formless shape stands in the far distance.

It is supposed to be the skinless figure. He knows this because he is still kneeling, still crouched in the midst of some kind of red fog that is at once a whipping wind and a still solace. It depends on how hard he focuses on it.

He can’t look up at it, not where it stands. There are two blazing lights to the distant shape’s back, so strong it forces him to keep his eyes to the ground. But he knows it is there. He knows it is supposed to be the skinless figure, but it isn’t. She never approaches.

He vomits anyway. It’s leeches, this time. A thick, black mass of them, writhing in the hands—his hands—that catch them. He watches as they fall.

When Din opens his eyes again, it is morning.

It is morning and you are gone. So are most of your things. Your bed is stripped, its contents folded in neat piles. You leave the medkit and a note. He doesn’t read it.

taglist: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou @hotsforrob @pointy-sharp @ironbabey @mufflerfluffler @pedropascalownsmysoul @carbonite-cruncher @daddydjarinxx @altarsw @sarahjkl82-blog @elfwoodfae

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #grogu #din and grogu #mando and grogu #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin x y/n #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch6

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Charlie Weasley - Secret

A/N - This is my first imagine thing uploaded on Tumblr, and I’m uploading the smutty version of this story on this platform before posting the more PG version to my wattpad collection. Check it out: angeli-marco. Also this somehow became a Gryffindor reader kinda thing, it’s just what works but imagine you’re not in Gryffindor if you fancy.

Warnings - smut, rough sex, choking, kinky, all that jazz. Starting this blog off with a bang, literally. 6k words of p*rn with plot.

Summary - you have a secret regarding the dragon taming Weasley. The only issue is that he sees you as the child you were a few years ago. When you become legal, he seems to seek you out wherever you are. Maybe he has a secret, too.

YOU HAD A SECRET, a secret that no one beside yourself and your best friend knew, not that you’d readily admit to anyone that for your first three years at Hogwarts, you’d had a crush on none other than Charlie Weasley. Now, beginning your seventh year, having not seen him in three years, you’re surprised to find that your crush still lingers.

You’ve kept the notes that he wrote you, since the pair of you were actually quite close, Charlie tucking you under his wing once he found out your love of magical creatures. He nurtured your passion for the outdoors from the start of your second year. He sent notes, would help you access the forest, and he’d show you drawings of all these magical creatures that he wanted tattooed once he was older. He was the best.

All of these thoughts catch up to you while you’re lying in your tent, eyes closed and dreams clouding your vision, willing you to sleep. Until you hear yells.

Screams come from outside, howls and wails, yells for help and sacrifice. Not the kind of happy bellows that you’d expect after the World Cup Quidditch match. And then all of a sudden, moonlight beams in through the canvas of your one-man luxury tent and illuminates shadows you haven’t seen before, making you dwell in eeriness.

A head pops into your tent, followed by a voice, one that’s so familiar it makes your stomach ache and the hairs on your arm stand on edge.

“Whoever’s in here, you need to go! Get to safety, now!”

Charlie. As clear as day.

“I’m coming, what’s happening?” You call back, voice shaky while you try to stand up, legs nearly bowing and giving way beneath you.

“Death Eaters. Wait, Y/N?”

He recognises you from your voice. Your body feels electrified already. Not the right time, you scold yourself, but you can’t help feeling a little pride that he still remembers you.

“It’s me, Charlie, I’ll come to fight with you.”

You hear him stutter from outside, but within seconds, he’s raced across the expanse of your tent and has his arm wrapped around your waist.

“You’re too young,” he insists, but you just pull your wand out and look at him.

His blue eyes twinkle, even in a moment like this, and you feel as though he’s boring into your soul, which in all fairness you wouldn’t say no to.

You sigh, “I’m of age and I’m here alone, don’t think I’m not coming, Dragon Boy.”

He smirks at the nickname you gave him so many years ago, but smiles and brings you outside, still gripping onto you in any way he can.

You run to the centre of the outbreak. Men in masks levitating helpless muggles , the Ministry and other helpers already failing at bringing them down. It’s worse than you could’ve imagined. Charlie pulls you behind him, gripping your wrist with a determination, a protectiveness, one that he still had back in the day. Though it’s not the time, you feel your stomach flutter, even letting out a giggle at his gesture mere seconds before running out from behind him.

You proceed to run into the centre of the action, Charlie not far behind, calling out your name in the most desperate way you’ve heard him speak.

What he doesn’t realise is how much you’ve grown over the past few years. You’ve become trained in combat, mostly thanks to Professor Lupin, and you’re really bloody good at it. You have virtually every possible spell in your arsenal, ones that many ministry members mayn’t even know, all thanks to Lupin again who gave you one on one lessons and prepared you for anything. Not to mention that you play Quidditch for your house team, something that you always admired Charlie for, but now you’re extremely agile, ready for almost anything, and prepared to fight.

What you see is pure injustice, people being persecuted for their blood, all for a sick game. You’re a little scared, that’s a given, but you know it isn’t right, so aim a stunning spell straight at the chest of the tallest man in a mask. Non verbally, so he doesn’t see you coming. He falls to up the ground, wand discarded, a wand which you happily take and slot into your pocket. Your thought process is that you’ll take the men down one by one, maybe with a little help since you are only a 17 year old girl, while the weak ass ministry workers try what’s best for their image.

And really, that’s the way it goes. A good while later, when you’ve participated in a couple of duels, ended up flat on your arse in front of everyone, with a cut on your cheek and anger roaring in your blood, only then do you get a rest.

Charlie and his brother helped duel the masked men, taking them down, while the Ministry brought the muggles down to their Rightful Place and proceeded to wipe their memories. Horrible ordeal, all done incorrectly for press, especially since every single man got away, at least that’s what you counted. You tuck your wand away in your pyjamas. Certainly not the right clothes you wanted to be wearing when meeting Charlie again, but so be it.

You sit on the floor, looking up at the stars and hollow moon, really hungry and a little shaken up. You have a cold compress on your face, well, a tissue that you used an aguamenti charm to dampen and proceeded to lay it over your pounding forehead, throbbing eyes and bruising cut.

“Let me help you with that,” Charlie says, coming to sit beside you. You didn’t hear him approaching, so his sudden presence takes you by surprise. Surprise that evaporates the second he lays his hand on your thigh.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you quip, nudging his shoulder, “didn’t think you’d recognise me.”

It’s true, you really didn’t. You would’ve thought that you’d have to prove your identity with the notes he wrote you and by inside jokes you ice had, but he recognised you solely by your voice, very rare. You’ve changed a lot since your third year, growing taller, filling out, gaining a very desirable figure and you changed your style completely, including a complete makeover of your hair, and a nose piercing.

“How could I not? You still sound the same as ever.”

Once again, true. No matter what other hormonal and physical changes you’ve endured, not one of them included losing the babyish feature that your voice held, constantly making you sound like you’re dosed up on a little helium.

“And, you’re still as cute, but very... um...”

Wow. You have Charlie speechless, what a rarity. He has two modes, silent, or never shutting up, and the latter usually only comes when he’s with friends.

“Grown up?” You offer, turning to face him with a small smirk painted on your lips.

He chuckles, a low rumbling sound from the bottom of his throat while his eyes tiresomely yank themselves away from your best features, “yeah, you could say that.”

He brings an arm around your waist, shuffling along the ground to sit beside you, and then a warm hand encloses over your own, the one holding the bloody cloth to your face. Slowly, he takes the cloth away and replaces its positioning with rough, calloused fingers, tracing the outline of your cut.

“Tergeo,” Charlie murmurs, and he watches all the blood and debris disappear from your face, leaving a clean cut.

You stare into his eyes, feeling the same thing of fireflies in your bloodstream as you did when he looked into your eyes when you were all but a child. It’s illuminating, he makes you feel seen, he makes you feel special. He edges forwards, and forwards, until your breath mingles together...

“Try this!” He exclaims with a fake enthusiasm, jolting his head away from your own and clearing his throat with as much subtlety as a Hebridean black.

Charlie withdraws a small, battered tin from his pocket, placing it shakily into your open palm.

“I use it all the time on the sanctuary,” he opens the tin, places one finger inside, and swipes a cooling, vanilla scented balm over your cut.

You wince, involuntary flinching away from him, but your hand grips his string thigh. He contracts and calms beneath your touch as he rubs the balm over your cut, and you can almost feel it recovering.

“As good as new,”

Charlie brushes his lips against your forehead, the way he used to do, it ignites something special in you both this time.

He hesitates. “You’re still at school, aren’t you?” You nod, tucking your hair behind both ears, smiling up at him shyly. “I’ll see you sooner than you expect, I promise, but I have to be with my family now.”

Bemusement flashes over your face, but instead of questioning it and ruining the mystery, you just settle for a smile. Slotting your palm in his, Charlie steadies you to your feet and swiftly pulls you flush against him.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N, so grown up. I miss you.”

His voice cracks, neediness clear in his deep, dulcet tones. He wraps his arms around your almost bare shoulders, allowing yours to fall around his waist. He’s grown impossibly taller, gained even more muscle, and his heart has most definitely swelled in his absence.

“I miss you too,” you murmur against his chest, the words getting lost within his chest, the warmth of his skin on your face through a tear in his shirt. You could quite happily stay in his arms all day, all night and never get tired.

Soon, though, he withdraws and holds you at arms length, observing every blemish on your face and the way your eyelashes curl and the way your lips quirk into a smile at the mere thought of him. You want him to wander further, for his eyes to follow down your body, the way your bust is accentuated in your scrappy pyjama top, and the way your 3/4 leg pyjama bottoms fall low on your hip and stay snug around you with no effort at all; but he stays with his eyes fixed on yours.

“Stay safe.”

And with a kiss, the brush of his stubble on your cheek, he’s gone and you’re left to wonder if him being beside you tonight was just a dream.

-x-

It’s been months since you saw Charlie last, despite his promise that he’d see you sooner than anticipated. You, however, had expected to see him there as a new teacher on September 1st, but your wish didn’t come true.

Your first two months at school weren’t too bad: a decent DADA teacher (nothing on Lupin though), no escaped prisoners, no escaped trolls or petrified students, and you could safely say that it was the most normal year you’d had so far at Hogwarts, at least since Harry Potter started.

That basic joy and normality evaporated with the announcement of the tournament, which you most unequivocally would not enter under any circumstances, so you stayed out of the way ever since. You couldn’t be arsed with the other schools, nor all the gossip about the tasks, and you instead continued to busy yourself with your nightly creature endeavours. You’d walk to all your favourite spots where unicorns, nifflers, bowtruckles and more stayed, but not once did you bump into Charlie.

You began to feel defeated, lost, like you wouldn’t see him again and he’d just been lying, or maybe it was all a dream. But tonight, your walk is different.

The sun set early, late November creeping in and enveloping you in a warm blanket of darkness, the moon comforting you. It’s not even curfew yet, nowhere near, but maybe you’ll stay out here until sunrise, nap beneath the stars, all curled up with an aethonan winged horse, but deep within the forest you hear clattering. There’s yells, roars, sudden blasts of light, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

You crawl all through the trees and bushes, finding a comfortable path, only to come across four huge dragons in their pens, a collection of wizards, all dressed the same as Charlie, dotted around them. And then, only then, do you see his twinkling blue eyes, a breath of fire from one of the dragons reflecting in them.

“Charlie!” You cry out, not caring about any form of common courtesy on your endeavour through the final brambles until you fall straight into his arms.

“I told you I’d see you soon.” He smirks, but you can just tell that he’s itching to grin like a Cheshire Cat.

You climb him like a vine, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck. You tug at his man-bun and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His face falters, cheeks a flaming red, and once again he clears his throat. He turns his head away awkwardly, still keeping his grip on you, so he doesn’t anticipate when you cup his jaw and angle his gaze towards you once more.

“Do you want to kiss me, Charlie?” You ask, voice low and sultry, hips rearranging themselves atop him.

He stutters, tongue tied, pupils blown wide with lust but the colour drains from his face. You repeat yourself, eyes boring into his with a ferocity you haven’t felt since that night in August. His freckled eyelids fall shut for a couple of seconds, crinkling in the corners, and then they shoot open, his nose nudging yours, lips grazing yours...

“Charlie!”

He sighs, putting you down onto the ground, and he turns his back momentarily which allows you to examine the way the moonlight ripples over his leather jacket.

“What, mate?” He calls, the most exasperated time you’ve ever heard him use, and you can see his heavenly back muscles tensing through his clothes.

“A little hand over here?” A European accent calls him over. “When shithead gets back from his food run, then you can run off with your girlfriend, but for now we need help.”

Charlie rolls his eyes and slumps his chest forwards. Clearly he’s not happy, and you can’t blame him. It’s a lovely evening that could be silent shagging you, but he has to spend it being burnt by dragons.

“You’ve had an impact on their language then, they’ll be yelling ‘BOLLOCKS’ soon if you’re not careful.” Charlie chuckles at your quip and brings you into his side.

“You still like animals, right? Fancy giving us a hand?”

You know Charlie well enough to know that he’s actually serious, so he sheds his jacket to wrap around your shoulders, and brings you toward the centre of the fire pit with him. You get strange looks from all the other dragon tamers and you can’t blame them. A girl like yourself, you don’t much look like a dragon tamer, but anything for Charlie.

The task is easier than you anticipated anyway, giving you ample opportunity to watch Charlie’s body, the way he moves, the way he smiles, and you even catch a glimpse of a few tattoos. You feel heat flowing to your core, desperate for him to just snog you already.

All you really have to do is cling to the rough skin of Charlie’s hand and dodge fire, occasionally shooting stunning spells at the Horntail or pulling on some chains to keep the creatures tethered. The beasts truly are magnificent, and it’d be a lot easier to take notes on them and examine them a little more closely if it weren’t for Charlie’s cute bum looking far too tight in his jeans, making your fingers ache to touch him.

You shrug his jacket off when curfew approaches, only just keeping time by slanting his wrist towards yours every so often, and so you drape it back over his shoulders, unwittingly giving him a kind of bear hug. He brings you around to his front, your legs settling comfortably on his hips, and he smirks at you. Bloody hell, just his smirk does things to you.

His breath mingles with yours, fogging your vision from the way it steams in the cold, night air. The moon shines down and illuminates constellations with each and every one of Charlie’s freckles. You slip a hand to his cheek, resting it on his stubble for just a moment while you stare longingly into his eyes. There’s no need to rush such a beautiful moment, but then he dips his head a little in order to catch your lips in a slow, savoured kiss, allowing every feeling the two of you harbour each other to be portrayed through the slow, deft dance if his lips on yours, passion exchanged when his tongue slips into your mouth, longing and urgency once he begins to fervently nibble at your lip...

“Fuck, Charlie...” you moan into his mouth, his hips involuntarily rutting against your core. You can feel just how much he wants this.

His eyes are shut, holding you against him with one hand slipped under your bum and the other exploring your back beneath your top. You kiss him again, needier this time, breathier, and you just pray that everything you feel can be portrayed in your mix of reverent kisses and sultry movements, your hips grinding down on him.

You pull away, gasping for air, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. You didn’t even notice your other hand moving to fist at his shirt for support, too lost in the moment. Your eyes flutter open and you search his for some kind of a tell tale sign that he just snogged you senseless, and you can see it in how lust-blown his pupils are. The earth cracks beneath the two of you while you’re still wrapped in the security of your kiss, but eventually you slip from his waist and land steadily on the floor, minuscule in comparison to his stature.

“I’ll wedge the portrait open and I’ll see you later. Don’t be too late. I’m sure you know how to sneak into the girls dorms by now.” You whisper to him, your voice carried away with the roars of the dragons and the nightly breeze.

And with a wink, you’re gone, with Charlie left dumbfounded, feet behind as you walk away into the depths of the forest, only to emerge the other side more flustered than ever before.

-x-

As soon as you reach your dormitory, you’re glad to see that all your roommates have disappeared, probably to their significant others' beds, or late night training help for Diggory just to watch him work out. You, however, have no inclination for anything or anyone other than Charlie.

You tidy your bed as much as you can manage, tucking clothes away wherever you can in as small a time frame as you have, leaving ample time to let your nerves subside and your tension to dissipate before getting ready for Charlie’s arrival, you just hope to Merlin that he’ll turn up. The way he kissed you gave you he, the way he savoured you in every sense, kind yet needy, soft yet burning. Just the thought makes you rise in goosebumps, let alone imagining what he’ll do to you tonight.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime has passed, you’re lying in your four-poster with the covers wrapped around your body, the silk slip you put on leaving nothing to the imagination with the way it brushes your hips and clings to the swells of your breasts, moonlight shimmering on the fabric with any movement, the material almost not even daring to skim your skin from how in control you are of your body in that rare moment of power over yourself, and then you hear a knock, all of your composure flying out the window.

“Hey beautiful, it’s me.”

His voice sounds like molten honey with a slight rasp and you’ve never heard anything more perfect, so with as much normality as you can, you open the door to him.

“Fucking hell...”

The words tumble from his mouth so freely upon the sight of you, hair swept off your face with a scrunchie and nothing but your well chosen slip gracing your body, Charlie looks as though he may combust.

You step aside while Charlie awkwardly walks over the threshold into your dorm, no doubt one that he spent many nights in when he was a seventh year, but as soon as the chestnut door swings shut, he’s got you pressed against it with his chapped lips hovering over your own, the rough material of his jeans tantalising on your bare thighs.

“Did you think it was funny for you to kiss me like that? Climb all over me? Touching me relentlessly? I couldn’t concentrate, your ass in those leggings and you wearing my jacket, I’ve never seen anything so sexy.” He croons in your ear, causing you to involuntarily mewl and buck your hips against his. You were already at his mercy, clinging to his jacket and clawing at the back of his neck while he holds you up, the wood chilling on your tingling spine.

“When I left, you know, I thought I’d never see you as more than a friend, but now? The World Cup? You’ve gotten so mature, and your body, sweet Merlin. You’re all I want.”

You release a strangled moan, not wanting to let him know just how much his words are riling you up, but you’re sure he can already tell by the quirk of his lips, upturning into a smirk, a special glint in his eye that he was notorious for in his last year.

“Are we gonna do this? I’ve fancied you since I was twelve, Charlie, please.”

He chuckles at your desperation, but sheds his leather jacket nonetheless and steadies you on your feet once more. Within seconds, you’re pouncing on him and beginning to strip his shirt, pulling it out from his jeans and up over his head. He seems equally as eager as you with the way his hands take a bruising grip onto your hips, scared of stripping you of your only covering just yet.

You run your hands all over his tanned, muscular torso, covered in burns and tattoos and a fine dusting of dark ginger hair. There’s a Romanian Longhorn on his right peck, a Norwegian ridgeback on his left bicep (slightly distorted from a bad burn), an animated Zouwo on his hip and a crup pup on his perfectly angled shoulder blade. Charlie’s gonna be the death of you, you can just sense it by the heat radiating off his body.

Your eyes bulge as the pad of your finger trails the swells and dips of his abs, and the way his muscles ripple is divine, you may just puddle at his feet.

“I swear, Charlie...” you murmur, your fingers deftly working on his jeans, shoving them down his hips before winding your arms around his neck.

He lets out a broken groan when you tug his hair, weaving your fingers into his unruly red locks. He holds your waist and slowly grips the flimsy fabric in his big hands, allowing your back to arch against him from how electrifying his touch is on your upper thighs and now bare hips...

He kisses your collarbone, sucks marks on your neck, fans his hot breath over the shell of your ear, peppers feather light kisses to your jawline; all of them make you whimper, shivering and trembling like a leaf against his body from his other ministrations as well as the work of his lips. Until finally, his mouth slants over yours and his arms curl around your thighs, wrapping them around his bared torso, every inch of him carved by a Greek god. He slips his tongue into your mouth, savouring the moan that slides from your lips, swallowing it and keeping you for his own. He walks backwards until his knees hit the side of your bed, allowing you to clamber onto his body and latch your teeth onto his earlobe, biting a mark just below.

“Fuck baby...” he whispers. He grips your hips and ass to control your movements on top of him, feeling his boxers just tighten even more. “Your ass is perfect...”

He hikes your nightgown up even more, bunching it above your waist, while he massages the globes of your ass, kneading them between his rough fingers and pulling your ass cheeks apart for him. Just by those simple ministrations, you know that you’re in for a rough night.

“Fuck me, dragon boy,” you plead, eyes trained on his as his entire being is overcome with a desire to devour you, you can tell by the way his nose scrunches and his lips upturn into the most devilish smirk you’ve ever seen on anyone.

“That’s Daddy or Sir to you tonight, baby.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is the most pornographic sound you’ve made in your life, not that you’ve had much experience to. His palm rubbing your pussy erases all inhibitions, and the thought that you should probably warn him you’re a virgin. Not completely, you’ve done stuff with guys before, but you’ve never gone further than third base, so your dildo is your only relief. That should be enough, right?

“You’re so wet for me, my sweet baby. I bet you taste amazing.” Already you’re mewling, clawing at his back, a whimpering mess and he isn’t even inside you yet.

Within a second you find yourself beneath him, hungry eyes looking at you as though you’re his prey, one hand planted firmly on your pillow beside your head and the other with two fingers knuckle deep inside you. You cry out in pleasure, toes curling, but it all just gets so much better when he begins to thrust his hand at an inhumane speed, fingers curling up inside you and pressing that perfect spot perfectly each time. Part of you expected him to start slow: one finger, shallow and slow thrusts; but he’s just going for it, and the ecstasy is incomparable to anything you’ve felt before.

“Are you already that weak for me?” He purrs.

Yes, yes you are. His movements, the flick of his wrist and the jolt of his fingers deep within whenever you clench around him. You can’t fathom a response, especially not when the heel of his hand continually hits your clit and his lips wrap themselves around your nipple.

“Fuck, Sir, I’m so close...” you whisper in his ear, yanking on his hair with one hand, eliciting a groan followed by a swift slap to your ass, his body now being held up by only his knees .

The way your fingers thread and tangle in his red locks and pull a little too harshly makes him insert a third finger. He twists his fingers inside you, hitting more places than before, and he withdraws his hand. You whine a little at the loss of contact, and certainly don’t anticipate their plough back inside, sharp and vicious, you’re unprepared for the sudden rush of contact to your clit, and even less prepared for the way Charlies tongue licks a circle around your other nipple, so you come. Stars blur before your eyes, a strangled guttural cry leaving your throat as Charlie rides it out for you. You already feel spent, body lax after scratching marks into Charlie's back while you clenched and came totally undone around his hand.

When you look up, Charlie’s still hovering above you, glistening hand between the two of you. As your eyelashes flutter and you focus on him, he knows he has your attention, so brings his hand up to his mouth and curls his tongue around his fingers, all covered with your cum. He moans as he tastes you, the most erotic sound that’s ever graced your ears, and it may just be the most sensual thing you’ve seen in your life. A slight fire lights itself in your belly while watching him, immediately ready for round two, so you let both your eyes and your hands dance down his perfectly toned body to his boxers. Your fingers feebly wrap around his member through his shorts, grasping tightly to cause jolts of both pleasure and pain shooting up Charlie’s spine. He hisses through his teeth and immediately climbs off the bed, only to retrieve a shiny silver packet from his pocket.

“Are you gonna be a good girl, sweet baby, or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson?” He coos.

You never thought that you’d be into any of this stuff, the ‘Sir’ and ‘Good girl’ and the spanking, but Merlin’s beard it’s turning you on.

“I’ll be good for you, but only tonight Charlie.”

He seems dissatisfied by your answer. You can tell by the way he strikes the side of your ass with his palm and proceeds to look completely calm about it. You’re quite literally salivating though, his dominance increasing your pleasure tenfold.

“Fuck,” you whisper, backtracking in your mind, “I’ll do what you want, just fuck me.”

Your hands find the hem of his boxers, pulling them off in one fell swoop and throwing them to the other side of the room. He’s huge, long and a decent girth, so big that you’re slightly fearful. You made a fist around his dick and moved your hand up and down a couple of times, looking up at Charlie with innocent doe eyes that you can tell are driving you crazy by the way his cock twitches in your hand. You stroke him a little faster, thumb flicking over his tip and allowing the drop of pre-cum to lubricate a couple more jerks before you settle back down, watching Charlie as he intently focuses on rolling the condom down his throbbing length. Fuck, it’s beautiful.

“On your hands and knees.” He orders you in a throaty voice. You look at him with eyes full of scepticism but only for a moment before complying, sticking your ass in the air at the foot of your bed, just waiting for him to do something.

He brings his hand down on your ass again, the skin prickling a little, causing you to moan again, seemingly what he wants, because slowly he begins pushing into you. He starts slowly, just his tip entering you after he’s run his cock through your folds and collected your essence. He stretches as the rest of his length pushes in, cautiously placing a hand on the small of your back to steady himself. You clutch the sheets beneath you, pleasure overwhelming the pain.

“Is that ok? I’m not hurting you, am I?” Charlie sounds worried, hands rubbing around your waist and stomach soothingly.

“No, no it’s brilliant, but I don’t mind if you wanna hurt me…”

You can hear his breath hitch in his throat. “W-what do you mean? I don’t want to hurt you properly… what are you thinking of?”

Your pause is atmospheric, leaning into a yoga resembling pose with arms laying flat and your back arched to perfection, boobs pushed into your duvet. You hum, “Choking, maybe a little more spanking, just general rough sex. Mark me as yours.”

Charlie's knees almost buckle beneath him, removing a hand from caressing your body to steady himself on the poster of your bed. “You sure about this? I still wanna actually make love to you, I’m not all dominant…” You let out a soft chuckle and turn behind you, cocking a smile at him. A subtle nod paired with the part of your lips gives him all the answer he needs to grip your hips and pull out from you, only to slam back in with an unrivalled force.

Your ass jiggles with the power of his thrusts, Charlie's dick pumping in and out of you making you reach new heights of pleasure. His hand wraps around your hair, forming a ponytail and pulling you flush against him, your lightly sweaty back against his heaving chest, his hair tickling your spine. One of his hands grips your hip harshly, intermittent grunts of your name escaping his lips, and the other hand moves up your body, massaging your breast and plucking at your nipple.

“Can I choke you?” His voice comes out raspy, followed by a moan as you clench around his twitching cock, merely from his words.

“God, please.” You beg him, unsure if you’ve ever been so needy in your life.

His long fingers slowly wrap themselves around your neck, pressing his palm down and squeezing lightly. Hard enough so that your breath is slightly laboured and your senses are heightened. You can hear him counting under his breath, still thrusting in and out of you ferociously, and when he hears your breathing becoming an issue, he releases his grip. With a few seconds allowance, you gulp down as much air as you can, swirling your head around to face him. You bat your eyelashes at him, tongue darting out from between your lips, and you kiss him. His lips captured by your own, tongue dancing in your mouth, keeping his dominance over you. He spanks you once, twice, squeezes your hip, his mouth still locked on yours, kissing you tantalisingly. His kisses make you crave even more of him, his hand squeezing around your neck again as his pad of one finger travels down from your hip, pinching the skin on your pubic bone, and he presses down firmly on your clit. His thrusts grow erratic, the pressure on your clit and your oesophagus making the fire in your stomach spark even further, your high so quickly approaching…

He pulls away to whisper in your ear, “Come on me, pretty baby. Good girl.” You moan louder at his coaxing words, the wave of your second orgasm crashing over you and drowning you in pleasure. You cry out his name, his lips moving from pressing feather light kisses behind your ear to your lips, swallowing your screams of his names as much as he can. Your fluttering and shuttering around him allows Charlie to chase his high too. He throbs inside you, dick pulsating until he comes too, his movements slowing as you ride your highs out together.

You crash onto your bed face first, Charlie pulling out of you before joining you, your bare legs entangling as his fingertips brush your face.

“So, that was…”

“Perfect.” he finishes for you, pressing his lips to your nose gently.

“Yes,” you agree wistfully, savouring the moment of just being wrapped in his warmth, “a dream come true.”

He virtually giggles, unable to keep his hands off you. “Cuddles for a bit, and then round two?”

-x-

The next morning comes far too soon for your liking, sunlight blaring through your drapes and your bare legs tangled with someone else’s underneath your sheets, a strong arm draped over your body, warmth pressed against you.

You scramble as much as you can, jolting your neck to check that it was Charlie, and that last night was reality, and you let out the heaviest held breath you could from all the relief crashing down on you like waves, until reality hits.

“Shit. Charlie, Charlie, you need to sort the dragons! Fuck!”

It’s already late, but Charlie just groans and brings you closer into him.

“Charles,” you grumble, nudging his arm away from your body as best as you can, but still, he doesn’t budge and you’re too small to move him. “If it’s any consolation, we’ll definitely be doing this again, so you can let me go...”

Clearly that’s the remedy. His eyes shoot open and he begins to press soft kisses across the harsh marks he left last night, his hand gently caressing your soft skin, making you squirm and giggle a little.

Charlie being as gently dominant as he is (complete softie), refuses to let you do anything without him. That includes showering, dressing and hair. He massages any bruises or rough spots where he was a little too strong last night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, kissing you whenever he can get to your lips.

“Godric, baby, I haven’t been able to get you out my mind for three months.” He tells you, arms twined around your waist while you primp. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful, such a good girl for me.”

Only a four year age gap, yet you still manage to moan the word ‘Daddy’ when he squeezes your hips just right and suckles on that sweet spot.

“Fuck,” his voice is breathy and strained, clearly trying to hold back, “if you call me that again then we’ll miss the task.”

You chuckle at him but hug him nonetheless. Yeah the intimacy is great, but this just started, and he’s a bloody good hugger. Just being close to him is enough. You wear his jacket and twine your fingers with his own, your other hand resting in the crook of his elbow to feel him as close as possible. When you finally do leave the dorm and climb down the disabled stair case, you get the strangest assortment of looks you’ve ever received, everything from shock to fury to admiration to jealousy. Your cheeks heat and you turn shyly into Charlie again, only for your console to be broken by a high pitched screech, one you know to belong to Fred and George when they’re feigning shock.

“Y/N! How could you!” Fred bursts out, pointing at you with a quivering hand, jaw slackened and face aghast.

“And Charlie, sleeping with a student!” George finishes, the exact same expression written across his face.

You merely scowl at them, but they’ve bought even more attention than you’d had before, namely two girls who would be far from happy.

“Really Charlie?” Ginny says incredulously, making fake gagging noises but snuggling into her brother's side nonetheless, clearly happy to see him.

Hermione stands before you, giving you a horrible stern, disapproving look with pursed lips and folded arms. You offer a snide side eye in return, not so subtly removing your hair from your neck just to watch Hermione’s reaction, and it’s worth the audible gasps from those around you. Bruising purple marks scattered across your neck and the join of your shoulder, a red handprint on the column of your throat. Hermione looks like she’ll faint from pure disapproval, after all, you were supposed to be the innocent animal girl.

“Part of me is impressed-“ Fred announces, a sly smirk painted on his lips.

“And the other part is disgusted.” George adds, scanning you up and down as though vying for another tell tale sign.

Charlie gives them what they want, spinning you into his body with his hands holding your waist beneath your jumper, letting it ride up a little to show more bruises. The twins look nothing but dazzled at the sight of your skin covered in splendid marks. They give their brother a subtle look of solidarity, exchanging no further words before leaving. Hermione remains speechless, but Ginny looks simultaneously confused and scarred.

“Sorry Gin,” Charlie says with a genuinely apologetic style, but turns away from her, leaning down to fleetingly capture your lips.

“I guess I’m something to talk about even when I’m gone, but I promise babe, there’s more where that came from. Dinner, tonight, the edge of the forest before I leave.”

You grin to yourself, squeezing his hand as you make your way to breakfast. All that passes through your mind is how wonderful it is that you finally have Charlie back. Your Charlie.

#charlie weasley #the weasleys #weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #fred and george #fred weasley #george weasley #hp and the goblet of fire #dragons #tattoos #harry potter smut #weasley smut

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velvetyh · 3 years ago

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Hello darling!!! 🥰

How's it going?? 🤔

I've been all over the place lately (thank you mother nature 🙃)

I've been switching between chase Atlantic and kpop for the last couple days and I forgot that chase atlantic has a song with my name in it. Not gonna lie I really vibe 😌 (If you guess which one it is I'll let you call me that 😏 )

It's literally the easiest thing don't stress lmao just my funny way of telling you my name 🤭

Anywhooo ngl I've been in such a submissive mood lately 👉👈 The Boyz do that to me 🤪 However I've never really been a Younghoon girl... idk why but I just can Not see him as dominant.... maybe cause like he's such a baby and the vids that I've gotten to know him from have been him cutely crying from their wins and him looking oh so delicious in the drink it mv... idk idk anyways I'm now in the mood to read something with him as a sub or a service top you know??

Okay but no cause WHY does Jacob have to look like that?? WHO gave him the RIGHT to look that good? 😩🤧✋️

Eh hormones hormones blah blah blah 😑 😒

Just being an active nuisance hereee 😗✌️

Don't have any good questions right now cause brain soupy but

☆ Who do you feel mtl dominant towards in TBZ

☆Do you like chocolate? If so whats your fave kind? ( I like all but white, and I love chili chocolate)

☆ Do you prefer being coastal or landlocked?

Okay love you byyyyeeee

🌺

hello you beautiful human!!

i’m super tired and in an immense need of physical touch bc i’ve been up since 5am to catch a stupid train to go to another town to follow some lectures for my stupid training 🙃 i just got out of the train and there was a girl resting her head on a guy’s shoulder not far from me and omfg i crave this… plus in one of my lectures there was a dude that had the same name as my crush in hs, this asshole brought me back the memories of him 🙁 anyway i hope you’re doing well !! 💕

dw idk if it’s the moon or anything but i’m also all over the place, emotions have been nothing but a rollercoaster 🙂 it’s super fun to be happy one moment and close to give up everything the other!

I STG IF YOUR NAME IS CASSIE IM GONNA COMBUST BC THATS LEGIT A MASTERPIECE THAT I LOVE 🤩🤩 oh there’s ‘Molly’ and many songs that i really like but CASSIE?? what’s your favourite chase atlantic song btw??

yk all of this is making me act up i stg!! i wanna be a good sub for tbz but OMFG younghoon as a good boy??? calling him pretty and shit??? mommy issues jumping right in 🙂 even if he’s pretty much a GIANT he’d look so cute being all submissive and whiny under you 😫😫

YES YOUNGHOON SERVICE TOP AGENDA!! (not me getting excited about it when i only wrote fics where yh was a soft!dom lol)

YOU ARE NOT A NUISANCE i really love having you around my blog 🥺

Who do you feel mtl dominant towards in TBZ?

rn…? i kinda want to sangyeon to get on his knees for me,,, i’ve been in a mood recently, where i really really want to have arrogant / dom looking guys on their knees before me, begging me to do something. yes this is totally a power kink but OMG it is just so hot.

Do you like chocolate?

I know im gonna surprised ppl but not that much… im not much of a sweet tooth, i get disgusted pretty quickly by sugary things, but i wouldn’t say no to a good slice of my mom’s chocolate cake

Do you prefer being coastal or landlocked?

COASTAL all the way!! if i don’t see the sea a few times a year i just feel bleh and terrible 25/8.

LOVE YOU TOO!!! ❣️

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angryladies · 4 years ago

Text

I was recently diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease and my doctor and I are trying to figure out what treatment plan is best for me, so right now we’re tying different things out and adjusting as necessary, etc.

So my doctor is like “let me know if you’re experiencing Hashimoto’s symptoms and how severe they are!!!”, but like....the symptoms of Hashimoto’s are

Weight gain (I have gained weight over the past year but like is that Hashimoto’s or is that the fact that there’s a fucking pandemic and I never leave the house)

Depression/mood swings (again, there’s a pandemic??? Everyone is depressed rn??? And like I have always had some Mental Health Stuff going on and my dad dying a year and half ago certainly didn’t help matters!!!)

Sensitivity to cold (I am literally always freezing and have been my whole life. Also it’s winter)

Fatigue (?????????????????????? when is it A Symptom™️ and when is it just being tired???)

Dry skin and hair (again ????? I’ve always had sensitive skin and it’s winter!)

Irregular periods (I’m on hormonal birth control lmao)

Basically I have no idea how to monitor this chronic autoimmune condition/tell if it’s getting worse 🤷‍♀️

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marvxlousqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Warren Worthington- Laundry

word count: 1.8K

warnings: really soft smut like just sweet smut, no condom whoops, cussing, also! not proofread lmao

A/N: so i have two requests rn but i’m having a hard time writing them bc i don’t feel inspired but ! i’m inspired for this so let’s get it folks

also this is like a modern college!warren au

Finals week. Commonly referred to as hell week, which is a perfect description for it. College was hard enough without taking long, difficult exams. (Y/n) had been going through a quizlet for her macroeconomics class for the last 2 hours. She could feel her brain start to go numb. If she had to go over monetary policy one more time, she was going to literally punch herself in the face. She shifted in her desk chair, trying not to wake her dorm mate. (Y/n) grabbed her phone, going to check her notifications, but stopped herself when she saw the time.

“2 am, holy shit.”

(Y/n) didn’t want to pull an all nighter, knowing it would just make her feel like shit the next day. She figured she deserved sleep (if she was able to get any). After closing her laptop, she slowly creeped over to her bed.

“Damn it.”

Her dirty laundry was in a pile in front of her bed. She was supposed to do it earlier and study at the student laundry mat, but all the machines were taken. (Y/n) thought about her options, deciding that since she had just drank a red bull an hour ago and wouldn’t be able to sleep, she might as well throw her laundry in the wash instead of just laying in bed overthinking. She figured she could go over her biology notes as her clothes washed, giving her a break from economics.

She quietly threw her laundry in her basket, placing her bio notebook on top. (Y/n) tiptoed out of the room, heading left to the student laundry mat. The dorms were extremely quiet. Everyone was probably either cramming for exams or passed out already.

(Y/n) reached the laundry room that was at the end of the hall, but hesitated in walking in. She noticed a person sitting on top of one of the machines, but with her eyes still adjusting to the bright florescent lights she couldn’t tell who.

“Oh, hey (Y/n).”

She squinted to see the figure as she stepped into the room.

“Warren?”

Him and (Y/n) were somewhat close, having shared a class their sophomore year of college. She had always found him cute, especially early sophomore year, but now he had grown into himself more- he was a straight up hottie. She saw him more frequently now because he had taking the position of RA for their dorm hall. They never spoke too much, just exchanged smiles and the occasional small talk.

Warren hummed, looking back down at his textbook.

(Y/n) lugged her laundry basket on top of one of the machines, filling it with quarters before turning back to face Warren.

“Why are you in here at 2 am?”

“Why are you?”

“I asked you first.”

He let out a sigh, “Just couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get some chores done and some studying in. Was going pretty well too before someone distracted me.”

(Y/n) laughed, “Distracting? I’m not that loud, but fine I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not you talking, it’s your clothes.”

“Huh?”

(Y/n) looked down. All she was wearing was a big t-shirt over a pair of underwear, her feet clad in fuzzy socks.

“That’s against dress code, you know.”

(Y/n) could hear the smirk in his voice. She turned back around, loading her laundry into the washing machine. “Oh shut up, Mr. RA. And if you’re distracted, close your eyes.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and even though Warren couldn’t see her, it’s like he could feel her annoyance.

“Oh, fuck me,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself.

“Gladly.”

She slammed her hand down on the washer, “Shut it! Why are you so horny right now? I’ve never seen you act like this.”

“Must be all the sleep deprivation. Really gets the hormones pumping. But no, really, what’s wrong?”

He hopped off his machine, checking the time and seeing it only had another 5 minutes before it needed to dry. He walked towards (Y/n), trying to keep his eyes from scanning her bare legs and looking creepy.

“I didn’t bring my detergent. Fuck me.”

“You can use mine!”

Warren happily ran to his basket, grabbing two big bottles, excited to be able to help her.

“Here.”

“Fabric softener?” (Y/n) tried to hold in a laugh.

“What? It makes my clothes feel nice!”

“You’re such a softie!”

“Shut it!”

“Nope! If you get to make sex jokes, I get to bully you for being a softie.”

Warren groaned, hopping up on the machine next to (Y/n), leaving his textbook abandoned on the other side of the room.

“It’s cute, seriously. Wanting soft clothes and all.”

He rolled his eyes, but wasn’t able to keep a smile from forming on his face after she indirectly called him cute.

“But, no, thank you. For the detergent and softener.”

Warren hummed in response, watching (Y/n) add detergent and softener. Somehow she seemed to beautiful even under the bright laundry room lights at two in the morning.

(Y/n) started the machine and shut the top of the washer, hopping up on it. She scooted closer to Warren, her legs dangling off the washer.

“So...”

“So?”

He turned towards her, waiting for her to continue.

“So-”

(Y/n) was interrupted by the buzzing of Warren’s machine. He hopped off, going to toss them into a dryer. (Y/n) followed him across the room. Warren opened the washer top and started loading the clothes into a dryer. (Y/n) grabbed some clothes, wanting to help.

“Nice boxers.”

Warren spun away from the dryer, turning to face her.

“What? Put those down!”

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles huh?”

Warren snatched them from her hand, “Don’t touch my underwear! That’s- that’s weird.”

“Says the boy who has made at least three sex jokes since I got in here.”

Warren rolled his eyes, focused on digging quarters out of his laundry basket for the dryer.

“I liked them though. Pretty cute.”

He let out a scoff, “Sure, cartoon underwear is so cute.”

“Yeah, would look even cuter on my bedroom floor though.”

Warren whipped his head to look back at her. She was sitting up on the washer he had just used, absentmindedly flipping through his textbook.

“Did- did you just make a sex joke?”

“Did you like it?”

Warren turned back to the dryer, finishing with his quarters, “Not at all.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please do.”

“Damn it! You’re good at that.”

“That’s what she said.”

(Y/n) lightly kicked Warren in response to his never ending sexual humor. He patted her leg, making her scooch over so he could squeeze in next to her.

“So statistics huh?”

Warren patted his textbook cover with his other hand, “Yup.”

“Gross.”

“Yup.”

A moment of silence passed, Warren’s hand still resting on her thigh.

“S-so, what did you want to say earlier?”

(Y/n) looked away from his hand, “What? When?”

“Over there,” he pointed lazily towards her machine.

“Oh! I, um, I just wanted to say you got taller. Since last year, you know?”

Warren laughed, eyes on her face. “Thanks.”

“You look good, Warren! Serious glow up.”

“So I was ugly last year?”

“What?,” (Y/n)’s eyes widened, “no! Not at all! You were different though.”

“Bad different I’m guessing.”

She shoved his shoulder, “Shut up! Good different. You were cuter, now you’re-”

“I’m what?”

(Y/n)’s tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, “Hot. I mean- you know, uh, hotter? You always looked good. But now you’re like- whew! You know?”

Warren’s eyebrows were raised in amusement, not used to seeing (Y/n) so flustered. It felt refreshing, like they were finally escaping the stress of school and just having fun again.

“You’re hotter too. Still hot last year, but like- whew!”

“Fuck you, okay. Don’t mock me.”

He poked her ribs, “I’m serious! You look great.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, trying to hold back her smile.

“(Y/n),” Warren whispered, scooting closer to her, “C-can I kiss you?”

Instead of responding, (Y/n) smashed her lips into his, desperate for him. Warren’s hand moved from her thigh to cup her jaw, making her slow down. He wanted to savor this moment with her.

The kiss became softer and lighter. Butterflies were going off in Warren’s stomach as she pulled herself onto his lap, accidentally shoving his basket off in the process. The loud bang made them pull apart.

“Fuck! Sorry! I was trying to be sexy and get on top, but-”

“It’s okay.”

Warren shut her up by kissing her once more, slightly more feverish this time. His hands slipped under her shirt, slowly climbing higher. (Y/n) stopped to pull the shirt over her head.

Warren’s jaw dropped when he noticed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“I- um, wow-”

(Y/n)’s lips moved to his neck while her fingers began to slip behind the waist band of his sweatpants. She slowly tugged them off, leaving them hanging around his ankles.

(Y/n) began to palm his obvious erection, her mouth sucking a mark onto his neck.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

She pulled away, retracting her hands from his boxers, “Y-yeah, are you okay? Oh boy-”

Warren grabbed her hands, holding them between his, “I’m fine! Great actually, really really great. I just- I really want to say I actually like you. Like feelings- not just this. And yeah I want to do this too, but I would also want something to happen with feelings..”

(Y/n) moved her hands from his to cup his face, “I definitely want to date you, Warren. You’re so sweet.”

She could feel his face heat up in her hands, “Good! Yay- yes, okay. Cool-”

“Just stop talking.”

(Y/n)’s lips found their way back to Warren’s neck as her hips began to grind against Warren, making him whimper.

Warren slid down his boxers before moving his hands to her underwear, rubbing her folds through it. (Y/n)’s sleep deprived body responded quicker than it usually would, she was already soaked.

She pulled away to move her underwear to the side, too tired to take it off in their difficult position. She lined herself up with Warren and slid down, taking him all in at once.

Warren let out a breathy moan as her heat wrapped around him.

“Fuck, (Y/n).”

(Y/n)’s nails went to scratch against his head as she slowly moved her hips on him.

It was soft and slow, but exactly what they needed to relax and unwind.

(Y/n) felt herself grow closer to her edge and she began to move slightly faster, lips smashed against Warren’s.

She tightened around him as she came, making Warren follow.

“Fuck- I’m so tired.”

(Y/n) laughed, climbing off of him and pulling her shirt back over her head.

“Me too.”

Warren hopped off the machine, almost tripping over his pants around his ankles.

“You could come sleep at my place. I-um, I have a room to myself you know? Since I’m an RA. Y-you don’t have to, but-”

“No, that’d be nice. Except I’ve still got a load in. But you can just go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Warren shook his head, “I’ll stay.”

“Really? It’s like 3 am.”

Warren walked over to her machine, “I need to stay, you still have my laundry detergent.”

“Oh fuck you!”

“You just did!”

taglist: @chocolatealmondmilkshake @thoughtlesspace @billyhargovesgurl @babebenhardy @rexorangecouny @cyndagoaway @killcomet @mcrmarvelloki @queen-turtle-boiii @hardlylo @ziggymay @jacqueline1916 @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275 @queen-baelin

hmu to be added!

#Warren Worthington III #warren worthington iii smut #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington iii x reader #warren fluff #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #x men #x men apocalypse

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