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loaksky · 4 months

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I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

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You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams fic #ellie williams #ellie williams smut

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macfrog · 2 months

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psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

#same universe as 'wish you were here' - if you want #joel miller #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tw somnophilia #tw dubcon

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rainykoo · 9 months

Text

a pirates greed (m)

[send me requests i like them]

masterpost : recent

pairing : afab!reader x monkey d. luffy

✸ ... synopsis: after saving an entire country, luffy just needs his favourite stress reliever all too himself

wc: 3.6k

warnings : established relationship, porn w minimum plot, post-wano luffy being a whore !!! absolutely rough nasty nd animalistic, unprotected (cmon yall know better), petty argument, faded law, reader is a lil mean, your captain just loves eating you out! use of devil fruit (canon), creampie, drool kink, luffy has a lip ring, overstimulation, mention of blood, praise kink (both parties), cumplay, semi-public, oral (m rec)

getting severe brain rot from just thinking about how needy and greedy luffy would be during a post-battle victory banquet...

especially after how nicely that black dress outlined your ass.

he just wants to put his hands all over you, but nami's banned him from any physically exerting activity, including dancing since he's still recovering from the damage he took.

poor guy almost begged to have himself buried in your sopping cunt, whimpering and gasping under you because he's been so stressed after all that fighting!

it's only right you help your boyfriend release all that pent-up energy right?

but to his dismay you were busy with traffy, his tattooed hands tracing over the thin fabric of your dress as you two danced.

"damn him." luffy chanted in his head continuously, wishing you'd stop focusing on law and pay attention to him instead.

your captain worked so hard to defeat kaido.. so why are you smiling and spending time with law instead? that's not fair. you should be rewarding luffy with your touch for being so strong all the time, no?

he couldn't even hear zoro's drunken babbling as he fixated his eyes on the two of you from his table. luffy thought it was too polite of you to let law touch you like that... way too polite. no longer able to deal with the ache in his shorts. though what made his heart palpitate the most was how the both of you seemed to be having a jolly fun time. he grazes his teeth over his lips, excusing himself from his best friend before stumbling towards the dance floor to reach you and law.

"actually i already rolled some spliffs, we can go outside n hit some right now if you'd like," law said with a deep chuckle, gazing at you with his half-lidded eyes. "go do that with your side, look he's starin' at you as i speak." you joke, nodding your head in the direction of kidd as law harshly exhales, rolling his eyes."fffucking hell will you drop that? i was zooted outta my mind when i said.." your conversation gets cut short when you feel pair of hands other than law's snake around your waist from behind.

you momentarily freeze— only to find relief when you hear luffy's voice. he's clinging onto you, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. the threads of his strawhat slightly bent against your skin as luffy pressed himself closer; hiding the stony expression on his face. “(name).. you've been dancin' with traffy the whole time. it's annoying.” luffy whined against your earlobe. your captain continued to press and grind his body against you, something hard rubbing against your ass.

"i know luffy.. but me and law haven't properly hung since we left zou." you responded as luffy lifted his head from the warmth of your body to send law a glare while you both tried keeping balance on the floor as the surrounding crowd of people continued dancing. "so (name)-ya you coming? strawhat can tagalong if he wants." law spoke, putting his hands in his pockets as he glanced towards the exit.

"w--"

“nuh uhn..” luffy shook his head before you could even respond, his face wincing in a grimace.

"luffy, i—"

"no."

"you're supposed to rest lu.. you're still recovering" you softly exhaled, turning in his grip so you could face him. "well ya could've just stuck around me. ion like that you spent time with tra-guy in the first place." luffy continues whining, his voice growing annoyed and impatient.

he seemed restless, his breath uneven. "also ya promised you'd only dance with me." you giggled, scanning the way his pretty lips formed a pout, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. “don't worry, it won't happen again lu, you're still my number one dance partner.. and i spent all day with you yesterday, n the day before.” you respond, letting another giggle leave your lips.

but luffy doesn't find it funny, he slowly loosens his grip on your waist— tossing his lip ring through his teeth as his obsidian eyes look into yours. "this is the thing with you, ya don't keep your promises (name)." he mutters his voice going a little deeper causing your smile to fall. wait.. huh?

"what's that even mean?" you retort. luffy's feeling all sorts of emotions right now.. but he can't tell why his breath is so shaky, or why his heart was feeling heavy. he'd been so stressed over the past few weeks, the pent-up anger was possibly getting to him.

“you keep breaking ya promises! thats what it means.” luffy snaps. for a second his eyes soften after he realizes he raised his voice, but he doesn’t move from his position, hands still on your waist. law, witnessing the sudden quarrel— decides to walk off leaving the two of you alone.

the tension between you felt heavy. "the fuck? luffy since when have i broken any of our promises. me and law well, dancing just.. happened. it didn't even mean anything we're friends." now you were getting agitated. "that's not even the main problem.." he muttered, luffy's gaze eats you up— and the glint in his eyes almost speak a magnitude of unsaid words.

"..i'm YOUR boyfriend (name), ya didn't like when hancock was all over me so why—" "can you stop bringing that bitch up??" you knew it wasn't great of you to dance with law all while your boyfriend was watching you, but you didn't think it'd be that big of a problem. you trace your hands over his— removing them as you angrily turn around to stride away. but you can never really get away from a man with the power to stretch, so luffy beats you to wherever you thought you were walking off to, stretching his arm and pulling your body back towards him.

“m’sorry… i— (name) i'm just feelin stressed right now. can you please just...” luffy rasps in a softer tone trailing off as his arms cage you. you stay silent for a couple of moments, trying to process the exchange of words you shared seconds ago. but the more he presses your back against him, the more you feel the stiffness between his legs. you don't quite know what to say, so you turn 180 degrees to press a hot kiss against his lips.

luffy's taken aback by the suddenness, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying it. he returns what you gave to him passionately. pulling you even closer, as if he's wanting to get completely lost in the kiss. you hum against his lips when luffy swivels his hips, grinding his dick against your inner thighs.

he seems so eager, so desperate for you and it shows. really lost in the kiss and in the moment, as if all he can think about is being balls deep in your dewy cunt. and who's to say you don't want him just as much. the way luffy's frenching you seems almost animalistic, and you could feel how he's having trouble controlling himself with every passing second that you're pressed against him. trying so hard to maintain his composure.

and when you break the messy kiss, a string of saliva still adjoining your lips— your captain looks at you with a blush, still panting heavily. watching the drool that slowly dripped from the corner of luffy's mouth was something that shouldn't have been so hot to you.

his eyes travel up and down your body and back to your lips. the faint taste of mango luffy had gotten drove him insane. he loved when you slathered your plump lips with lipgloss, regardless of the flavour or color— and he adored making a mess of it, ruining it. his own lips being stained a hint of red.

luffy seems lost again. almost unable to think by himself. he leans towards you once more, seemingly going in for another kiss. but he stops himself for a moment to admire how soft you feel— hands grasping your ass through the flimsy fabric of your dress. your head was spinning, maybe from the shots you took earlier, or the way luffy had devoured your mouth. "i-"

"shut up." you huff out, pulling him towards the nearest slightly secluded space you could find. and luckily, there was a nicely lit room with a thick futon neatly unfolded on the carpeted ground. pressing him against the wall, you brought a nasty, wet kiss to luffy's lips once more. one that left his stomach fluttering. he sucked and drug his tongue back and forth against yours, in the messiest ways he could think of. too lost in your lips to get off of the surface behind him.

he couldn't help the blood that rushed even more to his cock once you tugged hard on his hair. luffy couldn't put it into words, but he was such a slut for the way you painfully grasped his raven locks every time you enjoyed something. he muttered your name a couple of times between heavy breaths before he quickly wriggled out of the red material of his top letting you suction your way down his neck, teeth grazing his collarbone.

and you didn’t need any command to lower your head and place luffy's nipple between your lips. you only bothered to unbutton and drop his shorts low enough to free his aching dick, rock-hard and covered with pre-cum. fuck you wanted to slobber all over his length so bad. though luffy catches you by a fistful of your hair, preventing you from going further.

"stop, i wanna suck." you whine out, but luffy shakes his head, pulling his boxers up just enough to cover past the tip of his cock. pushing his back from off the door- he lays himself on the futon, hauling you with him. "no, i want you t’ sit on my face first." for a second, you stilled, as if the statement shocked you. "you... you want that?" you tested the waters, but luffy didn't just want it. he needed it.

"please… i’ll make ya cum so good (name) just sit on my face." luffy insists, eyes glossed over. face sitting was something he'd yearned to try with you for so long. so impatiently, he pulls you to straddle him, your dress sliding up your thighs. he wastes no time ripping the expensive fabric of your panties— taking a few moments to rub the pads of his calloused fingers along the wet patch you left beforehand.

you nervously let him pull you further up by the hips until your pussy is just above his mouth, the scent of your sweet arousal hitting his nose. “smell so good (name) m’gonna taste you now yeah?” “please do captain” you respond breathlessly. and before you could take another breath, luffy’s making out with your cunt— tongue lapping vigorously over your clit sending a pleasurable shiver up your spine.

you immediately try to raise your hips afraid you’ll suffocate him if you give in to the pleasure, but luffy’s hands grip your thighs painfully, preventing you from squirming away. because luffy doesn’t care if he suffocates as long as he’s got his tongue sloping in and through your folds. and something about knowing how anyone could walk into this room, seeing the two of you sent electricity through your core.

you felt the coolness of luffy's lip ring make contact with you constantly, and you couldn’t quite decipher his muffled words, but you could tell by the way he desperately stuffed his face between your legs that he was in ecstasy. “sso.. mmh feels good lu!” you barely manage voicing out, already close to your on-coming high.

but as much as luffy wants to stay between your thick thighs and fuck you with his mouth, he was restless, and hard. feeling his own heartbeat pulsing right at the tip of his dick. he suctions at your clit roughly, earning a loud cry from you before you’re already cumming— a slightly clear stream of liquid flowing from your cunt.

and of course, luffy being the greedy man he is takes everything you give him, leaving your cunt only after he’s had his fill. “taste n' look so pretty when you cum..” he coo's almost cheerfully before moistening his lips, a more serious look returning to his face as you free your legs from his face.

"here, taste yourself pretty" he whispers, pressing a slow kiss against your lips. though you only manage to come back to your senses enough to comprehend that he's torn off your nice pair off underwear, feigning a faux an annoyed look. "does ripping all my expensive lingerie get you off or something?"

"m'to impatient to take it off slowly.." he pouts, as you drag yourself off of him.

“is that so..? my turn now.” you whisper, before you're on off of him and on your knees tugging roughly at his unbuttoned shorts causing them to slightly tear.

"hey! those were m—"

you cut luffy short before he could complain about your petty revenge, giving the tip of his cock slow kitten licks and a few pumps before sealing your lips around it's pretty head, making him let out a throaty whine as you take or inches of him.

"i'll forgive ya if you open your mouth n take me deeper.." luffy breaths out lowly fully relaxed on his back now. one hand under his head and the other, guiding yours. you part your lips further, warm breaths of air fanning over his flushed tip.

“ahh.. fuckk baby— use that pretty mouth like you do best” luffy slurs, and something in you almost switches like a trigger. his coaxing encouraging the worst in you. especially since it was incredibly rare of him to use pet names with you. so you suddenly take as much his size as you can luffy shuddering in pleasure.

every ridge and vein on his length felt as your drag your tongue, every lick and suck of your mouth on him resulting in obscenity; gagging, wet noises, moaning. everything only making your hole flutter more.

his shut tight. opening them after a few seconds, to admire how your lips sank down on his cock. "gooddd, it's like ya mouth was made jus for— nggh.. sucking off your captain huh?"

"hold on.." you suddenly whisper, causing luffy to whine from the lost warmth. you take something out from between your cleavage. what was so important that you needed to stop? and suddenly he tenses his thighs.. you're scribbling on his cock. it tickles and it’s heaven. luffy couldn't even see what you are creating, but the sensation was fucking amazing. especially since he was so sensitive.

“thereee” you say, admiring your work.

“so pretty.”

“what did you do? i wanna see”, luffy begs, squirming needily. and you raise your hand, waving the wand of your cherry red lipgloss in your hand. luffy glances down to look at his aching cock, to find the words. 'all mine ♡' scribbled in red.

something about that act felt so endearing to him that luffy felt he'd tear up from the gesture— and from the fact that you were teasing his poor friend. he gives you a lazy smile. but as his eyes wander the room, he finds himself making eye contact with the tall mirror that but on a perfect display of your backside. you were almost on all fours now as you slobbered his cock, head tilted down and ass pointed up.

it looked so soft, and you looked ever so stunning. unfortunately for you, luffy was as restless as ever. he could never control himself whenever he saw that damn ass of yours. so you didn't blame him when he tugged on a fist-full of your hair to get you off his cock.

"wait m'not—"

"(name)... i— wanna fuck you from behind, please can't wait anymore.. want ya to put that cute ass on me."

"you're so impatient."

well, who were you to deny captains orders?

with a quick sound rustling of fabric, you'd immediately discarded your dress, pressing your face down into the futon as luffy teased your hole momentarily with the head of his cock. holding you in place by the hips and seconds later, he's already buried inside you— stuffing himself to the hilt. so fucking tight he thought.

luffy bit down onto his lip muffling the whimpers that endlessly slipped from his mouth— to the point that it drew a bit of blood. he pounded like he wanted everyone near to know, to hear how he was making a mess out of you. though he was shameless enough for it, luffy couldn't decide whether he wanted to be the only one that got to see your messy cum stuffed cunny, or if he wanted a live audience as he fucked you to the point of drooling. and who's to say you would mind the latter?

head thrown back in pleasure, his dark hair stringy from sweat, his furrowed eyebrows as you continue to tighten and clench around him, pulling you further onto his cock. he giggles breathily, "l-love when you squeeze me like that" only earning a incomprehensible mumble from you. something about the way he moaned and spoke was so ..slutty.

"cmonn.. i know ya can talk louder than that!" he sneers, and that was luffy's favourite part about doing this with you. he loved pleasuring you to the point of not being able to speak, knowing he's the only one who can make you this dumb on dick.

he loved the freedom that came with exploring new ways to make eachother feel good, and nothing made him happier than sharing in such freedom with you.

luffy's hands roughly fist your hair, pulling your head up in order to better show you what he's doing to you. "look in the mirror (name), look how gorgeous ya- gaahh, look when you're all fucked out. see? so pretty baby~" he taunts.

"gonna cum, wan' cream all over you!"

"yeah? captain's dick feels that good?" he lets off another breathy moan. "y-ya like it when i stretch ya out like this?" and when you let out a string of praises chanting his name like your life depended, he decided you deserved a treat in return for always being this good for him. so luffy bit down on his thumb and blew until you felt an unfamiliar sensation deep in your guts causing you to mewl out. he was way bigger all of a sudden, and his cock seemed to fill and rub against areas you'd never known could be reached.

"ah~ luffy thats.. you're- so deep!" you almost wanted to sob as he watched you wriggle under him, your senses overloading from the stimulation luffy inflicts upon you. it was crazy how he could be so sweet and caring with you one moment, and the next having every bone in your body tingling from euphoria.

"keep— ah god.. moanin' out like that! let tra-guy know that yer all mine" luffy rasped, only further perusing with his erratic pace. it was ruthless almost— and hearing those pretty sounds from you didn't help the burning sensation he felt in his lower stomach.

"sso- so close!"

"pl-please need you to fill me full with your seed.." you whimper feeling your knees almost buckle when his cock starts to forcefully rub against your cervix.

"i gotcha! gonna.. stuff you up- mmm, so good n watch it spill out.." he laughs between his far from quiet moans, one of his hands tracing your ass until he snakes it down between your legs, rubbing at your clit without mercy. your vision blurred and your fingers gripped at the futon tightly, “ah fuck! L-LUFFY! LUFFY!"

and as you finally cum around him, clenching around his pulsating length once more. "that's it! so good baby, so good..!" he continues to fuck into you, hitting deeply over and over again, pushing you into the softness below— then it's his turn to orgasm. his sticky white filling your womb until it started to leak out. luffy pulls out just in time for your body to slump down onto the cushioned surface.

but he doesn't let go of your hips just yet. luffy's gaze hazily follows the milk colored substance that seeps out of your fluttering cunt as he draws heavy breaths. taking his middle and index working them into your sensitivity— watching the string of cum that shadows his fingers as he pulls them out.

luffy being luffy, couldn't help but want to taste it, because what would be the point of all this work if everything went to waste?

"say ahhh." was the only thing you could make out, before you're being flipped onto your back, a strong hand resting on your chin. through your blurred sight— you watched luffy lick two of his fingers slowly, savoringly before he gathers the drool in his mouth letting it drip down to yours. and you let him, letting your mouth hang agape to accept every bit of his filth.

"swallow... atta girl..!" he smiled brightly watching the lewd expression you made tasting your guys aftermath. he runs his hands back to your ass, kneading it slowly but without any ulterior motive other than that he loves holding it when you calm down together.

"i love you (name) m'sorry i got so mad at you earlier."

"no, i should apologize. you were injured n bored and i wasn't even checking up on you."

"speaking of injuries.. i think still i need some stress therapy." luffy says with a sly grin, laying beside you on the futon.

you catch on almost too quickly, shaking your head— breath still uneven. "no no no, we're done. we can't have any of your wounds reopening."

"don't ya wanna suck me off still? a bit of head can't do any harm!"

"you realize this room has no door right?"

"......when has that ever stopped us?"

oh god.

... ✸ a/n: i was baked past cloud 9 when i wrote the other half of this but, ion wanna hear noone say shit such as “luffy ain’t slutty like that” nah man he is 🙏 down with sex ignorant luffy !!! #ace luffy is still canon but so is slut luff

tags !! @svanesworld , @selkiemaiden , @dilvcslut , @iluvs-world , @eaves-dropper , @yourmumsthings , @sanjisblackasswife , @roronoaswifey , @movie-enthusiast22 , @luffypedia , @pandoras-box0 , @xxdiaqiaoxx , @girlmeetsbullshit , @n9hida , @w9vyy , @juno443 , @roronoazorohater , @soloplayer0901 , @deathkidz

#monkey d. luffy #one piece #luffy x you #luffy x reader #luffy #op luffy #strawhat luffy #one piece headcanons #luffy smut #mugiwara no luffy #rainykoo #one piece smut #op smut #trafalgar law

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sunny-mercya · 10 months

Text

Wasted

Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu Macher x Male Reader

Masterlist

H a v i n g t h e T i m e of my L i f e !

D i g g i n g t h e D a n c i n g Q u e e n

«Where's [Name]?» a question Billy shouldn't have asked Stu—he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed and a flicker of realisation and panicky fear in them.

«Stu. Where is [Name]?» Billy repeated again, harsher this time, demanding even. Giving his boyfriend a expectantly look, brow raised, a sort of glare it was—the kind of which a parent would give, when they aren't being amused and mildly disappointed with what their child did.

Stu feels like this metaphorical child. His hands getting clammy, eyes darting around from side to side, everywhere and anywhere—even focusing on those, in his humble opinion, absolutely ugly paintings which hung on the walls alongside the staircase, just so he doesn't have to look at Billy and getting this....this look of disappointment from him. Though when Stu accidentally did, he winced visibly.

Now, this was a situation—one of the rare occasional ones—where Billy, who's normally an composed person, was feeling restless and a tiny amount of fear spiking up in him.

This wasn't one of Stu's many parties, where they have established unofficial rules to what was allowed—in drugs and alcoholic beverages wise and where they have control over everything—this was the party of an stranger, a person Sidney (or had it been Tatum or another one of their friends?) was acquainted with, from over next town.

A party, where the two couldn't keep a proper watch over you. Couldn't keep you out of harms way—and it wasn't like, that you neither could hold your own or defend yourself in dire times of need. You're perfectly capable of such things. But, for them, you're their precious little boy—which they just, if they could, would love to lock up and keep safe.

And Stu had one fucking job this night, keeping you near him. Yet in the end, Stu had failed in it, managed to lose you in this crowd.

Billy was craning his neck, straining his muscles and he even could feel a pull at it. Trying to find you in that cramped mass of human strangers. Stu, standing behind Billy on the staircase, being a lot taller then his friend, swirled his head from right to left. He too trying to spot you, your mop of (h/c) hair or the clothes you are wearing. No avail.

An underlaying panic, deep buried in their pits of stomach, sets itself free. Rising up and giving them side stabs. Leaving goosebumps on their skin and a tingle down their spines.

«Fine. We're going search for him together. [Name] can't be that far.» a string of cruses left Billy's mouth afterwards.

~~~

You swayed from side to side, trying to find your way back to the house as you wandered through the backyard, a rather big one with lots greenery, some trees and a stony path. You hoped at least that you were still in the backyard, sight a bit too blurry to tell what all the difference blobs are.

A hiccup here and there left your mouth. Swallowing your own salvia and taking another sip from your cup, drowning the last rest. Wanting the sandy dryness to get away.

A few minutes later and your mouth was dry again. You drunk enough to have your body being hydrated. More limo and soft drink than alcoholic beverages, besides a few shots and one or two cups of beer.

So getting a dry mouth within seconds was a bit weird, so you thought. Did you always had such a excessive sweating? And since when was the night so warm?

You stopped your walking, just standing there wherever that was, because it sure doesn't look like a backyard anymore (and perhaps it never has.)

Taking one step forward, still wanting to continue your way back and in the next moment of seconds, you felt a wave of air around you. Falling and your face hits the asphalt.

The small shock shook your mind awake form the haze. Turning onto your side, you tried to sit up. Needing a few tries before you accomplished it. The few glass shards, which laid around, digging into your palms—leaving bloody cuts.

Huh, funny, the blurry dots which comes flying nearer and nearer, reminded you a bit of your boyfriends—the colours seemed to fit the dots so well.

You snorted loudly at this thought, falling onto your side again. Giggles left your mouth, waving a hand at your dot boyfriends. Dot boyfriends. Another snort.

~~~

It had taken some time till Billy and Stu had found you. First they searched inside the house, checked every room—interrupting a few people by two things; sex and taking a piss. Then they took a look around the backyard and pool area, but nothing.

A few fleeting thoughts, what if imagines came to their minds. Non of them pleasant at all. You could have been kidnapped or you going back all on your own or you even going with someone else.

They came to the same conclusion. You're wandering somewhere on the streets around and on their way out of the house—passing through the mass crowd, bumping shoulders—Billy sneered at Sidney when she gave them a confused questionably glance.

If it weren't for Sidney, this wouldn't even be happening. Not Stu was at fault.

All of this was her fucking fault.

Billy thanked whatever god might be existing above there. They didn't had to ventured through the streets for too long, till they saw you sitting in the middle of the street.

Stu helped you sit upright again, keeping his hands on your shoulders to give you hold.

Billy crouched down in front of you, holding your face into his hands. Scraping the small bits of shards away and drawing circles with his thumbs over your cheeks. You leaned into his touch—a contrast to your warm skin.

«....It's so warm....» you mumbled, blinking owlish at Billy, eyes dropping every so often.

«What happen [Name]?»

Billy watched patiently how you opened your mouth, trying to form words but all it came out was a jumble of unintelligible sounds.

Billy was concerned, even if you were drunk—fully intoxicated—you would still be able to say intelligible words.

Though you didn't look too good either; laboured shallowed breaths, ghostly pale, sweat trickling down your skin, shivering—besides you complaining about the chilly night being way too hot—pupils dilating and your nonchalantly about the cuts.

Noticing the empty cup next to you, Billy had a hunch and hoped he was wrong. The bit of leftover drink in the cup, a slight purple colour with a bitter smell, had proving his hunch correct. Drugs.

Billy narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips into a line. He crushed the cup in his hand, throwing it away. Whoever fucker had done this, they would pay this. Dying a long and painful death.

«You carry him Stu, though lets find the fucker first.»

~~~

«Bills, let us go home. [Nickname] needs to sleep and getting the drugs out his system» Stu whines a bit, adjusting his hold on your thighs again to carry you more evenly on his back. All the while you nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck, moaning out complains—with a few giggles and in between incoherently talking of something—how damn hot it was, how thirsty you are and that you want some cuddles.

Stu, to keep you delighted and from falling asleep, nodded and agreed along to whatever you were saying. Giving you seriously meant answers.

Billy let go of Ben's—the asshole who drugged not only you, but also Kelly—shirt collar, leaving him leaning against the wall. Ben snickers, smirking at Billy, practically a invitation of dare.

«Aww, c'mon a bit of drugs hasn't harmed anyone. Don't get yer panties in a twist. Pretty boy is taking well, isn't he?»

A wave of anger took over Billy's face, contouring into a grimace of furiousness. Without wasting another second, Billy punched him across the face. Breaking Bens nose in process, a satisfying crack being heard.

«Try to drug him again Benny boy and I will make sure that your nose isn't the only thing I will break.

~~~

«Ya think some good ol' horror films will help our darling babe to fall asleep faster?»

«No Stu. That wouldn't be such a good idea, not with the intake of drugs. Could mess with his mind.»

Stu laid you down onto the bed, crawling next to you and pulling the covers over you and taking you into his arms. Billy coming back in the room, placing a glass of water and some pills onto the nightstand. Putting a cool washcloth onto your, already burning up, forehead.

Bill sat on the edge of the bed, caressing your cheek, swatting away Stu's hand from himself for a moment. Deciding after all in the end, to lay down next to you too.

Ben would pay for this, Billy having planning the perfect death for him.

Though this could wait for a bit later, after all you're their first priority.

D a n c i n g Q u e e n, f e e l t h e b e a t

D i g g i n g t h e d a n c i n g Q u e e n

#male reader #x male reader #scream 1996 #scream x male reader #billy x stu x male reader #poly!billy and stu x male reader #billy loomis #stu macher x male reader #billy loomis x male reader #fluff #drama #slasher x male reader #ghostface x male reader

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anjelagarrick · 10 months

Text

solace

simon riley x reader

summary: your boyfriend’s having an off day, you decide to comfort him.

tags: established relationship, depression, reverse comfort, fluff, a bit of angst, soft! simon

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

ADJUSTING THE SKIRT of your uniform, you smooth the creases, making sure your outfit was spotless before exiting the bathroom. Working as a barista was nice, you got to meet nice people, make cute latte art, it’s how you met your late boyfriend- he was dragged in by the arm by one of your regulars, Johnny. Simon was a big, burly man- hard eyes, quiet yet gruff voice. You found his mask adorable, unlike your co-workers that always had you serve him. Eventually, you managed to crack his wall and start little conversations; and eventually he came alone, no Johnny. He’d sit, observe. He was a good people watcher, you’d have to give him that. Something blooms, and eventually, you hesitantly leave your number upon a napkin, sliding it under his drink. You watched anxiously as he sat down, glancing at the napkin. He reads it for an awfully long time before pocketing it, he doesn’t look at you. He just drinks his drink, then leaves.

You feel extremely lucky that you managed to become his lover. Simon, despite looking tough and rough on the outside, was such a sweet man. He held you gently, helped you with cooking, he made you laugh. What got you to fall in love was his eyes, honey brown eyes that stared at you with adoration and joy, how he’d go from a stony look in public to a softened gaze when his eyes found you when you were out with friends. You understood that Simon would have to be away a lot, with his work and everything, you remember the first week he was away. You fretted, texting him every hour to make sure he was alive and kicking. With time; you developed more faith in your boyfriend’s abilities (not that you doubted them), and you held hope that he would come back. Simon had come home from deployment roughly about a week ago. He kept his experience quiet, not giving you many details- which wasn’t weird for him, yet something in him seemed more… sad.

“Baby, i’m going to work.” You lean upon the doorframe. Simon, to your surprise, was still in bed. With his job as a soldier, you were used to Simon getting up at six a.m, sharp, not a minute behind nor over. He’d have his coffee, go to the gym, come back and shower then allow himself to relax. Yet right now, as of seven forty-five a.m, he was in bed- in the same position you left him in. You knew he was awake, you had spoken to him briefly, told him good morning and kissed him sweetly. Simon doesn’t respond, his back to you. Slowly, you move away, walking down the hall. Instead of collecting your flats, you pick up your phone from next to your bag. It rings twice, then your boss picks up. “Hey, sir… so sorry but im gonna have to take the day off. Something came up.” You tell him, hearing your boss sigh. “Really? Rush hour is about to start.” He complains. “I know, but this is really important..! I’ll work a double tomorrow and Thursday- I promise.” You insist, glancing back to the bedroom. “And Friday. See you tomorrow.” Your boss hangs up without a goodbye. Heading to the kitchen, you make your boyfriend a coffee- just the way he likes it, and head back to the bedroom.

Slowly so it wouldn’t spill, you place the steaming mug beside him. “Thought you were going to work?” He asks, voice raspy. “I called in sick.” You respond, changing from your uniform into some more casual wear. “Why?” Simon’s brows furrow as he watches you, not moving. “To take care of you. Somethings up, I can tell.” You reply, shrugging as you get back into bed beside him. Simon sighs, rolling onto his back. “You don’t have to. Just… having an off day.” He tells you, you hum, shuffling to rest against his chest. “Why? What’s the matter, baby?” You ask softly, hand moving up to gently trace over a scar upon his cheek. Simon raises his hand, enveloping your own and kissing your palm. “Dunno, just… not feeling good.” He responds. “Do you need medicine?” You blink up at him, watching him shake his head. “No, not physically…”

“Oh…” You mumble, letting the silence sit for a while. “Si, do you have- y’know… depression?” You ask sheepishly, worry growing. “Yeah, got diagnosed a while back. Before I met you.” You sit up at his response. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You frown, cupping his cheeks gently. “Didn’t wanna burden you. This is my fight.” He sighs, letting his eyes close. “Simon, you’re not a burden. You should of told me, I want to help you.” You lean down, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re such a good guy, Si. You deserve the world, and I want to support you as much as I possibly can.” You tell him, thumb still stroking his scar. “You… you don’t have to, babe. I’m fine.” Simon lies, voice thick; as if he were going to cry. “Simon…” you sigh, resting your head against his as you try to soothe him. “Let me help you.” You beg quietly. Simon stays silent for a few moments. “…okay.” He mutters, hand finding your back. You smile, kissing his temple before sitting up. “Okay. I have some ideas, just to get you out of bed and have you feeling active.” You move your hands to rest on his chest.

“I’m listening.” He responds. “Good! The first idea is, we could go out to a café; there’s a new one out of town that i’ve heard good things about. It’s not too far, to be fair.” You explain, watching his eyes; they’re kind, loving. “Up to you, love.” Simon shrugs half-heartedly. “Well it’s your day, baby. We can do something else if you want?” You remind him, he hums. “Fine, we can check out this café.” He mutters, letting you pull him up. “Okay. Drink your coffee before it gets cold baby, we’ll go soon.” You respond, kissing his cheek gently. “Thanks love… you don’t have to do this.” He smiles, it’s small. “I want to do this. I hate seeing you sad.” You frown a little, kissing his lips before pulling away so he could drink his coffee. He hums softly, sipping his coffee. “I know, but still… thank you.” He responds.

“Why’re you feeling so down, anyway? Anything happen? Maybe at work?” You respond, hand gently massaging his arm, specifically the one wrapped around you. “Yeah… uh. My job isn’t easy, and… this guy I was working with for the first time, he got really messed up. Almost died- and I… I could of helped- could of prevented it. I… I ruined his life.” You hear his voice waver a little at the end, yet he immediately shuts his mouth, closing his eyes. “Oh, Simon. It’s not your fault.” You cup his cheeks, fluttering gentle kisses over his face. “It is. I could of been faster.” He insists, sighing shakily. “Simon, look at me. There is nothing you could of done differently. Your job is dangerous, he knew that when he signed up to join.” You tell him, voice much more firm. Simon sighs. “You did all you could, I’m sure.” You add on, kissing his lips gently. “You weren’t there.” He seethes, eyes darkening a little. You try not to let his tone hurt you. “But I know you. You’re such a sweetheart, you truly do care about the people around you, even though you won’t say it. I know you helped him, he’s still alive, isn’t he?” You ask, hands moving to his sides, gently massaging him. Simon let’s out another sigh, closing his eyes once more. “Look at me.” You mumble, patting his cheek gently. “It’s not your fault.” You insist.

Simon takes a moment, leaning his head against yours before taking a deep breath. “Yeah… okay, you’re right.” He mutters, squeezing his mug tightly as his other arm hugs you tight. “Of course i’m right, doofus.” You half joke, kissing the corner of his mouth; feeling it curl upwards as you do so. “Finish your coffee baby, and try not to worry. You’re home now.” You point out, he nods. “Yeah. Just gotta relax a little…” he responds, kissing you gently. “Thank you, baby.” He mumbles, you smile. “Of course! I’m not gonna abandon you, Si.” You coo, cuddling against his side as he drinks his coffee. “Want me to pick out an outfit for you baby?” You ask softly, head leaning against his shoulder. “If you want, love.” He shrugs a little. You smile brightly. “Great!” Moving away, you get up, moving to the closet. Simon watches you, a glint of amusement in his eyes as you pick your favourite things on him out and put them on the bed. “I heard this new place serves that cake you like. We’ll have to get some.” You say over your shoulder. Simon nods, finishing his coffee. “Sure thing, baby.”

#mw2 2022 #mw2 imagine #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #mw2022 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mwii #mw2 ghost #ghost x female reader #| anjela wrote this 🕯️

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frankthesnek · 2 months

Text

✨️ Now on AO3 ✨️

Stony prompt mini fics are now posted to AO3!!!

(A Not so Long) Kiss Goodbye (rated T)

Stark Swept Off his Feet? (Rated G)

Coming in Hot (rated G)

Come Home Again (rated G)

Smooth to the Touch (rated T)

Thank you for the prompts, I appreciate the support ☺️

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ishipallthings · 1 year

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Additional Tags: Wedding Fluff, Weddings, Established Relationship, Sunsets, Dorks in Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Future Fic, Post-Canon Fix-It, Happy Ending, POV Tony Stark Summary:

A beach wedding had sounded romantic.

(In which Steve and Tony sneak away for a moment by the beach on their wedding day, and deals are made).

A remix of @captainneverever‘s fic for @cap-ironman Remix Madness!

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #marvel #my fic #my writing #wedding #wedding fluff #post-Endgame #established relationship #hope you guys like this!

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all-the-stevetony-fics · 1 year

Link

It takes people by surprise sometimes, when they see how much Tony and Steve care for each other; or rather, they’re more surprised by how clearly Tony cares for Steve. Most people expect him to be a terrible boyfriend: perpetually late, arrogant, rude, intimidatingly intelligent and belligerent-but then again, none of them know the real Tony Stark.

They don’t know the Tony who struggles everyday to reach an impossible standard he imposes on himself, the Tony that volunteers at hospitals not because of Bruce but because he never wants a child to feel scared and alone if he can help it, the Tony that started creating his own patents to raise money for his mother’s charity foundation at the tender age of fourteen-the Tony who’s a better person than anyone Steve has ever met, and makes everything in the world so much brighter and more beautiful.

Steve-Steve doesn't have a lot in life anymore, with Bucky and Sam overseas and his ma gone, but there's nothing he could ever ask for that'd mean more than Tony.

Words: 3069

#au: no powers #fluff #established relationship #gen #short fic #stevetony #stony #author: chocopies

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matchbookarmy · 2 years

Text

Bullshit by nanasekei

Rating: Teen

Summary: “It’s a science, Tony.” Steve says, all wide-eyed and innocent. “It’s a very real science.”

Why I'm Reccing: Oh my god, this is just one of those adorable, fluffy fics that makes you feel all warm inside. It's an established relationship fic where Steve decides to fuck with Tony a little bit, because that is just so them, like, gotta love a fic that remembers that Steve is a little shit sometimes, like for real. I think it's a part of Steve's character that definitely gets lost sometimes, so I am very happy to see it here.

Also, this line:

That’s, without a doubt, Steve’s fucking-with-Tony voice.

I love that line so much. I just feel like that one line and the summary encapsulate the whole fic.

#stony fic rec #established relationship #short fic

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catopoliscat · 23 days

Text

control / choso kamo/fem!reader.

you ask choso to take control for the evening. he tries his best.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. established relationship. canon!verse but no timeline specified. very soft!dom choso but also kind of not. kissing. blowjob/slight deepthroating. love, love, love. choso would rather slit his throat than hurt you and that's on canon babey. service!top choso. begging/pleading, not from you. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 4.2k

a/n: largely unedited but this is how we move; also i want to swallow choso whole; also also i may do a part 2, maybe maybe

mdni.

You think Choso looks adorable like this.

He’s standing across from where you’re kneeling, feet slightly parted, his fingers twitching idly by his side. You see the skin stretch taut across the bony protrusions of his knuckle with every flex. A pair of grey sweatpants is all he wears, the baggy fabric hanging low on his angular hips. The fading sunlight catches against his dark hair, still perched in the two little buns that you had grown to adore. His bare chest, pale skin warmed by the light, rises with every breath, though you’re quick to notice it’s more erratic than usual.

He was just cute. Taller than you, wider than you, perhaps in some cases stronger than you. But cute. Undeniably, mouth-wateringly cute.

Especially like this. When he was nervous.

He shifts his weight, bare feet shuffling a little again the floorboards. The creak rings out against the warm air of your bedroom. The half-curse looks down at you, his stony features pulled messily into an expression you can only describe as ‘unsure’.

You’re completely naked, of course. It’s impossible to be insecure about your own form right now, not with the way Choso is looking at you. The nervousness on his face is offset by the dark blush painting his ears, chest and pallid cheeks, offsetting the darkness of the mark across his nose.

His eyes dart across your form, never setting in one place for too long. Your lips, collarbones, breasts, thighs—the hands resting on top of them. His eyes linger for a while on your nipples particularly, pebbled from the air and the intensity of his gaze.

But even amidst that hunger, the familiar darkness of his gaze any time his eyes fall on your body—especially exposed like this—is an undeniable trepidation. Anxiety.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, looking up at him. A soft smile twinges on your lips. “Go on.”

His fists clench once more, a knuckle cracks. After a long silence, filled only by a small breath, he takes one more hesitant step toward you, closing the distance.

A restless impatience and anticipation claws at you, but you wait. You understood what you were asking of him was a lot, for him, in this circumstance. With you.

A thousand other men would have leapt at a chance like this, to take control, to assert, to dominate. A thousand other men would have salivated, reduced to little more than their baser instincts and primal want. A thousand other men wouldn’t have hesitated to abuse this opportunity, to drain it of all it was worth until you were unsatisfied and used.

But Choso Kamo, your Choso Kamo, wasn’t a thousand other men. He cared, he loved; with a passion that overshadowed almost anything else. The mere idea of taking control, of telling you rather than asking, to take what he wanted without reservation, clearly unnerved him. Even the possibility of overstepping, of pushing too far, of even potentially hurting you was enough to have him pause—even when you were naked, exposed, on your knees before him.

And that spoke books about his character. Curse or not.

You meet Choso’s eyes as he looks down at you. The soft smile on your lips, laced with tenderness, adoration, and love doesn’t waver. His eyes flick down to your lips, his own lips part.

He goes to say something, thinks better of it, and closes his lips again. Instead, he reaches out a large hand, clammy fingertips brushing against your forehead tenderly, testing the waters. When you don’t recoil or bat his hand away (why would you?), and instead lean into his touch, he releases something like a soft sigh of relief.

His fingers linger near your temple, brushing down against your ear, your jaw, until they reach your chin. He tilts your head up with such a gentle touch your heart aches. You oblige willingly, of course, and as your lips part, he finally leans down.

His kiss is soft and tender as it always is. Restrained. His lips move against yours with no rush or urgency, and had it not been for the way his fingers trembled against your chin, you would have thought it was a simple kiss, nothing more.

Like always, however, his own hunger crawls up the back of his throat untamed, and the kiss starts to deepen quickly. It grows wetter, his tongue brushing against your lower lip like a whisper, a soft groan pouring against your skin as his nose dimples the skin of your cheek.

You want to stand and reach up, wind your arms around your neck and tug him closer until your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest. Even without a slither of space between, Choso would pull you closer still, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. His grip would be tender, but his muscles would shake with restraint.

You don’t move, however. You wanted Choso to take. And this is how he’d learn.

As if sensing something amiss—possibly the missing sensation of your fingers on his scalp or the warmth of your body against his own, Choso pulls away from the kiss. His dark eyes flick down to you, concern knitting his brow.

You simply look up at him, your gaze almost coy despite the way your gums pulse and your heart races in your chest. You want nothing more than to practically pounce, but Choso wasn’t the only one capable of restraint.

As if forced to finally use his words, his lips part. “Am I doing something wrong?”

That urge to pounce returns tenfold. You want to kiss and caress every part of his skin, hear those deep groans and feel his fingertips sink into your flesh needily.

Once more, you hold yourself back.

His fingertips pull back from your chin and he straightens, though a slight hunch remains in his back, as if he couldn’t bear to fully separate you two just yet. With a glance down, you can see the way his cock sits heavy against his sweatpants, half-hard from a simple kiss already. It twitches under your gaze, but you tear your eyes away to look back up at him.

“Nothing's wrong, Choso,” you reply instead, clearly sensing his need for affirmation. “You’re doing fine. Keep going.” You pull his hand back down to your cheek, guiding him to cup it, and he does so without hesitation. “Go on. Tell me what you want.”

A thumb brushes against your cheekbone softly. You watch as his mouth bobs like a fish for a moment.

“Touch me,” he whispers, his voice low, gravelly.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” he breathes out instantly. You give him a pointed eyebrow, and make no move to free your hands from their grip on your thighs. He swallows again, need warring with his hesitance. “M-My stomach.”

With a satisfied hum, you rise on your knees a little, your eyes never breaking from his. You plant your hands firmly on his upper stomach, just under his pectoral, feeling the mass of muscle underneath twitch. He lets out a relieved breath, as if your touch was the only thing he needed, as if he couldn’t bear to be without it.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you let your hands drag down, down, down. You skim across the hard ridges and dips, fingertips caressing every inch softly, lovingly. His eyelids flutter, his back arches slightly. Large hands come down to rest against your shoulders, the touch barely there. More to ground him than anything else.

Your hands start to pull inward as they reach his belly button, thumbs brushing against the faint trail of hair that descends below it. You slow down even more here, restraining yourself from leaning forward and following the path of your fingers with your lips. You adored the sounds he’d make when you did that.

As you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, you stop. You let your fingertips skim along the edge of it, tracing it—clearly ignoring the tent of his heavy cock weighing against it, fully hard now.

Choso’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks down at you. His brows twitch once more, clearly expecting you to do what you usually wasted little time with doing… before he remembers why you were even on your knees to begin with. Why he was standing above you. The whole point of this.

“Take them off,” he mutters, a little more confidence in his voice now arousal was bolstering him.

With a pleased smile, you hook your fingers into the fabric and peel them down his legs with the same meticulous slowness as you had caressed his abdomen. Fabric mid-thigh, his cock springs free, and the grip on your shoulders tightens in response. It bobs, hanging heavy underneath its own weight, the tip beginning to glisten with desire already.

Sweatpants on the floor, he kicks them aside, his eyes never leaving you. Standing before you, just as naked as you now, he moves one hand from your shoulder to your cheek.

“Touch me,” he groans, his voice thick, almost desperate. “Please.”

You want to chastise him for pleading when he was supposed to be the one in control, but you bite your tongue. Old habit died hard, you suppose.

Instead of going straight for his cock, like he so clearly wants, you instead run your hands up his legs. The moment your fingertips touch the inside of his ankles, his breath hitches, surprise and slight confusion painting his features. As you slowly drag your hands upward, however, teasing the backs of his knees and the sensitive skin of his thighs, he catches on quickly.

You’re touching him, as he so vaguely requested.

Thumbs pressing into the pale skin on the inside of his thighs, brushing against faded purple marks in the shape of your mouth, you continue upward until you reach his groin.

His cock twitches. His breath stutters.

And then you work your way back down again; down, down, down to his ankles once more.

The air deflates out of him, a strange noise you’ve never heard of bubbling up at the back of his throat. You’ve teased and riled up Choso plenty of times, it was one of your favourite pastimes when you were feeling particularly patient and deviant—and he knew it.

Typically, he was content to let you do so. Enjoyed it, even. You think there’s very, very little Choso wouldn’t let you do to him, so long as you touched him. Loved him. And no matter how much you teased, edged or wound him up tighter than a spring, you always made sure he was taken care of. Always.

But you’re not sure whether it was the situation, the drop of dominance he was learning how to swallow, or sheer impatience—but he tires of slight touches and teasing grazes.

Choso doesn’t use his words straight away, and instead his hand moves from your cheek and shoulder to your wrists. His grip is slightly firmer than usual as he pulls them away from his thighs.

He takes a deep breath as he looks at you, holding your wrists up, a glimmer in his eye that asks you a silent question. You merely smile softly at him.

Choso looks at your wrists in his hand, the way you let your fingers dangle lifelessly, waiting for orders. He thinks for a moment, and you allow him. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago that Choso was a complete virgin. Lust, sex, and kink were all incredibly fresh still, but he seemed content to explore it all, as long as it was with you.

“Put your hands… behind your back,” he murmurs finally.

Now we’re getting somewhere, you think.

He loosens his grip on your wrists and you slip your hands out easily. You let your hands fall to your thighs again, before slowly winding them behind your back.

Another shaky breath leaves his lips as he looks down at you like this; looking up at him, lips slightly parted, arms behind your back—a flush across your chest. His gaze lingers on your eyes, however, particularly on the slight crease in the corners as you smile.

“Good,” he mumbles, seemingly mirroring your own praise that you never failed to shower upon in him. His hand returns to your cheek, brushing the back of his fingers against your skin. Cupping it again, his thumb traces the outline of your bottom lip, and even before he says, you part your lips. A soft moan leaves his own lips. “G-good.”

Tentatively, he pushes his thumb into your mouth, and you close your lips around it. Even from down here, even against the darkness in his eyes, you catch the way his pupils dilate, a choked sound hitching in his throat.

He was getting into this.

You suck lightly, running your tongue over the pad of his thumb, tasting his skin. The familiar taste of him fills your mouth; the salt of his skin, the faint traces of copper and iron—blood—that always seemed to cling to him.

Choso presses his thumb down against your tongue, pinning it to the floor of your mouth. Your mouth falls open slightly, a soft breath leaving your lips as saliva wells in your mouth. A drop of pre-cum oozes down the side of Choso’s cock, and he clearly decides he can wait no longer.

Pulling his thumb out of your lips, he grasps his own cock, exhaling a ragged breath at his own touch. He shuffles a little closer, and your mouth salivates further as you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“Open your mouth, pl-“ he cuts himself off with a swallow. “Open your mouth.”

You do. Your jaw falls open, your tongue peeking out a little. Choso’s eyes lock onto the sight, his cock throbbing in his grasp. He pushes his hips forward, and the leaking tip of his cock brushes against your tongue.

A sharp pant leaves his lips as his brows twitch inward. His hips buck forward, as you expected them to, his cock sliding a little further into your mouth, but not quite pushing past further than one or two centimetres.

You go to close your lips, like you’ve done a hundred times before for him even if you always struggled to accommodate his length and girth—but with great reluctance, Choso pulls back, removing his cock from your tongue.

“Not yet,” he pants. “K-Keep your mouth open.” Faint surprise colours your features, and Choso must catch it because he looks sheepish for a moment, the flush across his face and body deepening a touch. You smile though, and keep your mouth dutifully open.

He pushes forward again, his hand still gripping the base of his heavy cock. He brushes against your tongue once more, before sliding his hand up the shaft of his cock. A glimmering pearl of pre oozes from the tip, pooling on your tongue, and the groan that leaves his lips you feel in your own chest.

The faintly salty taste of him makes your eyelid flutter, and you resist the urge to lap at his cock greedily.

Seemingly content with this for now, Choso continues his slight, minute movements, softly thrusting the sensitive tip of his cock against your taste buds whilst his hand stroked his base. Tender moans fall from his lips, breathy and pitched, and you watch as his eyes fall closed.

Whilst enjoying the sight of Choso enjoying himself at his own leisure and pace, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t fully using your mouth. Although your lips always had to stretch taut around him, his tip slipping down the back of your throat causing you to often gag and splutter, you enjoyed giving him head. You loved the pleasure on his face, though often knitted with concern. You enjoyed the slight discomfort of taking him orally, the thought of his pleasure overriding all thoughts but of him.

With a theory in your mind, you close your lips around his cock suddenly, sucking the tip. Choso’s eyes snap open, a bleat leaving his lips. The hand still gripping your shoulder tightens, and he goes to remove his cock from your mouth, but you stop him with a hand at the back of his thigh.

Choso’s gaze seems to glimmer with an odd mixture of panic and lust, his concern battling with his desire to thrust deeper.

“C-careful,” he stutters. He groans your name as his hips twitch, pushing a little deeper despite himself. “I don’t want…” Another groan as he inches deeper, the fat tip brushing against your tonsils. “…to hurt you.”

Thought so, you think.

You fix Choso with as stern a stare as you can with cock slowly lodging its way further into your mouth. You wind your hand back behind your back, lacing your fingers together before you lean forward, taking Choso’s cock as deep as you possibly can—which still only manages to be a little more than halfway.

As if to punctuate your point that you’re okay, that you want this, that you want Choso to take everything he wanted without reservation—you moan around his cock. Loudly.

Choso’s knees almost buckle as the vibrations shoot up his cock, a pitchy keen leaving his lips. His hand flies from your shoulder to the back of your head, though you’re unsure if he wants to push you deeper or pull you off altogether.

He looks back down at you once more, the tinges of concern and anxiety slowly melting down against the heat of his own lust and your satisfaction. You push your tongue up against the underside of his cock, and that seems enough to make him cast aside his worry.

With an initial, hesitant thrust of his hips, he pushes his hips forward, a soft moan leaving his lips as his cock sinks a little deeper into the hot, wet heat of your mouth. His movements are tentative, to begin with, but he slowly starts to pick up a steady rhythm, the tip beginning to bump against the back of your throat.

“…so good,” he pants. “You’re s-so good. P-Perfect.” Though pleasure smears his feature, his eyes never leave you, watching avidly as his cock disappears between your plush lips. He’s not fully letting go; even as his mouth drops open, as he pants, as beads of sweat pool on his brow and his cursed mark begins to shift. You try to take him a little deeper, but he pulls his hips back on the next thrust instinctively, keeping his previous depth. “N-no, please, God, please… just like this—please.”

You get it. Although you’d love nothing more than to have Choso hammer the back of your throat, he simply can’t let go enough just yet to enjoy it. Not at your expense. Never at your expense.

So you let him thrust as deep as he desires, and push him no further. You meet his every thrust with a bob of your head, slick lips sliding across his heated flesh. His groans grow louder with every push, but even as his thighs start to quiver and the grip on your shoulder grows tighter, he never pushes any deeper, or picks up speed.

Pre-cum leaks fluidly onto your tongue, your saliva collects at the corner of your mouth. The slick sounds of your mouth fill the quiet space of your bedroom, overshadowed by Choso’s moans and the slight creak of the floorboard underneath him.

By the pulse of his cock and the way Choso’s groans grow raspier, his thrusts a little less coordinated, you presume he’s getting particularly close. His thrusts grow only a touch quicker, the fat tip rubbing against the back of your tongue almost insistently. The short ‘I’m close’ that rushes out of his throat only confirms it.

You moan around his cock again, and Choso splutters.

“Yes, y-yes,” he rasps, his hand moving from your shoulder to the back of your head. “Again. Do that… again.” You do, louder this time, just for his benefit, and his cock bumps against the back of your thrust with the almost erratic buck of his hips. “Ah!”

He allows himself that little extra inch of warmth in your mouth, even as your eyes begin to glisten, as drool dribbles out the corner of your lips and down your chin. He locks eyes with you, his mouth falling open. ‘Perfect’, ‘beautiful’, ‘so good’ flows out of his lips like whispered mantras, and you can’t be sure whether he’s talking about you or the feelings he’s experiencing right now. Probably both.

Choso’s fingertips sink into your scalp, his moans and groans bubbling down into little more than heated pants and huffs, a soft, needy whistle tinging every one. His own eyes shine, small tears of overwhelming pleasure beginning to pool at the corners. He looks desperate, torn—strands of his hair clinging to his face.

He’s right on the edge, you know it—and yet he isn’t falling over. Or rather, he’s unable to.

“Touch me, touch me,” he pleads, and your hands fly from behind your back as if Choso was pulling a marionette’s strings.

Your one hand curls around his shaft as he quickly moves his hand away, and with a motion oh-so-familiar to you, you pump him tightly, rhythmically—in perfect tandem with the bob of your head. Your other hand moves to cradle his balls, tight and hot in your palm.

And just like that, control was so willingly thrown back to you.

With a harsh groan of relief, both of Choso’s hands cup the back of your head. He tries to let you dictate the pace, the rhythm, but like always when he’s this close to climax, he’s unable to help the way his hips buck and twitch.

Praises, ‘thank you’ and groans spill past his lips like a torrent. He’s too far gone to even release you’ve forced you way deeper down his cock, the tip lodging its way into the back of your throat. He writhes above you, trembling, fidgeting as his release quickly comes crashing toward him.

With one particularly deep bob of your throat and well-timed curl of your wrist, Choso tenses up. You feel his balls tighten in your palm. A choked sound hitches in his throat and stays there as he holds his breath.

The first syllable of ‘coming’ is all the warning you get before he’s filling your mouth, choked little grunts and something close to whimpers filling the heated air. The salty tang explodes across your taste buds as spurt after spurt falls against your tongue. His hips thrust a little now and then as you continue to move your hand, milking him for every drop.

You swallow everything without hesitation, but the bob of your throat is lost to Choso as he slips his cock from the heaven of your lips.

He falls to his knees a second later, breathing erratically—practically fighting for each breath. His arms wind around your waist as he curls himself in on you, his forehead brushing against your nape. He holds you close, still trembling.

Winding your arms around him in turn, you run your hands up and down his clammy shoulder blades, feeling every shudder and twitch. Something wet falls against your back, and when he finally calms down and pulls back slightly, you see it was tears.

You have no time to ask if he’s alright before his lips are pressed against yours with a gentle hunger; something like appreciation, adoration and love pouring against your mouth. His tongue pushes softly between your lips, his breath hitching as he tastes himself on your tongue. With a wet smack, he pulls back before resting his forehead against yours.

“Was… was that what you wanted?” He murmurs, something close to concern in his voice as his eyes flick between yours.

A soft laugh bubbles up at the back of your throat. Your smile widens with adoration as you cup his cheeks. It takes a second, but a small smile begins to bloom on his own lips in response. He presses his forehead a little firmer against yours, like a cat.

“It was everything,” you reply, your voice a little scratchy. Your throat was sore, lips dry, knees aching against the floorboards that had warmed against your skin; but you were truthful. It was everything. Choso was everything.

Hearing the scratch in your voice, concern washes over Choso’s features once more. His lips part as he goes to say something, but seems to think better of it for a moment.

“Do you… would you like to continue?”

Your brows rise, and you can’t help but glance down at his cock, softening between his thighs, your saliva and his own cum still glistening against his flushed skin.

“Can you eve-“

“I want to taste you,” he breathes out, his voice still holding the same husky timbre as before. “I’m… still in control, yes?”

Your eyebrows rise further, your hands moving from his cheeks to his shoulders—only for Choso to grab your wrists again, moving them back up to his cheeks with an almost assertive grip.

“Yeah,” you murmur after a moment, a lopsided smile on your lips. “You’re still in control.”

His hands skate down the curve of your waist, down to your hips and then to your thighs. He allows himself a greedy squeeze of your flesh.

“Lie back, spread your legs,” he whispers. “Let me see you—all of you.”

His voice is hot, wanting—and for the first time this evening, you feel the real command in his voice.

masterlist.

#choso x reader #choso smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you

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