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ohcaptains · 1 year

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neighbour! abby my head is fuzzy she’s so!!!! the breeding strap!!!! oh my god im gonna chew through the wall im gonna gnaw through wires -🌙🐛

i’m eating plywood rn for real. she just. always in fucking boxers !!!!!! jesus christ she’s always in god. damn. boxers. she just knocks on your door in them and it’s all thick, muscular thighs and toned calves. she’s got a deep gash on one of them, and the scar is so thick the white is porcelain.

she catches you staring one time and chooses not to say anything, but it’s all you can think about when you’re drunk at her house party and pushed against her on the love seat, half on her lap.

you’re tense and abby can sense it.

can sense it as she turns to you, head balancing on your shoulder, “you okay baby?” she asks, because she says that a lot. baby. sweetheart. pretty. hey pretty girl. and it’s different now because you’re straddling her thigh, the one you think about, the one with the deep gash you think about.

“you always call me that,” you say, half giggling as you turn to her. she raises a brow, “you don’t like it?”

you look down at her thigh, then reach out and run the line where the scar is. drag a thumb over the denim and abby’s breathing changes.

“how’d you get this?” you ask, pretending you didn’t hear her previous question and flicking your gaze to her. her eyes are big, and she smiles, slow and small.

“how’d you know where it is? you got it memorised?”

“yeah,” you blurt, honest, and her smile gets bigger.

“bar fight.”

“you’re lying.”

abby takes a drag of her beer, “would never lie to you pretty,” and you chew on your lip and squint at her. lean over and take her beer from her. she watches you drink, blue eyes transfixed on how your lips go around the rim.

“what you looking at?” you ask, and abby nods to you, “your mouth.”

you pull your lips away, spit trailing, connected to the glass, and abby immediately takes the bottle from you, taking a sip.

“you win the fight?” you ask, licking your thumb, wet from the bottle.

“huh?”

“in the bar, did you win your fight?”

“oh. yeah. you wanna see it?”

“what?”

“the scar.”

“i’ve seen it. you’re always in boxers, it drives me crazy. just, all thighs and legs—“

“—what?”

abby bumps her leg, knocking it up, and her thigh suddenly pushes between your legs, pressing tight. you jolt forward, hand coming out to balence yourself on her knee, swallowing down a groan that twists into a gasp.

“this thigh?” she jokes, and fuck, heat pools in your belly, pushing to your groin.

“i’m gonna fight you.”

“yeah?” abby teases, leaning forward, and she’s clasping your chin when she asks, “you think you’ll win?”

your breath catches. you’re not sure if abby can see you losing grip on reality, but there must be a part of her that notices your body curl up, eyes glaze over and breathing change when she leans closer, nose bumping again yours as she asks,

“you think you can take me?”

her eyes are bright blue, transfixed on yours, and you swallow, alive under her gaze.

“i think i can take all of you.”

abby’s mouth opens an inch. her eyes flash with something — a bolt through the blue — and her tongue comes out, licking the corner of her mouth. she lazily gazes at you.

“i bet you could. bet you’re good like that, huh?”

you nod, humming softy as you lean closer. abby’s thigh is still tense between your legs and as you move, your pussy slides over the denim of her jeans.

“yeah, i’m good,” you sigh.

abby leans back, and you ache at the loss. she finishes her drink, and you wait like a puppy dog on her lap for her to say it. say it, say it — please please please.

she hands the empty bottle to you.

“be a good girl for me then and get me another drink, would you baby?”

#it’s literally 3am #i’m choosing to not re read this #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson blurb #neighbour!abby #abby anderson smut #almost #🌙 🐛 anon

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d3arapril · 11 months

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modern!ellie headcanons

my take on modern ellie. why? cos i love her 🙄 pls enjoy! feedback appreciated as alwayssss~ <3

✧ warnings: brief we3d mention but other than that, none! just ellie being ellie. safe for all audiences!

ellie was quite reserved when u first met and now ur dating she can still shut down sometimes but she's working on it

she's quiet if she doesn't know u...if ur close... ur gonna wish u weren't

literally NEVER shuts up sometimes?? she can be like one of those wind up toys and chatter on and on for HOURS if she's in the right mood

knows random facts about the most obscure things

"babe did u know that there are more than 60,000 tree species on earth??" *silence* "uhhh.... thanks el?"

CHRONICALLY ONLINE!!! knows every meme under the sun, would still use xD un-ironically if u didn't bully her for it

her tiktok screentime is probably like 7 hours a day bc she could spend endless hours just laying in bed scrolling, u get home from work/school and she's sent u 30 messages. u watch every single one <3

she's fairly active on instagram but doesn't really care about followers etc... just posts random photos whenever she feels like it and has several photo dumps dedicated to her fav pics of u. has a highlight called ‘❤️’ with pics of u

would comment on other ppls tiktoks but not post her own vids.. she’s a bit of a troll sometimes LOL

bites her nails/fingers all the time til they bleed... it's a habit

u got her the nail polish that tastes nasty to try and help her reduce the amount she bites her nails but she just started enjoying the taste of it 😐

"i thought this was supposed to taste bad???" she'd ask u with a thumb shoved in her mouth

so obviously gets bitches but is so oblivious to her surroundings and doesn't notice people ogling at her whenever you're walking around together

however if people are looking at u?? its on sight

gets very jealous very easily and has a mad short temper. lowkey toxic sometimes

will wear an 'i love my girlfriend' t-shirt without even being asked because..she loves u..duh?

leaves u notes all around ur home... u open the fridge and she's written on the empty carton of milk that she left in the fridge :/

'i love u ps were out of milk :('

wears flannels/hoodies, vests/plain tshirts and baggy jeans (maybe skinny jeans if she’s feeling crazy. u tell her she’s outdated) with converse every day. 'lesbian uniform' she calls it...

carabiner queen but doesn't actually have any keys attached to it, just keychains... her fav is the spiderman one she won at the arcade. also has a fidget cube attached. Locked And Loaded

tobey maguire is her favourite spiderman :) closely followed by andrew garfield. she says she’d probably have a crush on him if she liked boys. also loves wanda.. obviously

listens to old 2016 rap.. fetty wap has been in her top 5 spotify artists for the past 2 years

also listens to deftones (her fav songs are teenager and cherry waves btw)

uses wired earphones still because she can’t let go.. they’re busted and chewed up to hell but somehow are still going strong

i’m a strong believer that ellie would LOVE watching berleezy and quotes his videos ALL THE TIME. it's "..and bricked.... hello!" whenever she sees u looking nice (which is all the time to her)

knows all the fnaf lore (somehow?? shes never even played it)

super light sleeper, always tossing and turning and she's actually fallen out of bed several times bc she gets so ridiculously restless

always sleeps in until she only has around 15 mins left to get ready. is somehow rarely late

she has no skincare routine but has perfect skin 🙄 just washes her face with some random cheap face wash she found on sale and moisturises when she remembers. she also doesn’t use conditioner bc she ‘doesn’t believe in it’ but has soft hair? tf

always staring at u? she frowns a lot but when she looks at u her entire face softens and she has that lil half smile that she doesn’t even realise she’s doing

u guys have an intricate secret handshake that she practised in her own time so she could get it right

her journal is full of sketches of u, poems about u… girl is so in love sometimes it scares her a lil

made a scrapbook for ur birthday full of everything she’s kept from everywhere u have been together, she even kept the stickers from ur starbucks drinks and stuck them in there <3

wrote a lil song for u and waited until ur bday to sing it to u for the first time… she got so embarrassed straight after so she just hid under the covers

big ol stoner! if u dont like weed she won’t smoke when she’s with u but if u also smoke/don’t mind she’ll loooove to smoke w u. gave u her fav grinder as a token of her love

tried to make special brownies but u both burnt them to a crisp 😔 el tries so hard to be optimistic (for once) “it’s fine babe we can just eat it anyway” “ellie it’s literally crumbling when u touch it…”

tried to stick n poke herself several times but couldn’t commit so she just has unfinished pieces on her upper thighs

loves head scratches and pants like a dog when u scratch the right spot

is this emoji 🧍🏼‍♀️ frequently

that’s all folks (for now……) …. i love her

#ahhhh shes silly goofy and unstable. i love her #ellie #my writing #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams headcanons #tlou headcanons #tlou fic #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #sorryyy tagging this again #only way 2 get stuff seen :(#ellie tlou

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Dead Disco / Chapter 5

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut. Protective Simon, Protective Johnny, Possessive Simon, brief mention of children, anxiety, Simon has a lot of feelings, relationship issues, angst, comfort, mention of assault, established throuple. The three of you go shopping.

Simon does not like this realtor. He does not like the way she looks at you, like she’s looking down her nose, like she thinks you’re less somehow. He does not like how she appraises both himself and Johnny, like she’s trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. He watches in disgust as she tries to touch Johnny, her fingers just missing his elbow, like he’s some sort of prized animal on display for her to take part of. He briefly fantasizes about scaring her, threatening her so she runs far, far away from his family in fear, never to bother them again.

In Simon’s defense, his emotional and mental state are currently sitting on a razor thin wire. He is volatile. He is anxious, and uncomfortable, and frightened. He watches your every expression; he tracks your every movement. He takes note of your inflection, your rhythm, the pitch of your voice. He tenses when he sees you standing next to an open door.

He is afraid if he turns around, or blinks too slowly, you could be gone.

And he already knows that if it were to happen, again, he would not be able to hold himself together like last time. He would not be able to keep both himself and Johnny upright. He would crack. He would crumble.

They would be lost.

Johnny approaches him from the east, from the formal dining room that has the floor to ceiling windows that you were so excited about. You peer from them, eyes darting down and up and all around, and he watches for the tell-tale sign of you feeling overwhelmed, the clench of your nails to your palm. When it doesn’t come, he rolls his shoulders, shaking a minuscule amount of tension free from his bones.

“What’d ye think?” Johnny slides a hand under his sweatshirt, across his ribs and then up, to his breastbone. His heart thumps hard against his palm, and Simon closes his eyes to draw a deep breath.

“I like it. Liked the last one too. And the one before that…”

“The realtor?”

“She’s a right cunt.” He hisses, and Johnny chuckles.

“’M pure done in, I think.” Johnny opens his mouth onto Simon’s shoulder, and he feels the press, the points of his teeth through the fabric and his skin. His blood heats, and he turns his head slightly, just enough that their noses nearly touch.

“Behave.”

“Always behave for you, LT.” He pauses, watching you. “She likes this one more.” You’re looking down at the hardwood, inspecting the dark stain of a black-grey color that runs through the entire flat, pointing at something and asking the realtor a question. She answers you curtly, and Simon can tell from where he stands that the dismissal in her tone hurts your feelings. His fingers curl into a fist, and then you’re looking over to the two of them, something soft and hopeful written across your face. The light from the very tall windows streams down on top of you, shining onto your hair, your skin, your lips that are turned upwards in a timid smile. It reflects through your eyes, shimmering across your irises and swirling in the depths of their color, pulling them both towards you like they’ve been hypnotized.

It takes his breath away. It takes Johnny’s too, because he whistles out a low murmur that only Simon can hear.

“Bloody hell, Si. That’s our girl.”

“Close your eyes.” Johnny urges, and you chew on your lip nervously while you look between the two of them. “D’you trust us?”

You nod. Simon tilts his head, regarding you silently, teeth clenched tight behind the mask.

“You’re not gonna like… do something weird right? We talked about boundaries…” Johnny laughs, and then kisses your clavicle in the slow way that Simon likes, the slow way that Johnny touches him too.

“No, love. We’d never cross your boundaries.” He tries to reassure you, but your gaze flicks upwards from where you’re sitting in front of Simon, like you’re waiting for him to say something.

He nods. A burst of words builds up inside of him, a plea, a confession, a promise. He wants to tell you that you can trust him, that all he wants is to taste you, press his lips to yours, savor the breath of your moans and whimpers, promise you that you have nothing to fear. He wants to tell you he’ll take care of you, that he and Johnny will keep you, keep you with them, keep you safe, keep you happy. He wants to tell you all the things you’re not ready to hear yet. Wants to tell you you’re precious, so precious to them already. That you buried yourself beneath their skin, worked your way into their hearts. All without even seeing his face. With baring your body to him, but never pushing him to reveal himself. Never demanding anything from him.

He says none of it, only nods. Only hopes.

It’s enough, and he relaxes a fraction when you do close your eyes.

Johnny’s palm rests across the bridge of your nose, effectively blocking your sight, and Simon pulls the mask away, folding it carefully before pushing it down into his pocket. He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to expose your neck, the beating pulse under your jaw.

When he kisses you, it’s effortless, and he tries to keep his head straight while your mouth and all its heat meets him equally and unafraid.

He pulls on Johnny’s wrist, freeing your vision to reveal your eyes still clenched shut, your faith and trust on obvious display, your eagerness to do as he’s asked striking something sharp and pleasurable in his body. You’re so, so good, so sweet for them. So perfect.

“Open your eyes, darling.” He instructs, and you frown, brows creased in confusion. He strokes your cheekbone with a thumb reassuringly before repeating himself. “It’s alright.” He promises, and you finally relent.

When you do, and you finally see him, truly see him for the first time, your face breaks into a radiant smile, and it nearly stops his heart.

“What do you think?” The realtor asks, and her eyes glitter when she glances at Johnny’s position over Simon’s shoulder, where he’s leaning with his hand still wrapped around his torso.

“It’s up to her.” Johnny inclines his head to where you’re standing in the kitchen, inspecting the cabinets.

“Hey, these are like the slow close drawers.” You say over your shoulder, pulling one out and then pushing it back in to show them, an excited grin pushing your cheeks up. The act of selling the old flat and getting a new one is not a cure all for what ails you, what ails them, but it is a step in the right direction. A step that will lead to the next, and then the next, until they’ve cut out all the rot that’s festered in your head. A step you have seemed to embrace wholeheartedly, even if Simon is having trouble letting go of his worries regarding how you’re feeling.

Breathe. She’s right here. You’re all together.

“Come here, darling.” Simon implores, and you do so willingly, sidling over to stand in front of them, casually watching the realtor who’s lurking at the edge of the room. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” You nod, more so to yourself than to him or Johnny. “It’s… awfully big? But I don’t hate that about it. I mean, I’m not sure what we need with three, four bedrooms if you count the sunroom but I could turn one into an office so I could work from home more.” He feels Johnny’s mouth curve into a smile on his shoulder and he allows one to stretch across his face as well. You look between them hesitantly, and then your fingers curl into your palm. “Or, we could leave them both as spares, whatever you wa-“

“It’s what you want, darling.” Johnny emphasizes, beating him to it, and Simon nods his agreement. “We want you to have what you want. It’s your home.”

“Okay, yeah. Then… I like it. A lot.”

“What about an art room? Didn’t you have in your last flat?” You smile again, face bright and beaming.

“Yeah! That would be great.” You look over at the kitchen and its tall cabinets again before turning back to them. “And I love the kitchen. I think it’s more than big enough.” Simon agrees, and pictures you in the kitchen with them, sitting on the counter while Johnny cooks, half your body covered by a t shirt, feet slipped into too big socks. “But we’ll have to change the tub.” You frown, and Johnny rolls his eyes playfully before he pulls you into his arms.

“You sure about that love? Looked plenty big to me.”

“What? No… definitely not.”

“Definitely yes.” You scoff. “Don’t believe me, go check.” When you push away from him to do just that, Johnny leans his head on Simon’s shoulder as they indulgently watch you walk away.

“A lot of bedrooms.” Johnny whispers and Simon immediately shakes his head.

“Don’t, Johnny.” He admonishes.

“Ya never know Si. All our dreams have come true so far, ‘aven’t they? What’s one more?” Simon scowls at him. “Or two.”

“Johnny.” He warns, voice low. The last thing they need is for you to come around the corner and hear him indulging in his wildest fantasies, his whispered prayers that he’s only ever dreamed about in private, only ever told Simon about when he thought he might die in Las Almas.

Johnny’s quiet for a minute, and then sighs.

“You’re right.” He resists the urge to say I know, and instead leans in for a kiss, brushing his lips against Johnny’s, his mouth opening slowly, slick heat of their tongues against one another going straight to his head, sending blood rushing through his body-

The realtor clears her throat with an annoying, high-pitched cough, and Simon turns with a huff of irritation.

“We’ll take this one.”

“What’re you on about, LT?” Johnny’s hot on his heels, practically breathing down his neck while Simon tries to get free of his tac vest.

“I said, fuck off Soap.” Get away. Get away, get away, go away. Go anywhere else. The mask on his face suddenly feels suffocating, the entire hall feels suffocating, and he pushes through the door to the tiny four walls that houses his bed so he can rip the skull free from his head and finally breathe.

The door swings shut. Johnny stands just inside, just enough inside that the door can close, his body pressed between the edge of his dresser and the door frame.

“Ghost.” Simon trains his eyes on the floor. Maybe, if he ignores him, he’ll leave. If he pretends he’s not here in the first place, he’ll take his bloody mohawk and charming eyes and beautiful face and get the fuck out of his room. “Simon.” Johnny presses, and it’s enough of a match on the gunpowder to set off an explosion.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” Simon throws the mask at the wall, the sound of the hard-shell clattering to the floor while his lungs draw air in harshly. “I told you to fuck off, Soap. Now get the hell out of my room or-“

“Or what, LT?” Rage boils in Simon’s blood, hot, burning anger that sears him from the inside out. He steps closer to Johnny, closes the distance until his chest is touching his tac vest, the only barrier left between their bodies.

He expects to see fear in Johnny’s face. Expects to bask in it, wants to relish in it. He wants Johnny to feel as he does, wants him to know the cold grip of fear around his throat, wants him to understand. He wants Johnny to know what it’s like, to be afraid of losing everything, even things he doesn’t have yet.

He does not expect to see softness in Johnny’s face. Patience. Kindness. Adoration. He did not expect to step closer, as close as he could, and he did not expect to feel Johnny’s hand take his, the bare skin bleeding warmth through his glove, an intentional pressure pulling him in closer and closer until his face is a mere centimeter from Simon’s, and then a millimeter, and then just a breath’s distance away, the softness in his eyes unchanging, the understanding still as solid as it was a day, a week, a month ago.

Simon does not expect to press his lips to Johnny’s. He doesn’t think Johnny expected it either. All he knows is one moment, he was nearing a rage filled blackout, and the next, his mouth is tasting Johnny and his honey sweet lips, their sweet, sugar like softness pressed gently against him, opening for him, letting him swipe his tongue behind his teeth and pull him in for more. It’s intoxicating, and more than he’s ever dreamed, more than he’s ever hoped for.

“Eejit.” Soap hisses, but his mouth twists into a smile. “You’re a bleedin’ fool, Simon Riley.”

“I know.” He agrees, because he must, and then takes Johnny’s mouth again, rougher, more demanding, before his hand finds the deadbolt and slides it into place.

“It’s been a pleasure.” The realtor’s obnoxious smile grates on Simon, and he tries not to display his impatience while she speaks to the three of you. “If you’re ever in the market again, I’d love to do business with you.” She hands Johnny a card, but her fingers linger on his skin, and Simon beats back the urge to throw his body between them.

“Don’t touch him.” He snaps, the sharp crack of his tone whipping across the sidewalk to where you freeze with your eyes shuttered, lip tugged between your teeth. The realtor has the guts to look shocked, or offended, but Simon cares for none of it. In this moment, he does not care that she’s been discreet about the fact that they’re buying through a shell company, doesn’t care that she’s made last minute changes to accommodate them, doesn’t care that she’s shown every single listing that you marked down hastily this morning. All he cares about is that she keeps touching what’s his and hurting what’s his along with it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“Ya didn’t.” Johnny agrees, and you watch Simon carefully from where you stand, until you’re wrapping a hand around his waist, and laying your head against his body.

“It’s alright.” You mumble into him, your face pressed against his arm, doe eyes peeking upwards, something calm, but unsteady, reflecting in your gaze. You’re looking to him for reassurance, for him to agree and say that yes, everything is alright, and he feels a small sliver of weight lift from his shoulders.

You’re still looking to him. You trust them. You’re still here.

Johnny’s head is in his lap, freshly washed strands of mohawk laying against the bare skin of his thigh, Johnny’s hand tucked between his back and the couch. It’s the afternoon, and you’ve been at work late, and both he and Johnny are eager for you get home. Their last mission went a few days long, and they only got in an hour before you had to leave this morning.

You wanted to call in sick, but he had forced you out the door. All they’d be doing is sleeping anyway, he assured you. They needed to get caught up on actual rest.

When the front door slams, Johnny jerks upwards, an elbow supporting his weight, and Simon turns to where he believes he will see you walking past the kitchen towards them.

Except, you’re not. You’re standing in front of the door. Far enough away that he can’t read the expression on your face, but he instantly knows something is wrong. Uneasiness tugs at his gut and he shifts, pushing Johnny completely upright so they both can see you better. When he does get a better glimpse, his stomach completely sours.

You’re crying.

You’ve got a palm pressed over your mouth like you’re trying to hold it in, but you’re shaking, and tears are spilling down your cheeks.

He experiences a million emotions. Panic. Fear. Anxiety. Rage at whatever’s happened to make you feel this way.

“Darling?” He calls, standing behind Johnny, not even realizing that they’re both practically trying to vault over the couch to get to you, nearly stepping on top of one another.

He gets there first, and slowly grazes a light touch along your forearm. Your eyes are wide, and frightened, and he swallows the nausea that’s building up in his throat. “What is it?”

“There was a… a m-man.” You croak and his vision ebbs with darkness. He looks closer, and sees the red mark on your wrist, notices the way your work bag strap is torn at the top where its sewn in.

“What happened?” Johnny’s already pulling your bag free from your body, but your fingers are twisted around the strap so tightly it looks like they hurt.

“I don’t know,” you try to take a deep breath but fail, and Simon tries not to throw up. “Th-ere was a man. I thought he was homeless, and he looked sad… I- I thought he needed help but then he gra-grabbed me.”

“Where?” Johnny presses and you try to explain what street it was, but Simon doesn’t hear anything you’re saying. He’s too busy staring at your wrist, staring at the torn strap of your backpack. Someone tried to hurt you. Someone touched you. He closes his eyes and counts his breathing, lost in trying to keep himself calm until he feels a hand on the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing a soothing circle into his skin. Johnny’s thumb. “She’s alright, Si.” He whispers, to which Simon nods, snapping his eyes open. You’re still standing in front of him, head tipped back, eyes wide. He steps forward without another thought and crushes your body to his chest, nose indulgently seeking your hair so he can breathe the smell of your shampoo in as deeply as possible. Johnny doesn’t let go of his neck, just rubs gentle touches into him while he holds you, the three of you moving closer and closer into perfectly aligned orbit until he’s settling you on the couch in his lap, Johnny tucked under his arm.

Safe. You’re here, Johnny is here. You’re both safe. You’re both here.

You’re exhausted by the time they get you into bed, your body limp and pliable, face sad and confused.

“I thought he needed help.” You mumble into Simon while Johnny works on a cup of chamomile, and he holds you tighter, arms like a vice grip around your waist.

“Shhh. I know, darling. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You sniffle, skin still raw from your tears, and he presses you into your body like he wants to consume you, hide you from the world, take you away from anything that could hurt you. Simon is a killer, but you and Johnny have turned him into something more. You’ve taught Simon he has the capacity to care for something sweet, something delicate. Given him and Johnny a chance to have something good besides each other, to love in a way they’ve only dreamt about.

You sigh, and he strokes a finger down your cheek. A gesture softer than he’d ever thought himself capable of, before Johnny, before you. “Close your eyes. We’ll be right here.”

It’s later in the evening when Simon watches a crack reopen like a wound that’s been freshly sewn shut, splitting free after being pushed or pulled too much in one direction.

It happens when his phone rings. You and Johnny are in the bedroom, packing items away into boxes, wrapping fragile things in newspaper and bubble wrap, the sound of your voices carrying on floating through the hall to where he sits on the couch.

The entire flat goes dead silent when everyone hears the ringer go off. You and Johnny appear from the room like you’ve been summoned, Johnny’s hand firm around your shoulder, your eyes desperate, seeking Simon for some kind of reassurance.

Simon doesn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. Only one person calls him after hours. Only one person has the right to interrupt his time at home, his time with his family.

Price.

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willowser · 1 year

Text

oh my god, fine, i didn't go to bed because 🥺 what about nerd kirishima 🥺

like it's sero's fault that you even meet him, because he keeps flinging shit at you across your shared desk, and you get into this stupid war with office supplies that turns VIOLENT, until one of you — him, for sure — gets their foot caught in the web of wires under the table and yanks them all out, causing both your computer screens to go dark.

"you idiot, you're gonna get us fired!"

and he's like, "chill, chill, chill, i can fix this."

and his idea of "fixing it" is calling the company's support desk and asking for his buddy kirishima to come down to your department because he's got something cool to show him. and the "something cool" is the absolute disaster of dusty, unplugged cables that are hanging loose on the floor.

the first thing you notice about him — because how couldn't you — is how big he is ????? this little dweeb from support, who is actually not little at all. six foot something, with a white button-up that's clearly too tight on him, his red hair pulled back into a bun, and some STUPID. LITTLE. GLASSES. WAAAAAHHH.

and he gets on his knees — slacks straining over his thighs — to look under your desk to fix this mess, and he keeps having to readjust his STUPID. GLASSES. and you're just sitting perched on the edge 😌 watching him 😌

you ask him, "want me to hold that for you??" and he SMACKS his head into the underside of your desk, hissing out a little "ow, shit!" before rearing back to look up at you, a lil wide-eyed, pink-cheeked !!!

very quickly, his eyes cut to where your legs are crossed in your skirt, right by his head, before he's asking, "sorry, what?"

and he's just so stinking AKFHFUSLALHDLALA that you nod to his shirt pocket where he's got his phone, the flashlight on, struggling to see under the desk. "i said, do you want me to hold that for you?"

"oh, no, no!" kirishima is quick to look away, down to his wide, now-dusty hands. "that's—no, i don't want you to have to do that! thanks, though!"

"you should," sero pipes up, sitting in the chair at his desk, useless. and he's probably got, like, twizzlers or something from the vending machine, chewing on them as he grins at kirishima. "should get down on your knees and—"

"dude!" kirishima grits, neck bobbing as he swallows. and now even his ears are pink, so you can't help but to ask—

"you don't want me to help you?"

and he's like, stressed !!! like, "oh, no, no, that's not what i meant! if you wanna get down here, then i'd be glad—or, y'know, if you—"

but the more he keeps talking, the more nervous you can see him getting, and the more your smile stretches until he's just ducking back under the desk before you can tell that he's starting to sweat akfjeisjdjalndhak

#one thing about me i'm gon a write about a nerd #love nerds love 'em #i just wanna shake 'em around and BITE 'EM #once a long time ago i saw a head canon that said kirishima is probably super into role playing games #and it changed the trajectory of my life #this man spends whole days playing his overly modded skyrim on pc you can't TELL ME HE DOESN’T #WAAAAHHH I WANNA TEAR HIM TO SHREDS #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: kirishima #✿ theme: nerd kiri

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luvrbug · 2 years

Text

When they have a crush on you

«─────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───────────»

▸ Characters; Law, Kidd, Luffy

▸ Warnings; GN reader

▸ a/n; my first OP work !!!! im still trying to grasp how to write for them but !!! i hope you all enjoy :] (psst- requests are open!)

«─────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───────────»

-> LAW

▸ Law refuses to show any emotional vulnerability. So when he realizes that YOU are the one making his emotions go absolutely haywire- its not a good scene.

▸ He cares about you so much. He doesnt form attachments easily, so when he does prepare for him to never let go.

▸ He starts to avoid you. Like, you cannot find him on the polar tang type of avoiding. He's afraid to put you in serious danger, he's wanted by the world covernment, has billions of beri on his head- he couldn't stand to put you in more danger.

▸ Law SAYS he is perfectly content with holding these feelings in until he dies. He is lying. At some point his frustration comes to a head and he just , corners you in the sub after not speaking to you for THREE WEEKS and word vomits all his emotions out while looking like a tomato.

▸ If you accept law is . surprisingly elated. This commitment doesn't feel heavy or scary like he imagined. He's not the biggest fan of PDA but he ABSOLUTELY links pinkies with you when walking around. (bepo, shaichi, and penguin are yall's biggest fans ever. they SO hide in the bushes during the first date and get discovered 😭)

▸ If you reject law .. he'll retreat back into his shell. He was open with you, and now he probably wont be. ever again. Really awkward interactions ensue.

-> KIDD

▸ He's so oblivious to his own emotions !!!!!! He's so mean to you all the time but he's killing anyone who lays a hand on you. He feels nauseous and feverish and embarrassed whenever he's around you but he's anxious and jittery when you're NOT around!

▸ He gets sooo jealous too. you could be like, sitting next to someone and he'll be breaking a tankard in his fist 😭.

▸ HE TRIES SO HARD TO IMPRESS YOU!!! He's smashing someone's face in extra flashily when you look his way. Carrying super heavy objects when youre in his vicinity. showing you all his latest inventions. He's almost like a really aggressive, abrasive puppy waiting on you to praise him.

▸ He probably blurts out all of his feelings when you sit just a little too close after one too many beers. He's raging at you for "making my head all spinny" and "making me feel like im gonna vomit glitter" while Heat and Wire are cackling in the background. Killer has his head in his hands while Kidd continues his drunken rant.

▸ If you somehow manage to wrangle him back to the ship and accept his confession, you will have a clingy, kissy kidd to deal with. He will not let you go. Your post-confession gift is a cranky, hungover kidd.

▸ If you reject him ... Kidd practically explodes. Not at you, but everyone who pisses him off is getting chewed out 10x as bad. He's hurt, and he needs time to tend his wounds. Your friendship will never be the same, but he won't make your life a living hell.

-> LUFFY

▸ Luffy is straightforward, honest, and determined. If he likes you, he'll say it loud and clear. He doesn't exactly know the line between romantic and platonic feelings, so it'll take someone like robin or sanji to clear that up for him.

▸ He is also very physically affectionate. Where you go, luffy goes. You have to practically beg to go to the bathroom alone. Skinny, Tall, Short, Chubby; luffy loves it all! He gomu-gomu no cuddles you constantly.

▸ He doesn't really get jealous. He trusts you! And he knows youre great, so obviously everyone would want to spend time with you! Just make sure he's in your top priorities.

▸ Luffy's confession is in everything he does. He never steals from your plate unless he's given permission, always makes sure you get the best cuts of meat / best quality veggies. He may just suddenly hold you and kiss you if hes in the mood. Luffy is probably on the aro/ace spectrum, so your relationship may be on the platonic spectrum some days + the romantic spectrum some days.

▸ If you turn down all of Luffy's advances, hes naturally a little let down. He won't stop caring about you, but he'll attempt (key word; attempt) to give you space and not be so affectionate. (how could you possibly turn this boy down >:[)

#one piece fluff #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #one piece reader insert #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #eustass kidd #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kid x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy

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ohraicodoll · 2 years

Text

Honey

Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 3.2k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: The first time there was an excuse, the second time was just about release. (If you’ve read the other stories, this would take place after Monsters/Teeth in the timeline. Have a little smut fic to make up for all the angst I’ve been writing.)

Warning: Explicit sexual content (18+ Minors DNI) “ With just a little taste of wasting time Looking for honey But she stings like she means it She's mean and she's mine “ It’d been a hard day.

The vehicle they’d manage to steal from the survivalist’s cabin didn’t last long. For all that group had worked and prepared their fortress, they hadn’t kept up with the maintenance on the car and it had crapped out after a couple of days, even driving slowly. They were back to walking, the dream of quickly getting to Wyoming vanishing. They’d hit a town that had seemed mostly empty, but there’d been a pocket of infected that had swarmed. It was pure luck that there had been no Clickers, only Runners, but it’d been a close call. Now they were holed up on the second floor of a shop, Joel having barricaded the stairs leading up to it and securing the whole floor while she helped set up for the night. They were exhausted and Ellie was a little extra quiet, rubbing her eyes and using some of the water they managed to get out of the pipes into a bucket to scrub out the blood off her jacket. She was still covered in it too, feeling it stick and crust to her neck and cheek, her hands. Joel sat down and they all ate out of cold cans in silence, only the clink of their spoons breaking the gloom. “Those runners…they were newer infected, weren’t they?” Ellie said gloomily. She sighed and Joel chewed slowly, looking up at the teen from beneath a furrowed brow, “They were most likely a group passing through. Got bit and all of them turned. The newer ones tend to be the fastest.” Ellie hummed thoughtfully and shrugged, “Maybe that means there’s not many infected left here if they were the only ones to come out? That mean we’re safe up here?” “Or they’re trapped inside the buildings,” she responded, not wanting to kill her hope but also being realistic, “But we’ll hear if anyone comes in and the barricade should delay them. We’re safe enough.” The young girl nodded and sighed, finishing her food and setting the can aside, “Okay…I’m gonna go to bed. I’m tired.” She sent her a soft “goodnight” and finished her food quietly, the light of the lantern between them all that was lighting the room. She was still wired from the fight, sleep not finding her any time soon. Without saying a word to her companion, she stood and went over to the bucket and picked it up before walking a little bit away to one of the mirrors the store had hanging on the far wall. Clothing racks and shelves were toppled everywhere, moth eaten rags hanging from them and trash littering the ground. She pulled over a cement block nearby and sat on it near the mirror, grabbing a rag off the rack and dipping it into the water. It wasn’t safe to drink but they could at least use it to clean up. The mirror was stained and dirty, foggy from years of neglect and exposure to whatever was in the air. She couldn’t see her reflection fully but could see enough to try and clean the crusted blood off her skin. It came off in flakes from her hands, blood and dirt leading way to clean skin. Boots walked towards her and she paused, looking up as Joel joined her along the shadowed wall, face always that tilted down frown and furrowed brow. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked at the water and rag before grabbing another cement block and scooting it in front of her, “Here. You can’t see shit in that thing, I’ll do it.” They hadn’t spoken about that night in the cabin. That night when he’d came and joined her on the floor, has slipped his fingers into her to help her relax and then fucked her into the ground. They’d woken up and went on like it never happened and hadn’t changed a thing. But something was different. They both felt it and didn’t want to acknowledge it. She knew he’d keep bugging her until she gave in so she handed him the rag with a roll of her eyes, turning to face him, their knees pressed together. He took it and dipped it into the water then his calloused fingers held her chin, holding it in place as he passed the rag over her cheek. They didn’t speak, didn’t even make eye contact, but there was a tension suddenly there the moment his skin touched hers. He was being gentle and it unnerved her because Joel was never gentle. Especially not with her. They were at each other’s throats constantly, Ellie being their only glue together. “You shouldn’t have used your knife on those,” he grunted and the sound wrapped around her in the darkness, “Too easy to get bit. If you had ran I coulda shot them.” “Bullets are a bit valuable nowadays, Tex, and I had it handled,” she bit out as he turned her face the other way to get the blood under her ear, “Using the knife conserves bullets.” “It’s not gonna conserve anything if I have to put one in your head because you got infected,” Joel hissed and his fingers pressed a little harder into her skin to emphasize the point. The pressure on her skin sent tiny sparks through her and her heart beat a little faster, his touch and smell all around her not helping at all. “Well if that happens you can say I told you so,” she rolled eyes and tried to not to focus on the slow drag of the cloth as it moved down her neck. Abruptly, he jerked her forward and her hands had to brace on his thighs to keep from toppling onto him. His fingers dug into her chin hard enough she wondered if it would bruise later on, his eyes dark and searing into her even covered by shadows. “Or you can fucking be careful and listen to me,” he growled, breath coasting along her face from his proximity. “Yes, sir,” she answered sarcastically, nose wrinkling with a raised lip. Something shifted in those dark irises and she caught the flicker of his eyes as they dipped to her lips, “Give me attitude and I’ll have you saying that while you fucking beg me.” Her skin was suddenly on fire, tightening at his words, aware of the muscle of his thighs underneath her hands. She felt hot and swallowed, aware he could feel the action with his hand still on her chin, “Sorry to break it to ya, but I’m not begging you for shit.” But then his mouth was smashing into hers, teeth cutting into her lip, and the hand with the rag curling around her neck. She could feel the cool water drip down her skin and run along her chest, the feeling icy against her heated skin. Kissing Joel was like drowning and she let herself, pressing back hard against his mouth and pushing her tongue between his lips, drinking in his groan as she did so. His hand briefly left her skin to ease himself off the cement block and onto the ground before he dragged her down into his lap, knees braced on either side of his thighs. She could feel him beneath her, already hard and pressing against her, the knowledge shooting straight to her core. She sucked on his lower lip, biting and sucking and letting him explore her mouth, his beard rough against her skin. The hand on her chin went to her waist and dug into the fabric of her shirt, pressing her harder against him and his hips rocked a bit, grinding his hard member into her through their jeans. She moaned softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the sleeping teen yards away. The rag in his other hand slid along her neck and he broke away to latch onto the newly cleaned skin there, biting into the spot just under her ear. She bit her tongue to keep her sounds at bay and dove her hand into his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls tightly in her fist. The day had left her running on adrenaline, raw and vibrating, and she knew exactly what this was. A release. A way for them to get their energy out after fighting for their lives. There were worse ways to handle it. For all that Joel drove her crazy, losing herself in him had its appeal like now when she could touch and caress every part of him that had managed to snag her attention. She ran her hand over the tense muscles of his neck as he continued to press open mouth kisses along her own, biting and licking and sucking his way along the path the rag had cleaned the blood away. Her hand moved to the hard muscles of his biceps, the patch of hair at the opening of his shirt, the rough skin of his stomach after she untucked his shirt. He was untouchable in the day, out there on the road, but she’d take this moment and use it to explore what she could while she had the chance. She ached, need pulsing as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot at the base of her neck, and ground down into him. He hissed and broke away, resting his forehead against her shoulder, “Fuck. You’re fucking impatient, darlin.” “I’m not impatient,” she rocked against him again and could feel him move to meet the motion, “I’m showing you what needs attention, Miller.” He dropped the rag and grabbed the back of her neck, raising his face to meet hers, their noses touching, “Joel. When I fuck you, you say my name. Not Miller, not Tex. Joel.” She skimmed her lips along his and grinned mockingly, canines showing, “Yes, sir.” He growled and pressed his lips back against hers bruisingly, the kiss a messy clash of teeth and tongue as if they were trying to fight against one another. His hand on her hip moved to the front of her jeans and began to unbutton them, hands jerky and rushed, practically ripping them open and shoving his hand inside. Joel swallowed her moan when his fingers found her mound, sliding through her lips and feeling the slickness there already. He rubbed back and forth and let her rock against his hand, talking against her mouth, “This where you’re needing attention?” “It ain’t obvious?” she huffed and shuddered as his thumb found her clit, pressing hard against it and making her jerk. Slowly he pushed two fingers into her, using her wet arousal to stretch her and slide in and out. His mouth moved back to her neck, listening as her breath left her in raspy moans almost silent around him. He started so slow, letting her get used to him, and then started pumping faster and harder. The friction of jeans, his rough hand, and his own jerky motions of his hips felt delicious and she clawed at his shoulder to brace herself, the other still tangled in his hair. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” he growled against her neck, scraping his beard across her sensitive skin. She could feel the beginning of her orgasm growing, the coil in her tightening and threatening to snap at any moment. His fingers were so thick inside of, filling her up, as his thumb kept circling and pressing down on her clit. And she was almost embarrassingly wet, knowing it was soaking through her jeans and covering his hand. Then, abruptly, he stopped and she gripped his hair and tugged his head painfully back as he removed his hand, “Miller-” “What’d I say ‘bout my name?” he snarled at her, the sound going straight to her throbbing center, “You beggin’ already?” Her tongue was pressed to the top of her teeth, eyebrow raised, as she shook her head in defiance. Instead she ground against him and the hard, straining member beneath his jeans. He was clenching his teeth, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the motion, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought hard to restrain himself. But she didn’t want him restrained and she certainly wasn’t going to beg. One of them was going to give in and it wasn’t going to be her. Joel Miller, for all his cleverness and practically, was not a patient man. The hand that had been inside her came up and stroked her chin, then her mouth, rubbing along her bottom lip as he watched. She continued to rock against him and scraped her nails against his scalp, then she teasingly touched her tongue to the thumb along her lip. Joel’s eyes flashed to hers and stayed there, burning in the darkness of the room, as she licked his thumb and let it slide into her mouth, sucking on it. She could taste her own arousal on his finger, the salt and slight grime still there. It was all Joel, perfect and rough and bitter. Her lips wrapped around the digit, pulling it into her hot wet mouth, her tongue licking him clean. His breath was coming out in heavy rapid pants, his other hand digging onto her thigh and sliding to her clothed ass, clenching it. Not once did she break eye contact. Even as her teeth scraped against his skin and her hand went to his belt buckle, she stayed watching him and seeing the fire light up in his dark irises. Then finally he snapped, the first to break. Before she could blink, he had pulled his thumb from her mouth and was lifting her up to her feet to rip her jeans down her legs. He did it swiftly, not caring if the tugging hurt or if he was jostling her around. He got them off her legs while she smirked and as she stood in front of him, he grabbed her thigh and yanked her forward, his mouth finding her cunt while one of his own hands moved to unbuckle his belt and jeans. She had to bite down on her lip to keep from making a sound, eyes flickering to where Ellie was still fast asleep, and sank her hand back into his hair to press his face against her. His tongue lapped at her desperately, beard rubbing against her sensitive skin, lips wrapping and sucking on her clit. It was exquisite, her legs shaking as he managed to coax her pleasure back to life. It was sloppy and rough and fast, her brain struggling to catch up to the lightning flaring up inside of her. His tongue dipped into her and she rocked against his face, desperate to find release. He hummed against her soaking warmth and then sucked hard on her clit, her orgasm hitting her so hard she had to brace herself on his shoulders to keep standing. It was fireworks, a lighting storm, everything hitting her at once as she came hard on his tongue. Joel gently coaxed her back into sitting on his lap, his jeans pulled down and his erection out and heavy against his thigh. She was still trying to catch her breath, hands resting on his naked thighs and head resting on his shoulder. His hand combed through her hair and tugged, using it to straighten back up and look at him, “Uh uh, darlin, I’m not done with you yet.” He kissed her roughly, her own taste all over his tongue and coating her mouth, while he pumped himself a few times. She groaned into his mouth, breathy little pants leaving her, then he was lifting her up to position her over his throbbing cock. She was still so sensitive and as she sank down onto him she squeezed her eyes tightly, biting down on her lips and pressing her forehead to his. Her being on top gave them a new angle that hit differently than last time, letting him fill her completely and hitting every spot that had sparks singing inside her skin. Fuck, he felt good and she had to fight so hard to keep from moaning out loud, could feel it in her throat wanting release. “That’s it,” he hummed to her, voice catching with his own moan, “Fuck, darlin’. I could come right now from being inside you.” Secretly, she was pleased to hear the praise and not be the only one affected. Sex had been good last time, but there’d been a tentative dance to it. Breaching the gap and testing the waters to see if they were on the same page. Now they both knew there was an attraction there and even if they hadn’t spoken about it, hadn’t said exactly what it was or if it had been a one time thing, there wasn’t a hesitation to jump that gap again. She started to move, lifting herself up and down, feeling him slide against the walls inside of her. Those sparks had started up again, building tight in her lower stomach and growing with each move. He began meeting her pace, thrusting up into her while leaning forward and placing hot kisses along her throat. His teeth found her collar bone, the small tattooed stars, and he nipped at them while his hands gripped her waist. He helped her bob up and down on him, starting slow and letting her get used to him. But she didn’t want it to be slow, didn’t want his gentleness. Bending down to his good ear, she breathily moaned and let his name slip out of her, “Joel.” And then the pace turned frantic and hard, his arms banding around her body and him thrusting his hips up into her wildly. His cock hit deep and the feeling bordered on pain, but it only intensified everything. She was soaking his lap in her arousal and his fingers were bruising her waist. It was overwhelming in its intensity, her already sensitive clit rubbing against the base of his erection, and she was climbing higher and higher. She wanted to drown in the feeling, lose herself in him and forget the world around them. Forget she was still covered in blood, forget her name, forget everything but this feeling of overwhelming pleasure. Then she was coming, whispering his name over and over again, him thrusting through her orgasm. She felt the moment he followed her, warmth filling her up completely as his release came inside of her and his movements became wild and slow. He held her tightly on his lap and her arms were around his shoulders, forehead resting against the side of his head. The silence began to seep back, awareness outside of their panting breaths, and the heat died down. She tried not to notice how he pressed one final, soft kiss to her collar bone before straightening up, his eyes meeting hers. “I didn’t beg,” she whispered, voice husky and raw from holding in her sounds. Joel huffed out a chuckle, eyes flickering to her lips then moving away, “Don’t sound so cocky, there’s still next time.” Next time. The words rolled around in her mouth and she tried not to feel pleased that there would in fact be a next time. Because it was something, some form of endearment towards her, outside of the constant bickering and getting after her. She smirked, “We’ll see, Joel.” _______________________ Tag List: @alouise20 @faceache111

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x feral reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #raicodoll writes #series: feral

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zukkacore · 4 months

Text

Crossposted to ao3

The morning after Frosty Fair Festival, Jace summons Porter to the principal’s office.

“I’ve been VP for five minutes, and I find out that one of the fucking Bad Kids is taking three simultaneous years of artificer class? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You can’t pin that on me, Stardiamond.” Porter’s laugh is easygoing, and he’s only half paying attention as he watches the smoke trail from the cigarette he’s waving around. “I tried to dissuade him. He put himself through that.”

“But you won’t sign his MCAT. Do you want his annoying little truant friend to hate you?”

Porter laughs. “Miss Faeth isn’t a truant, I’ve been taking attendance for her in barbarian classes nearly every day."

He takes a long drag. “Of course you have.”

“Miss Faeth hates me no matter what I do. If she hasn’t caught on to what’s going on by now, I think you can breathe. Besides, I like a challenge. Something you could stand to learn.”

He tries to take another drag, but his hands are shaking, he’s so mad. There’s a clenching in his chest where the shatterstar is placed, then a pain that radiates outward. He winces. “Be it from me to question your teaching methods, but. Do you know what the Bad Kids did to the last vice principal?”

“Hey. I brought you back once. I can do it again.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to talk about that right now. He’s not ready to talk about it. “Tell me, does getting chewed out by a devil because one of his best bloodrush players is swamped sound like a good time to you? Jawbone recommended I look into xanax, that’s how wired I’ve been. And that was before I got ‘promoted’.”

“I’m sure you could get your hands on some if you attended one of his orgies.”

“Go to hell.”

“Likewise.”

They glare back and forth. Jace is used to getting into tiffs with Porter, but this—this is real.

When he opens his mouth, his voice is quiet. “I don’t see why you can’t just sign the kid’s fucking MCAT.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the whole impassioned speech,” says Porter, “It’s nice to see you actually riled up about something once in your silver-spoon life, maybe finally you’ll start giving a fuck.”

“I’m not riled up,” says Jace, but he’s working to keep his voice steady.

He’s used to the assumptions about his life, and he’d much rather keep up appearances than let a soul know about his estranged parents or the mind that’s trying to kill him. That’s the thing about sorcery—when your power is innate, you can never stop being grateful. If things are fucked, they could always, always be worse. He has to be unassuming. He likes being unassuming, because a gift is not a threat. And if his student’s can see that this scary thing they can’t help doesn’t have to rule their life, then, yeah, he’s ok with being a little bit of a joke.

At least, he was ok with it, before Porter Cliffbreaker broke him and shoved a shatterstar into his gaping chest wound and gave him a choice: rage or oblivion? He made his choice. He can’t back out now. So doesn’t Porter see he’s trying to look out for him? “I just think it would make things so much easier—”

“For who? You? Pardon me for treading on your cushy little gig.”

“Oh, we’re way past that.” Eight months past, to be exact. His mind is drifting back fondly to bleeding out in the Mountain’s of Chaos. He’s grateful that it’s so early in the morning, that no one is around to cast Detect Thoughts.

“Thistlespring could use a little tough love. That’s just the way I teach, now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna have to deal with it. He’s an orc, Stardiamond—barbarism is in his blood. He just needs to apply himself. I mean, you’ve seen the kid play bloodrush, he’s a beast.”

He grimaces. Something about the way Porter is speaking, he can’t place it, but he feels sick to his stomach.

“Right,” says Porter, clearly misjudging the expression on his face. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show a little school spirit.”

Jace laughs sharply.

“Well. He’s a beast you’re gonna find yourself on the wrong side of if you don’t watch yourself. You know how The Bad Kids are—they worm their way into everything, and the goblin that Kipperlily hates, he’s the worst of all. You know, he ate—Forget it. I just. I don’t want you getting—” He stops just short of saying it. As much as Porter has personally fucked him over, he’s in it too deep. Despite everything, Jace cares about him. He’s just so tired of trying to make things work. “If… this plan is so important to you, you have to be a little more tactful and a little less—you.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself, Stardiamond?” Porter flashes an infuriating grin.

“I didn’t say that. I just said… Be careful.”

“I appreciate the feedback and the personal concern, veep, but trust me when I say you’re letting your personal feelings get in the way with this one.”

His face is burning up, and he’s certain he’s a humiliating shade of red. Jace doesn’t even have to say anything. Porter knows what a low blow that is.

“Yeah, well,” mutters Jace. “Multiclassing is not for everyone.”

“Right.”

Jace is a good sorcerer. So good that it’s hard to articulate to his students what to him is second nature. He’s not the kind of teacher who does lesson plans precisely because he was never the kind of student who needed to study. It’s eerie how much Porter in these moments reminds him of his own teacher—the kind of teacher who praises his natural gifts all day and was absolutely resistant to him looking into other classes because he viewed it as a waste, as noncommittal, as proof of his lack of dedication.

Jace never got his MCAT signed. And he was… not prepared for the sheer volume of work required for even early level wizardry. He wanted it; he wanted to be the kind of dedicated person who could put in the work. Maybe his teacher had been right, maybe he wasn’t very bright, and maybe he hadn’t been cut out to be a wizard, but it did feel a little like he was thrown in the deep end and told to swim just to prove a point. He’s always been a slave to his impulses. And in the end, he ran back to sorcery where they welcomed him back with open arms because it felt good to be good at something.

He can feel the thrum of the shatterstar in his chest, anger coupled with shame. He hates himself for being Jace Stardiamond. He’s always taken the path of least resistance.

He’s not even sure he could call himself a good sorcerer anymore. He’s never been the kind of wizardly person who innately finds the joy of learning and discovery. He’s never found it all that rewarding. But sorcery does require a kind of self-knowledge, a certainty of oneself that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Whoever he is right now is a stranger, buried under several feet of bitterness and self-loathing.

“What’s it to you? You don’t even give a fuck about your own students, have you gotten a soft heart about little Thistlespring all of a sudden?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Thistlespring! Don’t you get it?”

“Look, if he confronts me on it, I’ll sign the damn MCAT. Happy? I was only resistant at first because—well, I mean, have you heard that ridiculous song he sings? The kid’s not very bright.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ll get it done if it means that much to you. C’mere.”

Porter takes Jace by the hands, pulling him in so that he can wrap his arms around Jace’s waist.

“We’re at school—” says Jace, but his protests are half-hearted. He turns his head, and he can feel Porter’s lips press up against his cheek.

“Listen to me.” Porter takes his face in his hands. “I have everything under control. The Bad Kids are nothing, Jace. Trust me. They’re twig gremlins. Maybe I got a little overinvested. I can’t help it, I need recruits, and the kid’s a natural. But that’s not everything. He’s too… Too timid. Afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Embracing his power.”

“Are… Are we still, um—” Porter’s gaze on him is so intense, Jace forgets what he’s saying. But that drive that he sees in Porter, that deep need to push, to optimize, to always be the best—it’s always been a source of deep frustration for Jace. But he can’t deny those are the same traits that make Porter so easy to admire. Maybe it’s just a wish, but he swears he can see the same admiration mirrored in Porter’s expression.

He can feel himself being reeled back in. His life is currently a living hell, but something in him has always felt compelled to be worthy of Porter’s admiration.

He wishes he could be the kind of person Porter wants him to be. He worries that there is no ascendant version of him, that this really is all his potential, plain and simple. But he’ll try. For Porter, he wants to be great.

They can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Time for school.

Porter is quick to change gears. He coughs, clearing his throat as Jace is quick to step away. “Tell you what—I’ll get that straightened away, Stardiamond. I’ll sign the papers. Things were a little rocky at first, but you know what? He earned it, after the damn display of frosty fair. He’ll make a great… adventurer.” He’s watching. “You know. When the time comes.”

Jace sighs, but it does nothing to help release the tension in his chest. Yeah. Frosty fair. He has to make the announcement about that soon. He can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Porter kisses him, but Jace is quick to brush him away and toward the door. “You need to go.”

Porter grins, and Jace can feel his heart skipping like he’s some teen adventurer with a schoolyard crush. “Tell me some things aren’t worth a little risk.”

“Well, I have to give a speech,” says Jace, following Porter out of the office. Jawbone waves at them, and Jace nods as he shuts the door behind them.

“Hey. You’re gonna knock it out of the park, alright?” He gives Jace a punch in the shoulder, and it’s so awkward that Jace would be charmed by it in any other circumstance. Like they’re amicable co-workers and not the bad guys. Like they’re not intertwined, Porter’s rage making a comfy little home in his ribcage. “We’re all looking to you, now, Stardiamond. It’s a heavy burden, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust more to handle the responsibility.”

Jace doesn’t bother to check his insight. If Porter says it, he’s ready to believe it.

#starbreaker #jace stardiamond #porter cliffbreaker #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 #fantasy high #emotional abuse tw #jaceporter #jan.fic #long post #the sliver of time for this convo to have happened (post-grix post promotion pre-MCAT signing is so small that it's actually funny #this is kinda a fic and kinda a meta. A lot of the stuff abt jace is like pure speculative / headcanon etc etc tho #jan.mine

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carryonafi · 11 months

Text

starstruck.

luke hemmings x reader; SMUT!!!! 🔞

big warning!! i’ve never posted smut here before, so let me know if this is something i should continue or keep it pg… or if yall are just sluts for some submissive luke ;P

words: 2.9k

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“Luke?” Your voice was stifled by the soundproof walls of the basement studio, padding alongside you was Petunia, who you had to stop at the door and apologetically close her out because she had a tendency to chew on the many wires. Just a few lights lit the room, it was dim and you could see more in the blue light of the computer than you could with any other source of light. Luke had a lot on his mind, of course. He had voiced this to you before, going, and going, and going nonstop since he was about 16 and finally getting to stop and take a breath for the first time in years. It was a lot for him to handle, he constantly had to be going and now his schedule was completely clear because of this global pandemic. So, he spent a lot of time in the home studio you built. He would tuck himself away for a few hours every day, do a livestream with the guys, then come back up to you and Petunia within a healthy amount of time.

Today, however, it has not been a healthy amount of time. Luke was working himself to his bones and he hadn’t even come up when food was being made, when he turned to the sound of your presence, you could see it. The sweet, yet tired smile, tousled hair with clear rimmed glasses over his eyes. He took them off as he swiveled in the chair, rubbing at his temples.

“Love…” You said simply, slowly walking over to the chair. His arms had a mind of their own, reaching out to you as you stood between his legs and he wrapped himself around your middle. Face buried in your chest, hands rubbing slowly up and down the small of your back like you hadn’t seen each other in years. It did feel like it. “You’ve been down here for ages.”

“‘M always down here.” Luke replied in the tone of voice that you loved so much, a soft whine curved the syllables of the words he spoke, enough to make you melt as you tangled your hands in his hair.

“Not for this long. You didn’t even eat dinner, baby. What’s buggin’ you?” Your hands slid to his cheeks, slowly coaxing him to pull away. Instead, he rested his chin against your body so he was looking up at you just as you were silently asking him to. Luke would only ever spend extra time on a project if there was something bothering him, or something not clicking. That’s one of the things you knew ever since you had gotten together.

He looked up at you innocently, but his gaze dropped and he let out a sigh as you made your observations. “Just frustrated. It doesn’t sound right… like,” You could see the internal debate he was having, Luke hesitated, but ended up staying right where he was and just nodding towards the screen. “This isn’t a piano song, it can’t be a piano song… too much piano. If I play a G chord on guitar, though, it doesn’t sound right.” He finally voiced his frustration and you could already see some of that tension lifting. As Luke explained, your hands began to wander until they were gently massaging his shoulders. There was no objective to your movements, just mindless playing with what was yours.

“Mm, no instruments at all? Just sounds?” You suggested the synth method, to which Luke shook his head and buried himself back in the safe comfort of your chest.

“I don’t know. It’s gonna annoy me.” He complained once again, sounding just like he did before. Guiltily enough, it got you going. All you did was pout at him.

“Why don’t you step away for a bit, Lu? Come eat, cuddle with me and ‘Tunia, get some sleep. Start again tomorrow with a clear head, yeah? Maybe you’ve gotten worked up with yourself too much.” You slipped your hands underneath his sweater to feel the skin of his shoulders, humming at the contrast of your cold hands to his warmth. Luke nodded against you, but there was something missing. He was clingy, so clingy he couldn’t even let go of you to gesture to the computer screen. So clingy he couldn’t pull his face out of your chest, and so quiet… he was only this quiet in times that he needed something shameful.

“Yeah.” He mumbled into the fabric of your tank top, making you smile. That's the tone you had been fawning over since he spoke his first word to you.

“Look at me.” You changed your voice as well, speaking just above a whisper. Luke knew you were serious, so he reluctantly untucked his head from you and pulled away just enough so he could make eye contact. “Is there something else you want?” You asked, sweet and expectant like there was an answer you were looking for. There was, and Luke knew it as well judging by the way he stared up at you and swallowed thickly. His eyes were glossy now, something shifted that blew out his pupils and just made him appear so sucked in. In a certain state you loved.

“You.” He breathed.

“How, baby?”

Luke hesitated. He knew he had to vocalize it, and he was stuck.

“Want you so bad. Need your mouth on me, or hands, or… whatever you’ll give me. Just need it.” His fingertips ran up and down the ribbed pattern of your top, never breaking eye contact as he knew you would just make him repeat his desperations.

“That’s it, my boy. I knew you could say it.” A proud smile crosses your face as your hands slip out from his sweater, Luke looks proud as well, stare softening with a hint of a glimmer in his irises. “Never this shy, are we?” It’s a rhetorical question, but just as Luke starts to answer you begin to step away. You grasp both of his hands just as they slip from your waist, pulling him out of the uncomfortable office chair and over to the much, much better sofa which sits in the corner of the studio. This was mainly an investment for you and Petunia, his girls, to come and sit while he works. However, he does like his space when he’s supposed to be focusing.

You motion for him to sit, and Luke obeys without a second thought as you kneel in front of him on the sofa. Your hands begin to push his sweater up, exposing his pale skin which hasn’t been getting too much sun recently. He was already breathing heavily, reaching forward to hold onto your hair or at the very least follow how your head moved to kiss over his hips. Your lips dragged against the soft flesh, lightly baring your teeth as you traced your hands along the waistband of his shorts. At the first nibble, Luke let out a gasp and bucked his hips.

“Easy, easy.” You murmured against his skin, he got the hint and weakly whimpered your name. “So pent up, Lu. Is this why you couldn’t focus?” He briefly lifted your head, only getting a nod in response. When you didn’t continue, Luke sucked in a breath.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He said quickly.

“Keep talking like that.” You instructed, motioning for him to help you remove his shorts. To which he did, lifting his hips so you could pull them down along with his boxers. Luke sucked in a breath through gritted teeth when the cold air hit him.

“Every time you came down I jus’ wanted to be under you, you take care of me so good. Knew it would clear my head.” Luke cut himself off with another harsh gasp, those garments were long gone and you were left placing teasing kisses all along his inner thighs as he voiced his needs. One just at the head of his cock, that pulled the gasp from his throat.

“Didn’t tell you to stop, baby.”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.” Luke pleaded, looking down at you expectantly when he realized you weren’t going to continue unless he kept talking. “Think about you so much, your lips, your tongue, when you… fuck, do that.” He moaned when you gingerly wrapped your hand around his shaft and kitten-licked the tip, both hands now in your hair. This is what got you excited, when he got restless and showed it all in his face knowing it would mean trouble for him if he got too impatient. You never broke eye contact, Luke pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and let it slip just to speak more struggling words.

“I love when you use that voice with me,” He whined, taking another labored breath when you took him further into your mouth. “Call me names, it makes me feel so…” Luke couldn’t articulate it, the word was in his head, but would it be the right one? “Small? Dunno.” He sighed again, carefully playing with your hair as your tongue swirled and made him struggle to speak past his quiet sounds.

“Pretty sure the word you're looking for is submissive.” You sat back on your heels, watching his eyebrows furrow in disappointment.

“Why’d you stop?” He made another one of those beloved whines, shoulders dropping the tension as he slowed his breathing.

“Don't you want more of me? Isn’t that what you were getting at?” You also looked at him with confusion, false only to mock him. Luke got the hint, you could see the second the realization hit him. His bright little face, eagerly nodding and still stroking your hair as you begin to grin again. “You know what to do, tell me.”

“I want it so bad.” Luke didn’t waste a moment to speak. “I need to feel you around me, ‘s been too long.” It really hasn’t. This cycle happened again yesterday, and this morning, before he finally coaxed himself into getting some work done. As he spoke, you slowly got on the couch and rested your knees on either side of him to straddle him.

“And?” You asked sweetly.

“Please, (Y/N)?” Luke stared up at you, never pulling those icy blue irises away from yours.

“You’re so desperate, how do you even get like this?” A giggle chased after your words. This was something you could have kept to yourself, but of course, you always loved to see Luke’s reaction to your teasing. He only squirmed, heat rising to his cheeks as you sat back a bit to tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pajamas.

“Because, look at you. You expect me to sit here and not be starstruck when you look at me like that?” Luke briefly lifted one of his hands to motion at your body as you continued to remove your sweats.

“Ooh. Starstruck.” You marveled, tossing your clothes off to the side with his. “That’s a good word, you’ve been using that brain today, Lu.”

“If you could read my mind half the time, you’d be starstruck, too.” Luke tugged his bottom lip between his teeth yet again, tilting his head back as you leaned forward hovering over his lips. He was so close to kissing you, so close, but you refrained for a moment.

“Mm, yeah?” You hummed, using one hand to reach between you two finding that this way was easiest to steady yourself. Luke’s eyelids fluttered when your hand came into contact with him again, unable to take his gaze off of the way you began sinking down. Your lips parted slightly, trying to formulate the rest of your sentence. “Let it all out. Wanna hear all your thoughts.”

“I really fuckin’ love how you know what makes me weak.” Luke was hasty, eager to impress you with his quick talk. “You touch me in all the right places, call me all the right names, make the prettiest sounds, God.” He cursed. “Never had anyone make me feel like this before.” His words sounded breathy, like it was a battle to commit to telling you (almost) everything that came to his mind. It worked, oh, it worked. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, slowly snaking around his neck as you rolled your hips and watched his face contort with pleasure. His jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows furrowing over those deep lustrous eyes you so badly wanted to see staring at you. His lips were so pink, the bottom one just a bit swollen from his abuse, the stubble on his cheeks drove you mad and each shadow on his face was so perfectly contoured. However, his hands hesitated. They briefly lifted from the back of the couch before dropping again and grasping at the fabric, it seemed you had trained him well, but you would allow the needs to take him over.

“Luke.” With a simple hushed moan of his name he had his hands on you in an instant, Luke opened his eyes slightly as your steady rhythm of the slow falling of your hips became more comforting. The glint in his eyes were endless, his gaze burning into your frame and watching his hands create shadows on your body. His fingertips danced along the hem of your tank top, making eye contact for approval as he slowly started to push it up.

“Can I take it off, please?” Luke swallowed thickly, and since you didn’t slow down your pace, his first thought was that you’d deny his request.

“Mm.” You hummed, biting your bottom lip to conceal a smile. “If you can get it off.” Your reply was smug only because you knew it wouldn’t be a problem for him to get the top off of you. It was gone within seconds, Luke’s wide, vulnerable icy blues admiring the full of your body in pure admiration. His mouth dropped open again as you rolled your hips in the same pattern you did before, that rough circle that might just become his favorite shape. However, his grasp got weaker, moans got breathy as he tossed his head back to rest against the back of the sofa. You took this opportunity to attack his throat, harsh stubble meeting the sensitive skin of your cheeks and lips while you moved your mouth along the curve of his jawline. Luke made this sound, unlike how you had ever heard him before. It was quiet at first, rushed and surprised like he had unexpectedly dropped something. The second your hands started sliding up his sweater, feeling his bare skin before raking your nails down his chest and past the coarse hair he gasped a second time. A loud, long whimper tearing from his throat. It was so satisfactory that it had you bucking your hips faster and moaning against his pulse point, your name fell from his lips a number of times that you couldn’t even count.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Luke hissed, the way he was grabbing your side would definitely leave bruises. His thighs twitched once beneath you, then again as you pulled away from his littered neck to watch the inevitable. “So close, ‘m so close. God — can I?” He peered up at you again, making eye contact. They were deep, dark with lust. Yet unmatched to the warmth that filled your chest at the mere fact that he asked, your boy was still in control of himself, asking permission.

It bounced around for a beat, do you give him this?

“Not yet, not yet.” You breathed, the hands that were on his chest briefly lifting to cup his cheeks. “Little longer, baby. Can you do that for me?” His eyes told you otherwise, but he nodded anyway and tilted his head again. You didn’t let him down, just another few bounces and you felt the familiar crash shake you like your body had been set on an endless vibration setting. You shuddered, gripping at the collar of Luke’s sweater as you shut your own eyes and cried out into the soundproof walls of the comforting atmosphere of the rest of the studio.

“Please, please. Please? ‘M right there, I can’t hold it, please...” Luke’s arms secured around your waist, pulling you closer so he could whisper his soft pleas and all you could do was nod. Poor thing, buried his face in your chest and let out a strangled moan into the soft texture of your skin. His breathing labored, burrowing his way even deeper into your comfort as if he could get any farther.

You matched his hold on you, arms loosely around his shoulders just as your hands gravitated towards the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You were still, unmoving for a few moments before Luke finally pulled himself back into reality.

“Hi.” He said simply, making you giggle. You loved this more than anything, the bliss, the love he had in his eyes for you, knowing that all he needed was a simple stress reliever and your way of giving was just what he was looking for.

“Hi.” You replied, admiring his post-orgasm glow.

“You look pretty.” Where did this come from? The comment had you smiling like an idiot anyway.

“Not too bad yourself, handsome.” The hands on the back of his neck slowly worked through his curls, wandering in his dark roots all the way to the light ends. They were always such a mess when he wasn’t constantly touching them, such a beautiful mess. “You still want dinner?”

“Yes, please.” Luke sighed gratefully, bracing the two of you to finally stand up and clean the mess you made. Next came more apologies, letting Petunia wander into the room as you opened up the door and never exited each other’s small range of personal space.

(some more lil visuals for you guys☺️)

#5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #ashton irwin #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings fanfic #5sos one shot #5sos smut

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