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chiyo13 · 5 months ago

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ohhhh It's SO GOOODDDD!!!! Guys you gotta read this.

Columba

summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.

pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end)

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.

General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.

There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite.

Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you.

His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch.

"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine.

"No, Sir," you answer.

His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?"

Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty.

Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him.

“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?”

Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category.

“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.”

“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.”

His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile.

"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”

The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.

The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.

"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes.

"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup.

His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind.

“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.”

His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours.

"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again.

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them.

"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.”

The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Marcus,” you say.

He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.”

There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt.

He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you.

You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.

He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin.

"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission."

"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face.

From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone.

It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.

He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed.

With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat.

It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need.

“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.

He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him.

"Marcus," you whine.

He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed.

The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.

His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt."

The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds.

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.”

He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you.

Gods, he’s big.

There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in.

He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing.

Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax.

He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing.

Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust.

It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.

“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.”

His words steal a moan from your lips.

“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him.

It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.”

“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.”

He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.

“Marcus,” you moan.

His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.”

His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.

You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away.

Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you."

He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Then you shall."

He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite.

There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him.

Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.

The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.

“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.”

“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful.

The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts.

Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him.

His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”

This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes.

“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck

With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you.

The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.

He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat.

Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply.

His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again.

“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.”

“And if I don’t wish to send you away?”

His lips trail along your jaw.

Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.”

“And if I never request your leave?”

He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?”

It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses.

“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”

He makes you frown.

“Why me?”

Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes.

“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”

It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it.

“What if I decline your offer?”

“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.”

He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind.

“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?”

He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.”

You see no flaws in his answer.

“I accept your offer on one condition.”

“And that is?”

You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears.

Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.”

That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm.

“I will, my Dove.”

Masterlist

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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saw this and wanted to add to it. The black dress is the outfit, the first SINGLE pantone I could find was cactus, idk what that shirt is saying but that's what I got for mood, and the food was the first photo not gif I found of food. Anyway, feel like tagging some one so @beskarandblasters @senorabond

how does pinterest see you?

Tysm for the tags @ace-turned-confused & @thundermartini 🥰

search up: fashion, pantone, mood, food, and save the first picture that comes up

Honestly accurate

Npts sorry if youve been tagged: @joelslegalwhre @mountainsandmayhem @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy

@604to647 @alltheirdamn @fhatbhabiee @missannwinchester @sawymredfox

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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mmm can't go without some cute fluff with Whiskey <3

Eat Dessert First

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: cute banter, fluffy goodness, domestic bliss, oral (female receiving), cute nicknames and the cutest ending ever

Word Cont: 1.4k

Author’s Notes: Well long time no fic huh? Life really gets in the way sometimes. I decided when the writers block decided to stick around that I would go through some old fics I never posted and see if there was anything I could change my mind on. I picked five fics that I am nervous but excited to share! Thank you if you take time to read and even more so if you leave any kind of note. I am using my old taglist so please if you want to be removed or added please let me know!! Also for my ao3 readers I swear one day I’ll get it updated.

Ao3 link coming soonish

Your knuckles wrapped on the wooden surface of the front door as you entered the all too familiar ranch house. You were immediately met with the most amazing smell that had your stomach growling.

“I sure hope that’s my honeybee!” The southern drawl of the man you loved echoed from the kitchen and you smiled at the sound.

“Who else is going to just waltz in here barely announced?” You spoke with a smirk as you rounded the corner.

The sight before you would never get old. Your boyfriend of four years cooking away in his kitchen, making dinner for the two of you. It was an almost daily occurrence but it still made the butterflies in your stomach rapid. Jack Daniels and yourself had stumbled into each other's lives and even though a relationship was far from both of your minds things just fell into place. Jack paused what he was doing to turn to you. He pulled you into him and quickly locked his lips to yours in a deep, toe curling kiss.

“You keep kissing me like that cowboy, we are going to forget dinner and head straight for dessert,” you smirked as he pulled away.

“Now darlin’ I’ve been slaving away in this kitchen but you do know my favorite saying right?” He gazed down at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Life is short. Eat dessert first,” you let out a giggle as he pulled away and went back to his cooking.

You knew then you had to tempt him just a little bit more so you found a clear spot on the counter and jumped, sliding yourself comfortably on the cool service. Jack gazed at you and you gave him a wide innocent smile. He let out a chuckle and shook his head.

“What?” You asked, teasing him, swinging your legs gently.

“You drive me crazy. After all these years, you still just drive me crazy.”

“I am simply sitting on your counter minding my business. I have no idea what you are talking about.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried.

Jack sat down the spoon he was using to move around whatever sauce he was working on and stalked over to you. You now were slightly taller than him but not by much but even with slightly looking down at him you felt as if he was gazing down at you.

“You know exactly what you are doing darlin’ and soon what I’m fixing will go in the oven for a bit and I am going to devour you.” Jack smirked knowing his words were going to leave you wanting.

He had definitely raised you. Your teasing manner fell and you found yourself panting, realizing how hot it was in the kitchen. You glared at him when he gazed over at you with a winning smirk.

“Don’t give me that look. If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen darlin’â€¦literally.” He winked and you stuck your tongue out at him but followed up with a laugh which he joined in on.

The two of you fell into normal conversation asking each other about your days and anything else you had yet to discuss through the text messages exchanged throughout the day. These were the moments you always loved, the domestic ones. Simple and small but always left a lasting impression. You watched him as he moved around the kitchen before finally placing the almost finished meal into the oven and then threw the oven mitts on the counter. He all but stalked toward you and you welcomed him with opening your legs for him to stand between and laced your arms around his neck. Your fingers went into his hair as his lips fell to yours in a needy kiss. You sighed at the feeling of having him so close. So ready for him to touch you where you needed him most.

You had worn a pair of leggings which Jack maneuvered you carefully out of discarding them on the kitchen floor. He pulled away to look at you, his forehead resting on yours.

“No underwear huh? Did you plan this angel?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you smirked and pulled his lips back to yours.

He smirked against your lips before finally moving down on you. His lips brushed down your neck and soon he was on his knees, his arms wrapping around your legs and spreading you open for him. You let out a whimper at the cool air hitting your wet center.

“Jack please,” you begged looking down at him with one hand white knuckling the counter edge and the other tangled in his brown locks.

“I’ve got you angel. Look at you so wet,” he breathed before his lips fell to you and you let out a loud moan.

Your head fell back to the counters behind you and your eyes fluttered closed in pure pleasure. This was something else that could never get old. The way Jack made you feel was not of this earth, hell the universe. He still made your head spin and he knew your body better than you did. Two fingers entered you and your mouth fell open in a gasp followed by a moan before you forced your eyes open to take in the sight before you. Jack’s head between your thighs pushing you closer and closer to your impending high.

“Jack I-,” you whimpered.

Jack simply answered with a moan against the vibrations coursing through you and the wave took you under. Your head went back, you back arched and you let out a loud moan that made you thankful Jack had no neighbors. He kept pushing you through your orgasm as your legs shook around him until you collapsed panting. His mouth fell away and his fingers left you causing you to feel empty. Your eyes fluttered open to be met with brown eyes gazing at you.

“Always so perfect and delicious,” Jack murmured as he kissed you.

You moaned against him, tasting yourself in his mouth. You reached down for Jack’s pants but his hand stopped you. You pulled away looking at him with a confused expression.

“It’s your turn,” you pouted softly.

“Later darlin’. We got all night,” he smirked as he gave you one more peek just as the timer went off. “Perfect timing dinner is ready. I gotta clean my girl up first.”

Jack made quick work cleaning the both of you up before helping you from the counter onto shaky knees. He didn’t let you go until you were stable and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh as you slipped your leggings back on as he pulled dinner from the oven.

“We are worse than a bunch of teenagers huh?” Jack laughed with you.

“Kind of but I love it.”

“As do I,” he leaned, giving you one last kiss before fixing each of you a plate.

You sat at his dining room table and dug in a comfortable silence falling between the two of you as you ate. You were glancing around Jack’s house as you always found yourself doing when you looked back at him. He had stopped eating and was watching you. You smiled softly.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Move in with me.”

It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement and it took you by surprise. It shouldn’t have, you had waited for it for a while now but all the same it made your stomach flip in the best way.

“Are you sure?” You spoke trying to keep your wide smile at bay.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything honeybee. It’s about time. I like the way you look here. It feels right when you are here. It doesn’t feel so big and lonely anymore and I don’t ever want it to again.”

You felt tears spring into your eyes but a smile split your face wide.

“I would love to move in. I’ve never felt more at home than I do with you.”

Jack’s smile matched yours and the two of you carefully leaned over the table and kissed each other. You finished your meals with bright smiles. The two of you laughed as you washed up the kitchen and made plans as you headed to bed to get you moved in. As you laid in bed Jack hovering over you already panting and wanting he smiled down at you before kissing you.

“Welcome home honeybee.”

Tagged: @jimmythegirl @arcadianempress @discogrrl @immundusspiritu @someplace-darker @thisis-theway @ohpedromypedro @scribbledghost @fioccodineveautunnale @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @littlevodka @all-hallows-evie @mack4676 @perropascal @audreyshepbvrn @mswarriorbabe80 @kaqua @novemberrain221 @weasleywinchester @lady-bess

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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this was hot as heck and really good <3

Split

Din Djarin x F!Reader x Cooper Howard/The Ghoul

Din Djarin Masterlist | Cooper Howard Masterlist

Summary: When two bounty hunters from rival agencies are after you, you offer a solution to their dilemma they can't pass up.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, Fallout AU for the Mandalorian, reader does not know Din or Cooper’s name, masturbation, voyeurism, restraints, uneven power dynamic, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, sir kink, praise kink, degradation, pet names, ret'urcye mhi = maybe we'll meet again/goodbye, cyar'ika = sweetheart, no use of y/n

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. It’s the way of the wasteland, the paranoia settling deep in your bones. You glance over your shoulder. You could’ve sworn you saw another set of footprints.

Stop. You’re imagining things, you tell yourself. It’s been nothing but vast open fields, ruins of old buildings and the occasional radroach here and there.

But as you take another step you fall to the ground, dust kicking up in the air around you. You look down to find that there’s a rope enclosing your waist. You kick and scream before quickly realizing it doesn’t matter how hard you try to fight. Someone is dragging you and they’re winning this fight.

“Let her go!” someone behind you shouts, a man.

Yes. Please. Someone save me.

“She’s coming with me!” the man shouts again.

A deep, hearty laugh erupts from the person dragging you. It’s another man but you can’t get a good look at his face. The brim of his hat covers his eyes but you swear you catch a glimpse of textured, mangled skin. It can’t be… The Ghoul, one of the most fearsome bounty hunters out there.

You should’ve known they would send someone after you. It was foolish to get tangled up with a band of raiders for fuck’s sake. Luckily you didn’t stay under their rule for too long. You jilted them, taking as many of their supplies as you could carry on your back. And then you ran, as far as your legs could carry you. Freedom felt like it was on the horizon. But it’s all being ripped away from you before your eyes.

The Ghoul hoists you upright, forcing you to stand as he ties the rope around your wrists. He looks at you with a shit-eating grin, almost like he’s mocking how pathetic you are.

“Should’ve known it was stupid to run, sweetie,” he tuts.

“I said let her go.”

“Ah fuck, you’re still here? Can’t you take a hint?”

“I’m here to bring her in. There’s a bounty on her head.”

You finally glance at the other mystery man; a stranger dressed head to toe in silver armor. His face is concealed by a helmet and his black cape billows in the wind. You look at The Ghoul who’s just as dumbfounded as you are, wondering who the fuck this is.

“The fuck did the Brotherhood of Steel shit out now?”

“This is beskar,” the strange man says.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Stop wasting my time,” he grumbles, reaching into his pocket for a handheld hologram, displaying a flickering blue image of you.

“You must be from another agency because…” The Ghoul starts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old piece of paper. He unfolds it to reveal a hand-drawn image of you on a bounty poster. “I’m here to bring her in, too.” The Ghoul laughs and says, “Boy, you really fucked up, sweetheart. Got two agencies butting heads over ya.”

“So how are we going to settle this?” the masked man asks.

“Who the fuck are you to be making demands? I captured her first. She’s coming in with me.”

“Look, I’ve been promised a very large reward. You give her to me and I’ll split it with you.”

“How do I know you ain’t lying?” The Ghoul says.

“I guess you’ll just have to rely on my word.”

“And the fuck are you?”

“I’m a Mandalorian.”

“Well then… get lost, Mando.”

“I’m not above a duel.”

The Mandalorian is relentless, never faltering with his objective. Although they’re discussing who’s going to be bringing you to your death most likely, you can’t help but find the situation… hot.

“That would be a little unfair. Look at what the fuck you’re wearing.”

“You’re a ghoul, aren’t you? Should be immortal last time I checked,” The Mandalorian shoots back.

“How do I know you’re not a ghoul? You’re the one hiding under a mask.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs.

The two men stare at each other with their guns drawn. And quite frankly, it’s getting old. You’re sick of this limbo you’re dancing between.

“I have an idea,” you blurt out.

“And what might that be?” The Ghoul asks, pulling on the rope wrapped around you tighter.

“Let’s settle this another way… Whoever fucks me better gets to turn me in.”

The Ghoul blinks a few times before his mouth contorts into a smirk. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“What about you, Mando?”

“I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

“You two are shot,” The Ghoul sighs, leading you inside the remnants of an abandoned building. The Mandalorian follows, reminding The Ghoul, “Keep her tied up so she doesn’t run off.”

“Was plannin’ on it. Plus she probably prefers it, nasty fuckin’ thing.”

You get down on the floor but that’s about as much as you can do on your own, with your hands tied behind your back and all. The Ghoul takes it upon himself to remove your pants, kneeling beside you and looking up at Mando.

“I caught her first. I’m fuckin’ her first.”

“Fine with me,” Din says nonchalantly.

“Bet you’re a freak, too,” The Ghoul sighs, lowering himself in between your thighs. The sun’s starting to set behind him, casting everything in a reddish haze. Your cunt’s already wet, teeming with anticipation. The Ghoul notices and sighs with faux disgust, leaning down and licking a stripe up your cunt.

“She may be filthy but at least she tastes sweet,” he remarks before getting to work. His tongue swirls around your entrance, circling your clit. Your eyelids flutter, almost closing entirely until you glance over at Mando. He’s standing beside you, glove removed from one of his hands, and stroking his cock. For some reason, you’re entranced by the sight, even seeing just a small portion of his skin, it makes your imagination run wild with what he looks like underneath all the armor.

But then The Ghoul stops licking your cunt, resting his head against your inner thigh.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he says.

You look down at him, watching as he goes to eat you out again. You roll your hips into him, itching for more stimulation. But he takes his hands and secures them around your hips to keep you in place, latching his mouth to your clit. Your moans echo into the crumbling room.

The Ghoul moans into you, sending a vibration through you. And soon enough you’re coming, cunt clenching around nothing as the muscles in your core spasm erratically.

“That’s it,” The Mandalorian coos, “Such a good girl.”

Once you’re done coming, The Ghoul kneels in between your thighs, pulling his cock out of his tattered pants. He collects some of your spend on his hand, slathering it on his cock. You spread your thighs wider, watching as he grabs your hips and pulls you into his cock. He sheathes himself fully inside you, burying himself down to the hilt and remaining there for a moment. He curses under his breath, drawing his hips back and slamming into you. Your eyes roll back into your head at the sensation, already thrust into a state of euphoria.

You turn your head and glance over at Mando again, watching him get off to you getting railed by The Ghoul. His hand is wrapped around his thick cock, the tip shiny with pre-cum. It spreads down his shaft as he strokes himself, modulated moans and grunts slipping out from underneath the helmet.

“How does she feel?” The Mandalorian asks, voice dripping with arousal.

“So fuckin’ good,” The Ghoul says, once again reaching your chin. He leans forward so his face is hovering over yours, eyes piercing directly into you. Everything about him is mangled by years of radiation, weathered by struggles in the wasteland. But his eyes— they’re still human. A reminder of the person hidden beneath the rough exterior.

“Eyes on me,” he tuts. “Have you already forgotten, sweetheart?”

“No,” you breathe, your orgasm beginning to crest.

“No, what?”

“No, sir.”

“Much better,” he smirks, driving his hips into you. His pace is wild and passionate, threatening to push you past the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, core muscles contracting erratically. Your moans echo off the walls, loud and proud. You imagine the sound echoing inside Mando’s helmet, making him even more desperate to fuck you.

“Mmm, good girl. Cum on my cock,” The Ghoul moans, head thrown back in pleasure.

He holds off his orgasm for as long as he can, feeling the pulsating movements of your cunt spasming around his cock. But then he pulls out and paints your stomach with his cum, letting out a loud groan and giving himself a few more strokes with his hand. He stays there for a moment, letting the aftershocks of his high run through him until Mando says, “Alright, you’ve had your turn.”

The Ghoul sighs and gets off the floor, putting his cock back in his pants as he says, “I’d like to see you top that.”

But instead of falling for his taunt, The Mandalorian stays silent, dropping to the floor. He grabs you by your hips and flips you over.

“On your knees,” he growls.

You do your best to scramble to your knees, even with your hands being tied. He grabs the rope and keeps you upright. You feel his cock enter you, splitting you apart as your cunt expands to accomodate the sheer size of him. He’s just as thick as you imagined he’d feel inside you, when you watched him stroke himself. He hits the deepest, most pleasurable angles inside you, ramming into you with force. His ungloved hand grabs your shoulder, using it as leverage to fuck you harder. Tears well up in your eyes before rolling down your cheeks, choked-up sobs getting caught in your throat.

“Take. It,” he grunts in your ear.

You whimper in response, far past complete sentences. His hand migrates to your check, choking you as he reminds you again, “I said take it.”

“Yes, sir,” you squeak.

He grabs your shoulder again. And that’s when you realize, if it weren’t for him holding you up, you’d be collapsed on the floor, reduced to a shivering wreck. With one last slam of his hips you cum around his cock, waves of pleasure coursing throughout your sore body. Every muscle, every nerve, every cell feels like it’s on fire. Your thoughts are consumed with nothing but Mando, breaking you down to a shaking mess.

“I’m coming,” you whimper, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling.

“Good girl,” he praises gently.

He plants a swift slap on your ass as your high comes to an end before pulling out and coming all over your ass. He lets go and you fall to the floor, scrambling to sit upright and look at the two men. Mando’s regained his composure, standing with his hands on your hips.

“Shit, I didn’t think you were gonna fuck her like that,” The Ghoul says.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Mando deadpans.

“So now what? Who gets to take her in?”

The Mandalorian takes a step towards you, cocking his helmet to the side before saying, “Maybe we let her go. She did take two cocks like a champ.”

“Wow. Didn’t realize you were fuckin softie.”

“Look at her,” Mando says, crouching down in front of you. “She’s a mess now.”

The Ghoul follows suit, crouching down beside Mando. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Let her go.”

The Ghoul reaches for the rope wrapped around your wrists and unties it before getting up with a sigh. As you’re reaching for your pants, The Ghoul goes to leave. But before he does, he turns around and says, “Stay out of trouble, sweetheart.”

And then he disappears into the night. Mando glances out the doorway into the dark wasteland before turning and looking at you, uttering a phrase you can’t understand.

“Ret'urcye mhi, cyar’ika.”

With a swish of his cape, he’s gone. While you’re left wondering what just happened… but you’re also proud of yourself for being able to fuck yourself out of this situation.

It’s the way of the wasteland, you suppose.

End note: Thank you to @pedgito for beta reading!

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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so so so goood!! Loved it!

Kiss Me Thru The Comlink

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Ya know like… like Kiss Me Thru The Phone by Soulja Boy but make it ✨Star Wars✨

Summary: Din’s after a bounty and you can’t help but miss him. So he decides to put the comlink he gave you to good use.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), Grogu is not present, reader is able-bodied, porn with little plot, established relationship, phone sex (thru a comlink), mutual masturbation, pet names, no use of y/n

“It’ll only be a couple of rotations,” Din says, leaning against the Razor Crest.

“That’s too long,” you pout.

The climate here is harsh, a planet you’ve never heard of. The wind whips your face, making your eyes well up with tears.

“It just means the reunion will be all the more special,” he reassures you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. You flatten your palm against his, interlocking your fingers with the orange tips of his gloves.

“I know…” you sigh.

His other hand caresses your chin and he leans forward, closing the gap between you. The cool beskar of his helmet rests against your forehead, a way of “kissing you goodbye”.

“I’ll see you soon, cyare. Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

He always tells you he loves you before he leaves, regardless if it’s for an hour or multiple rotations on end. You repeat it back to him, always in Mando’a, and step back, letting set off into the night. You walk up the ramp of the Razor Crest, watching him until he’s out of sight.

You seal the Crest and deal with the stillness, the reality of being alone. You’ll be okay and Din knows that. He knows you can hold your own. But that doesn’t mean you’ll miss him any less. In the event of an emergency, he always leaves a comlink for you, too.

He’s gotten better about estimating how long he’ll be away for bounties. Before you were left in the dark, left waiting for him for what felt like rotations on end. But as your love and almost codependency grew for one another, he became better at letting you know how long he’d be gone. For he’d rather have you safe at the Crest, longing for his presence instead of having you by his side when he’s on a dangerous job.

But it’s only a matter of time before the loneliness settles in. Scrolling mindlessly on your data-pad won’t distract you forever. The Crest feels so empty and lifeless without him. The bunk is too roomy. You’re missing your man made of metal pressed up against you with a strong arm slung around your waist.

You glance at the comlink sitting at the foot of the bunk. He’s only been gone a few hours. You fight the urge to talk to him, rolling over and drifting off to sleep.

Your dream is filled with him. Of course, they are. It’s a cruel game, your mind playing tricks on you and making you feel like he’s really there. The dream starts with innocent, typical things like enjoying a sunny day on Nevarro together, kicking back in the cockpit of the Crest as he takes off. But soon enough the dream reveals your deepest desires. Your subconscious concocts an image of him hovering above you, cock sliding in and out of you. He takes his glove and stuffs it in your mouth, leaning down and telling you in a gravelly whisper, “Good girls are quiet.”

It feels so real, your cunt spasming with your orgasm as it rips through you. It’s warm. It’s wet. It’s everything you want.

And it’s not real.

You wake with a startle, dripping in sweat, and a wetness brewing between your legs. That’s it. You can’t resist anymore. You sit up and reach the comlink, pressing the button and whispering, “Din?”

With bated breath you wait for a response, feeling a bit stupid since he’s most likely asleep. But to your surprise, his sultry modulated voice comes through over the comlink.

“Yes, cyar’ika?”

“I… miss you,” you admit.

“I miss you, too,” he says with a light chuckle. “What are you doing now?”

“I just woke up from a dream. But what about you? Are you safe?”

“I’m okay. I’m holed up in a cave. Tell me about this dream.”

“It was… about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Cyar’ika… What kind of dream?”

“Well… maybe it was sexual.”

“You can tell me all about it but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Touch yourself for me.”

As if that was a hard ask. You lie back and slip your hand down your pants, keeping the comlink close to your ear. You feel the wetness in your cunt that built up during your slumber as flashbacks of the dream play in your mind.

“Okay,” you say with a shaky breath.

“What was the dream about?”

“You had me on my back…” you start, curling your fingers against your walls.

“Mhm.”

There’s a bit of shuffling in his last message and you can’t help but wonder… Is he touching himself, too?

“Are you stroking yourself?”

“...Maybe. Keep going.”

“You were fucking me and staring directly into my eyes… But I was being too loud.”

“Sounds like you,” he chuckles.

“So you gagged me with your glove.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, letting out a strained moan. “Tell me, cyar’ika. How wet are you?”

“So wet, Din,” you whine, pleasuring yourself faster and faster. You close your eyes and bite back moans until you remember…. He probably wants to hear that.

You moan into the comlink, seeing stars in the backdrop of your closed eyes, desperately wishing he was here.

“My pretty girl… Such a needy little thing moaning for me like that.”

“I need you,” you whine.

“I know, cyar’ika. I know,” he coos, his moans and grunts growing louder and louder as he strokes himself. You picture his cock. It’s probably rock hard and leaking with pre-cum. Maker, how you wish he were here.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Let me hear it.”

Like a good girl, you moan into the comlink as you cum. Your cunt clenches your fingers, your release soaking them while you ride out your high. You let go of the button on the comlink, anxiously awaiting his reaction. But instead, you hear him cum, groans erupting over the comlink as he moans your name. It feels you with a sense of pride, knowing that hearing you cum brought him to his own orgasm, knowing that he’s picturing you. You’re always even when he’s gone.

When he’s done you ask, “Did you make a mess?” with a chuckle.

“I did…” he groans, “But it was worth it.”

“Thanks for answering so late.”

“Anything for you, cyar’ika. Sweet dreams.”

And with that, you finally get your peaceful sleep, knowing that you’ll have your Mandalorian by your side soon. And that he certainly misses you just as much as you miss him.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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love itttt love it so SO SO MUCH!!

Like Real People Do

Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 600

warnings: light smut, fluff, happy ending

note: inspired by the song that's been stuck in my head for the past month- Like Real People Do by Hozier.

He was so perfect. The small gestures he'd make, the way he protects you when you go out into town, the beautiful words he'd whisper to you when you're in bed together - but you still haven't seen his face. Ever since you both settled down, all you ever wanted was to see his face. Touch his cheeks, kiss the tip of his nose when he wakes up in the mornings, and most importantly kiss him.

You'd kiss the coolness of his helmet, right where his cheeks would be but that's about it. You wanted more. You wanted to press your lips against his- feel his tongue explore your mouth while you tangled your fingers in his hair - if he even has hair. You still didn't know if he did. You never bugged him about it, knowing what it meant if he took his helmet off, but you didn't understand. He loves you right? Why can't he show you the man under the helmet?

One night you got the courage to ask.

It was a rather hot night - he was laying behind you with his arm wrapped around your waist, fingers slipping in and out of your wet cunt as your moans filled the room. Denying yourself the orgasm he had been building up for the last 20 minutes, you pulled his hand away and straddled his waist.

“Kiss me.”

“Cyar’ika…”

“Din please.” you whined. “I wanna feel your lips against mine.”

“I can't.”

You let out a small frustrating sigh and got off his lap, quickly slipping your pajama shorts back on and walked out of the bedroom. You walked into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of cold water before chugging it all in one sitting.

Was it such a bad thing that all you wanted to do was kiss him?

Was it such a bad thing to want to kiss your partner?

You heard his heavy footsteps making their way to the kitchen, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Can we talk?” he muttered, the sound of his voice through the modulator made you wanna throw something but you gave him a quick nod. “Can you look at me?” you crossed your arms over your chest and faced him.

The look on your face broke his heart. You looked a bit mad but more sad than anything.

“I've known this way my entire life. Not letting anyone see my face- not taking the helmet off unless I was alone.”

“Din you don't get it. I don't care that you keep it on - I respect what you believe in. But I'm tired of kissing beskar, I want to kiss like real people do.”

He let out a small sigh and walked away. You felt the tears building up but all of a sudden the light in the kitchen went out.

“Great.” you muttered, making your way to the light switch only to feel someone grab your hand. You knew it was Din, the calluses on his hand gave it away. That and no one else lived in the house.

He gently pulled you back into the kitchen, picking you up by the waist and setting you down on the counter.

“Din-” he cut you off by placing his lips against yours. You melted into his touch, placing your hands on his cheeks and smiling at the patchy beard you felt underneath your fingertips. You felt the tip of his nose pressed up against your cheekbone, mind wandering at what miracles he could work with that thing.

He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on yours. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…”

beta'd: @clawdee & @iron-strangers <3

divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

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I absolutely LOVED the heck out of this fic. It's a different, new take on things. Really soft and tender and beautiful. I'm a huge romantic at heart and this is probably the genuinely best version of the whole series I'd ever read. This story isn't over but omg I'm like a sliver away from crying it's so good <3

LEAVE OFF YOUR WANDERING (Joel Miller x f!reader) Masterlist

(art by @stealyourblorbos, graphics added by @oonajaeadira)

FANDOM: The Last of Us / Joel Miller

READER: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

RATING: M (possible canon violence and language. most likely non-explicit sex further down the line.)

No Minors Please: My work is 18+. I will respectfully ask minors to turn away to protect themselves and me. Thank you.

SUMMARY: An area native, long-term resident and shepherd in Jackson, you prefer quiet and isolation and the company of sheep. It seems this new resident Joel Miller and his young ward might share your interests.

NOTES: TV series canon compliant through season 1. Divergent thereafter although borrows some easter eggs from TLOU Pt. 2. This series is ongoing.

___

LEAVE OFF YOUR WANDERING

SPRING - Joel and Ellie return to Jackson and you introduce them to the sheep.

SUMMER - You solve a problem for Ellie and Joel really doesn’t take it well.

FALL - A new arrival and a lot to think about.

WINTER - Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

SPRING AGAIN

___

ARTWORK INSPIRED BY LEAVE OFF YOUR WANDERING

Moodboard by @the-blind-assassin-12

Moodboard by @missredherring

___

COMMISSIONED ARTWORK

Joel asleep in the Jackson meadow by @stealyourblorbos

MASTERLIST

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chiyo13 · 7 months ago

Text

I really liked that a lot. Super sweet but I like how confident and daring reader is <3

How quickly can you take your clothes off, pop quiz

Joel Miller x reader

Masterlist

Wordcount

Summary: The enemies to lovers/one bed/forced close proximity/light grumpy x sunshine/patrol partner fic no one asked for.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, grumpy joel, reader is called "the new kid", reader has breasts but no physical description. It's more tension filled fluffy bickering than smut, but I couldn't help adding a little drop of it in.

Notes: I've been so sick this weekend and was strictly supposed to read fic, but this idea came to me anyway, so I queued it up. I hope you like them as much as I loved writing this. Ty @saradika-graphics , what would we all do without you?

Evening, Day 1

As you fasten the straps of your worn-out boots, the reality of your first patrol with Joel Miller, the cornerstone of Jackson's defence, settles in. You've heard stories about his exploits, and you're determined to prove your worth, that you're more than just another mouth to feed.

The morning air is crisp as you meet Joel by the gate. He grunts a greeting, his eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced vigilance. You fall into step beside him, the weight of your rifle a comfort against your shoulder.

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, trying to break the ice.

Joel's response is terse as he nods in front of himself. "Out there."

You nod, swallowing your disappointment and try again. "So, Joel, I've been studying the maps, and I think if we—"

"Save your breath. We'll check the traps, clear any infected, and get back before dark. That's the plan."

You nod, a little deflated but still hopeful. "Got it.” You press your lips together, taking his words to heart.

The rest of the patrol is silent, save for the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional direction from Joel. You're vigilant, alert, and when you spot a tripwire, you quickly signal to him, earning a curt nod of approval. But upon returning to Jackson, you go to sign out in the patrol book, and your brows furrow at the entry Joel has already made.

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: All clear minus the constant chatterbox that seems to think their voice is a homing beacon for every clicker in a ten-mile radius. - J

You didn't even talk that much. You roll your eyes and close the book a little too hard.

Evening, Day 2

You meet Joel at the gate once more, you notice a flicker of surprise in his eyes when you simply nod in greeting, foregoing the usual stream of words. He grunts in response. You're determined to show him you're not just the “constant chatterbox" he'd written about. You've spent the day replaying his words in your head, using them as fuel to prove your mettle.

—

"Up ahead, there's a blind spot by that old truck. Cover me while I check it out."

You nod, taking up position without hesitation.

As he disappears behind the rusted vehicle, your heart pounds in your chest. Every sound is amplified in the stillness of the evening—the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and then a low growl that sends a chill down your spine. An infected emerges from the underbrush, its eyes locked onto Joel's last known location. Without missing a beat, you take aim and fire—a clean shot that drops it instantly.

Joel reappears just as quickly as he vanished, his expression one of mild surprise at your swift action. "Nice shot," he grunts begrudgingly before moving on as if nothing happened. A small victory for you; perhaps he's not entirely immune to your efforts after all.

The adrenaline from the encounter with the infected is still coursing through your veins as you and Joel continue your patrol. His rare compliment echoes in your mind, fueling your determination to prove yourself further.

As you make your way back to Jackson, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You've not only held your own but also protected Joel's back when it counted.

Back at the settlement, you hurry to the patrol book before Joel can beat you to it.

Patrol with Grumpy McGrumpface complete. All infected cleared. Check back in a few days. And for the record, this chatterbox saved our asses tonight. Maybe next time, you'll remember to check your blind spots—and your attitude.

You add a little smiley face next to your entry, a playful jab at his perpetual grumpiness.

As you walk away from the book, you glance back to see Joel reading your entry, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's a small crack in his tough exterior, and it gives you hope that there's more to Joel Miller than he lets on.

Evening, Day 3

The air is tense as you approach the gate, the familiar silhouette of Joel Miller waiting for you. There's a certain expectation hanging between you two, a silent challenge that has been building since your last patrol. You greet him with a nod, the same flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

As you set out, the landscape feels different, almost as if it's holding its breath. You're more attuned to the subtle shifts in the wind, the way the light filters through the trees, and the distant sounds that could signal danger. You move with a newfound confidence, your steps sure and quiet, your senses heightened.

We're going to sweep the old high school today," Joel says, breaking the silence. It's the most he's volunteered about the day's plan, and you take it as a sign of trust, however small.

You acknowledge his words with a simple, "Understood," and follow him towards the dilapidated building that looms in the distance. The structure has seen better days, its windows shattered, the playground overtaken by nature, a haunting reminder of a world that once was.

As you approach, you signal for Joel to hold position while you scout ahead. You move with caution, your eyes scanning for any signs of movement. The silence is broken only by the creaking of a swing, swaying gently in the breeze.

You clear the perimeter, finding no immediate threats, and signal Joel to advance. Together, you methodically clear the classrooms, the gymnasium, and the cafeteria.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the desolate high school, you and Joel finish securing the premises. The tension between you has simmered down to a low hum. It's eerie how the remnants of childhood laughter still linger among the abandoned desks and faded educational posters. You can't help but wonder what became of the students and teachers who once filled these halls with life.

"All clear," you report, as you finish sweeping the last room, your voice echoing through the empty halls.

Joel grunts in agreement, his eyes lingering on the swing set outside, its melancholic creaking a stark contrast to the silence that now fills the school. "Let's head back. It's getting dark."

You nod, but as you turn to leave, a sudden storm rolls in, the sky turning an ominous shade of grey. The wind howls through the broken windows, whipping up leaves and debris in a frenzied dance. Within moments, the heavens open up, unleashing a torrential downpour that shows no signs of letting up.

"Damn it," Joel mutters under his breath, his gaze fixed on the rapidly deteriorating weather outside. "We ain't makin it back to Jackson in this."

Your heart sinks at his words. The high school isn't equipped for an overnight stay—at least not comfortably—and sharing close quarters with Joel Miller is an entirely different kind of danger than what you've faced so far today. But there's no other choice; safety comes first. You follow him to the least damaged classroom and start gathering materials to make it through the night: some old mats from the gym for bedding; whatever dry wood helps you start a small fire, and some canned food from what remains of the cafeteria's supplies.

As night falls and darkness envelops your makeshift shelter, you can feel Joel's unease mirroring your own—two predators forced into an uneasy truce by circumstance. You both know that despite your differences and his gruff exterior, survival often requires uncomfortable compromises... like sharing body heat when temperatures plummet during stormy nights like these... like sharing a “bed” when there's only one dry spot left in an abandoned high school turned refuge from infected monsters lurking outside.

—

The storm outside rages on, its fury unabated, as the match from your hand hisses out against the wet concrete floor. The darkness inside seems to thicken and you can feel the cold creeping in, the dampness seeping through the layers of your clothing, chilling you to the bone.

Joel's silhouette is barely visible across the room, his frustration palpable in the heavy silence that follows the failed attempt to reignite the fire. The tension that had momentarily subsided now returns with a vengeance, amplified by the primal need for warmth and the instinctual fear of the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness.

Joel rummages through his bag, the sound of items being shuffled around punctuating the silence. He pulls out a small waterproof match case, flipping it open to reveal just three matches left inside. His fingers, roughened by years of survival and hardship, gingerly pick up the first match. The strike against the side of the box is sharp and swift, but the wind howling through the broken windows extinguishes it before it can catch. A second attempt meets with the same fate, and Joel's jaw clenches in frustration. "Damn it," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the storm. He looks at the final match with a mix of resignation and determination. "You know, if you were more careful, we'd have more to work with," Joel grumbles.

"Oh, so now you're worried about being more careful?" you retort, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "A little too late for that now ain't it Miller?”

Joel glares at you, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. "I've been careful," he growls. He strikes the last match, shielding it from the wind with his hand. But again it fails, leaving you with no heat.

You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at seeing Joel struggle. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought about that before we ended up in this situation," you say.

Joel shakes his head. "You think this is fun for me?" he asks. "Stuck in this godforsaken place with someone who can't stop talkin?”

You glare at Joel, his silhouette a dark shadow in the dim light. "You think I wanted this?" you snap back, frustration seeping into your words. "I'm here because I have to be, just like you."

Joel grunts in response, his gaze fixed on the remnants of the failed fire. "We don't have time for this," he says gruffly, standing up and brushing off his pants. "We need to conserve body heat."

Reluctantly, you both make your way to the makeshift bed, nothing more than a pile of old gym mats and whatever dry fabric you could scavenge and a small emergency blanket meant for one person. The thought of sharing such close quarters with Joel is unsettling, but survival trumps discomfort every time.

You lie down first, turning your back to him as he settles in behind you. The awkwardness of the situation is not lost on either of you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body despite the layers between you. As minutes pass in silence, save for the howling wind and rain lashing out, Joel shifts slightly behind you. His arm drapes over your side as he tries to find a comfortable position—and then his hand accidentally brushes against your breast. You stiffen instantly; it's an intimate contact that neither of you expected nor wanted under these circumstances.

"Whoa! Watch it!" you exclaim indignantly, trying to wriggle away from his touch while still maintaining contact for warmth's sake—a delicate balance indeed under these cramped conditions.

Joel recoils as if he's been stung by a wasp. The tension in the room spikes, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Joel's breath hitches, and you can feel his body tense up behind you. The accidental touch has set off a chain reaction of awkwardness, and you're both acutely aware of the other's presence. "Sorry," Joel mumbles, his voice rough with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..." His sentence trails off, lost in the sound of the rain pounding against the roof.

You nod, acknowledging his apology, but the damage is done. The line between survival and intimacy has been blurred, and the close proximity is playing tricks on your mind. You can't ignore the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, or the fact that you're both very much alone in this abandoned high school.

Minutes tick by, and despite your best efforts to keep a respectful distance, the reality of your situation becomes increasingly apparent. The cold is seeping in, and the need for warmth can't be denied. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you find yourself leaning back into Joel, seeking the heat that his body is so eager to provide. He stiffens at the contact, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he cautiously wraps his arm back around you, pulling you closer.

It's been a long time since either of you has felt the touch of another person, the comfort of human contact that goes beyond mere companionship.

Joel's breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. It's a startling realization, but it's met with an unexpected surge of desire that you can't quite suppress. The knowledge that he's affected by your closeness is thrilling, and you can't help but wonder if he can sense the effect he's having on you as well.

The line between necessity and want is blurred, and in the end, it's the human need for connection that wins out. With the storm as your only witness, you turn to face Joel, your eyes meeting in the dim light. There's a silent question hanging between you, one that's answered with a soft, almost hesitant kiss. The kiss is an exploration, a rediscovery of a basic human need that has been long neglected. It's a slow burn, fueled by days of tension and the shared experiences that have brought you closer than either of you could have anticipated. Joel's hands find their way to your face, cradling it gently as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of your lips before slipping inside to meet yours in a dance that is both familiar and new.

The cold is forgotten as warmth spreads through your body, ignited by the friction between you. You find yourself pressing against him, seeking more contact, more heat. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and a soft moan escapes your lips as Joel's fingers deftly undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing skin that is hungry for his touch.

There's an urgency building between you now—a primal need that cannot be ignored or denied any longer. Clothes are shed hastily; each piece removed reveals another patch of warm skin eager for exploration and connection

As the last of your clothes fall away, the cool air of the high school classroom is a stark contrast to the heat that radiates between you and Joel. His hands trace a path down your sides, exploring the curves of your body. The rough pads of his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

Joel's gaze meets yours, and there's a vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before. It's as if the walls he's built around himself are crumbling down, brick by brick, revealing the man beneath the hardened survivor. You reach up to cup his face, feeling the stubble scratch against your palms, grounding you in this moment—a moment that feels both surreal and more real than anything you've experienced in a long time.

With a tenderness that surprises you both, Joel lowers his lips to yours once more, kissing you deeply as he positions himself between your legs. The anticipation is palpable; every nerve in your body is attuned to his presence. As he enters you, there's a brief moment of discomfort followed by an overwhelming sense of fullness—a completion that transcends physicality. You move together in rhythm; each thrust is punctuated by gasps and moans that echo off the walls of the abandoned classroom. The world outside has ceased to exist; all that matters is this connection—this desperate need for closeness in a world gone mad.

Joel's pace quickens; his breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck as he drives into you with an urgency born of months—if not years—of pent-up desire and longing. You meet him thrust for thrust, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as waves of pleasure crash over you both.

The tension builds within you like a storm gathering strength—a tempest that threatens to sweep away everything in its path until there's nothing left but raw sensation and pure ecstasy coursing through every fiber of your being until finally - release washes over you both in a rush of heat and sensation that leaves you gasping for air. The world around you fades away, replaced by the pulsating rhythm of your shared climax. It's a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

As the aftershocks subside, you find yourselves entwined in each other's arms, your head resting on his chest and the steady beat of Joel's heart is a comforting sound against the backdrop of the relentless storm outside. The cold is kept at bay by the warmth generated by your bodies, and for the first time since this ordeal began, you feel truly at peace.

Eventually Joel's breath evens out as he falls into a deep sleep, his body relaxed and sated in a way you've never seen before. You take a moment to study his face—the lines etched by years of hardship softened in slumber, revealing a hint of the man he might have been under different circumstances. With gentle care, you extricate yourself from his embrace and pull on your clothes, intending to keep watch over the sleeping giant beside you.

The hours pass slowly; dawn is still a distant promise when you hear it—the unmistakable sound of movement outside your refuge. Your senses immediately go on high alert; adrenaline courses through your veins as you cautiously approach one of the broken windows, rifle at the ready. The storm has lessened but not enough to obscure the shapes moving in the pre-dawn gloom. Infected? Or something worse?

You glance back at Joel, still lost in sleep, and make a split-second decision. You won't let whatever danger lurks outside reach him while he's vulnerable. Steeling yourself, you slip out into the storm-ravaged landscape. The rain pelts against your skin, a relentless barrage that does little to dampen your resolve. You move with purpose, your eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of movement.

The high school grounds are eerily quiet, save for the occasional clap of thunder echoing in the distance. You keep low, using the remnants of the playground equipment as cover as you make your way towards the source of the disturbance. The last thing you want is to lead any potential threats back to Joel.

As you approach the perimeter of the school, you catch sight of a small group of infected, their grotesque forms illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. They seem disoriented, their movements erratic as they struggle against the wind and rain. It's clear they're not here for you; they're simply passing through, driven by some primal instinct to seek shelter from the storm.

You take a deep breath, steadying your aim as you prepare to engage. The first shot rings out, echoing through the deserted schoolyard. One of the infected drops to the ground, its body convulsing before falling still. The others turn towards the sound, their milky eyes searching for the source of the threat.

You fire again, and then again, each shot carefully placed to conserve ammunition. The infected fall one by one, their bodies piling up in the mud as you advance, keeping the upper hand through sheer determination and skill. But as the last one drops, you hear a new sound—a low growl that sends a chill down your spine.

You turn just in time to see another infected emerging from the shadows, its jaws snapping hungrily as it charges towards you. You raise your rifle, but the mud beneath your feet gives way, sending you sprawling to the ground. The infected is on you in an instant, its weight pinning you down as it tries to bite through your rain-soaked jacket.

With a surge of adrenaline, you manage to free one arm and reach for the knife strapped to your belt. You drive the blade upwards, aiming for the infected's exposed throat. The creature gurgles in pain, its grip loosening just enough for you to wriggle free and deliver the killing blow.

Panting heavily, you push the infected's lifeless body off of you and take a moment to assess the situation. The immediate threat has been neutralized, but you're acutely aware that more could be drawn by the sound of the struggle. With no time to lose, you make your way back to the school, your heart pounding in your chest.

You slip back inside and secure the door as best you can. You turn around and see Joel is already awake, his eyes scanning the room as he reaches for his weapon. The sight of you, unharmed, brings a look of relief to his face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "Where the hell were you?" he demands, his voice rough with sleep and worry.

"I heard something outside," you explain, keeping your tone even. "I went to check it out."

Joel's expression darkens. "You should've woken me up, you could have gotten killed out there," he grumbles, his concern for your safety masked by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I didn't and you needed the rest," you reply, meeting his gaze. "Besides, I can handle myself.”

Joel's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he's going to argue. But then he just nods, acknowledging your capability even as his protective instincts chafe at the thought of you facing danger alone. "Next time, wake me," he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You can't help but smirk at the gruff concern in Joel's voice. There's a part of you that enjoys getting under his skin, challenging the walls he's built around himself. "You know, Joel," you say, your voice light but your eyes serious, "I think you might actually care about what happens to me."

Joel's scowl deepens, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that looks a lot like vulnerability. "Don't get the wrong idea," he grumbles, looking away. "I just can't afford to break in a new partner."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "Sure, Miller. Keep telling yourself that." You walk over to where he's now sitting and nudge him playfully with your foot. "Admit it. You like having me around.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a reluctant smile. "You're alright," he concedes, his voice gruff. "But don't let it go to your head.”

You can't resist the urge to tease Joel a little more. "I think you protest too much, Joel Miller," you say with a playful grin. "I mean, first you can't stop complaining about my chatter, and now you're almost starting to sound... affectionate."

Joel's eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile still lingers on his lips. "Don't push your luckp," he warns, his voice carrying a note of fondness that he's unable to fully conceal.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you sure were... attentive last night," you say with a sly grin, your eyes dancing with mischief.

A flush creeps up Joel's neck, and for a moment, you think you might have pushed him too far. But then he chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than hear. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" he says, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

You beam at him, feeling a sense of triumph. "Maybe," you admit, "but you like me anyway.”

—

As the first light breaks through the retreating storm, you and Joel prepare to leave the high school behind. You gather your belongings, exchanging quiet glances with Joel as you both acknowledge the shift in your relationship.

The journey back to Jackson is uneventful, the aftermath of the storm leaving the world outside quiet. You walk side by side, your boots crunching on the wet gravel. Joel seems more at ease, his usual stoic demeanor softened.

Upon your return to the settlement, the familiar sight of the gates brings a sense of relief. The guards nod in recognition as you pass.

You make your way to the patrol book, your fingers brushing against the worn pages as you prepare to document the latest entry. Joel watches you, his expression unreadable, as you pick up the pen and begin to write.

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Post-Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: Patrol complete. High school secured. Infected cleared. Storm provided unexpected overnight stay. No serious injuries to report.

You pause for a moment, considering your next words carefully. With a small smile, you add a final note

Casualties: Zero. Zilch. Nada. Unless you count the ego of a certain grumpy individual who may or may not have been out-shot by yours truly.

You cap the pen and step back, allowing Joel to read your entry. His eyes scan the page, and you see the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he reads your postscript. He doesn't say anything, but the look he gives you speaks volumes.

As you turn to leave, Joel's hand catches yours, his grip firm yet gentle.

Hey," Joel says as he pulls you closer. "I, uh... I don't know how to do this," he admits, his gaze dropping to where your hands are joined.

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, offering him a small, encouraging smile. "Do what, Joel?"

He takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. "This," he repeats, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "The... talking about feelings stuff."

You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to articulate his feelings, the corners of your mouth curling up into a smile. "Is this the part where you tell me that despite your better judgement, you've grown fond of me?" you tease, squeezing his hand in return.

Joel rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. "Somethin like that," he admits gruffly, releasing your hand to run a hand through his disheveled hair. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. And maybe... maybe I don't mind the chatter as much as I let on.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the gruff admission meaning more to you than any grand declaration of love ever could "Well then," you say, stepping closer to him, "I guess this means we're stuck with each other."

Joel's response is a low chuckle. "Yeah," he agrees, his hand finding its way to the small of your back in a gesture that feels both new and familiar all at once. "I suppose it does.”

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