Ino the type of guy to call you at any random time just to hear your voice. He’ll probably FaceTime you to get double, see your face and listen to you. He’s the type of guy who would prefer to be the little spoon. The type of guy to start a tickle fight but end up loosing in the end. He’s the type to praise you in a silly/serious way. He definitely enjoys being praised just as much as he likes giving it. (he praises you a lot) He’s the type who would accidentally make you laugh while doing it but yet it doesn’t ruin the mood. Yk? Ino is the type of guy to be supportive of anything you do, no matter what it is. Maybe he’d even join you 🤔
Ino the type of guy to treat you the best way he knows how, giving you all the care he can. He’ll love you with every last part of his heart.
18+ only, mdni — dubcon, iffy consent, age gap, teacher/student dynamic, pillow humping, nanami talking ino through it
nanami has been ino’s mentor for a while. and god, he wants him bad. ino’s not subtle about it either, always pressing up against nanami’s erections during sparring and giving him those soft, doe eyes like he’s begging to be fucked. and he currently is—begging to be fucked, that is.
it wasn’t uncommon for nanami to stop by ino’s dorm after a mission to hash out training schedules or tomorrow’s objectives, etc. and it wasn’t uncommon for ino to take his sweet time answering the door, making nanami wait outside. what was relatively uncommon was the fact that ino answered the door with red-ringed eyes a a coating of drool on his lower lip. and even more uncommon (though not entirely unprecedented) was the fact that, in ino’s foggy haze of the entire blunt he’d single-handedly smoked, he was begging nanami to fuck him. so sweetly, too. he really knows how to make nanami weak in the knees, gripping his fingers into nanami’s ironed shirt and tugging on his tie. because being high apparently makes ino incredibly horny and needy, who knew? now, nanami does.
but he can’t fuck his mentee while he’s high—granted, he shouldn’t be fucking him at all, and he’s refrained up until this point (though his restraint is hanging on by the most ridiculously precarious of threads)—it’s wrong. ino’s in no position to properly consent to anything he’s asking for. speaking of which, nanami hadn’t such a clue that ino was so filthy minded, but from what he’s asking for, nanami can tell he’s though about this quite a bit. “please, nanami—you have to, have to help me, hurts,” he cries, trying to grind himself on nanami up against the door, but nanami’s too strong and too resolute. he’s begging nanami to fuck his ass, he’s already fingered himself before so nanami doesn’t even need to prep him, he can take it; most certainly, he cannot, as he’s entirely unaware as to the girthy 9 inches nanami packs in his trousers on a daily basis. nanami almost laughs at that.
but the tent in ino’s pants is no laughing matter. he may not be as big as nanami, but he’s packing some length and it’s hard as a rock, just begging to be touched. nanami acts quickly and efficiently, handling this situation as he handles all others—methodic and pragmatic. presses ino down onto the bed, murmuring what words of comfort he can think of. “shh ino, it’ll be alright, it’ll pass,” he hums, though ino whines at that because it won’t pass. it never quite does. his mind always drifts to nanami when he gets high like this and fucking his fist is never as good as he wants it to be. he’s sure nanami could fuck him just right.
and nanami could, but he won’t. he’s done some deplorable things in his life, but ino is sweet and relatively innocent and too fucking young for nanami, so he’s decided he’ll help in the tamest way he can. he should leave, should let ino handle this himself. but he takes a good, absorbing look at him then, his flushed and sweaty face, his big eyes with the pupils blown and watery—the way he looks both distant and way too close all at once—and understands that he’s in too deep. and deep down, nanami wants to fuck him. “alright ino, it’s alright. I’ll help you,” nanami coos and ino fucking moans at that.
so he helps ino shuck his pants off and the exhale of relief that leaves ino is borderline euphoric. “oh fuck yes—oh f-f-fuck,” he whines as nanami’s hand presses against his bulge. he so shamelessly grinds into it, his cute little hips, all jittery and desperate, fucking up into nanami’s hand that’s pressed flat against his clothed dick. he’s impatient as nanami unzips his pants, can’t wait for what he thinks is coming. but he experiences great disappointment to find that nanami does not wrap his big, calloused hand around his leaky dick. and he does not bend ino over and fuck him within an inch of his life.
no, nanami’s hands go for ino’s shaky hips, which he then turns and pushes into the mattress, where he shoves ino’s standing cock into a soft pillow. ino tips forward so his body is all pressed into the bed, except the curve of his pelvis which is being manhandled in the air by his mentor in the most weightless way that has ino feeling dizzy and thrilled. nanami pushes his back down and encourages the pretty boy to hump the pillow. “just like that ino, grind your hips down, it’ll feel better soon,” and nanami’s voice feels like a crushed up pill of viagra, making him so fucking desperate his cock throbs in pleasure, precum slipping all over the pillowcase. he fucks his hips down like dog in heat, so desperate, so shaky, so whiny.
and all the while, nanami stares at ino’s soft, puckered hole. ino wasn’t kidding, he’s clearly played with himself. why does that make nanami so hard? imagining sweet takuma, coming home from a long day of training, laying himself out on his bed, dick throbbing, hand reaching down to stick a finger in his ass. the mental image alone has nanami panting.
ino is not capable of much coherent thought, but the faint notion crosses his mind that nothing has ever felt this good in his 21 years of existence and that potentially, besides that far off hope that nanami will mount him and cum in his ass, nothing else ever will. it’s not even nanami’s hand, and yet it’s nanami’s firm voice behind him, telling him he’s “doing so good, such a pretty dick, ino,” as nanami spreads his ass and admires his hole. and it’s nanami’s cologne that’s suffocating him as he shoves his face deeper into his blankets, biting down hard as he ruts and ruts his sensitive cock onto the pillow. his clumsy hands try and fist the pillow closer, trying to angle it just right, but the poor, dumb boy is clearly not in the right headspace for such hand-eye coordination. nanami snakes hand down and shoves ino’s out of the way, a silent I’ll handle that, I’ll control your pleasure. he drags the pillow closer and pushes ino’s length up against him so each loose drag of his waist has it caught between the pillow and ino’s abs. he moans out hard at that. “oh please, nanamin, fuck please—“ he mewls, clawing at nanami’s hands.
nanami grips ino’s wrists in on hand and looks the behind his back, against his tailbone. “I thought you wanted fucked, ino. if you can’t even take this, how will you take my cock?” he drawls, feeling a bit high himself. ino has that affect on him. in the back of his mind, he faintly concludes that he probably shouldn’t have said that because he absolutely shouldn’t fuck ino.
nanami’s controlling it all—the pace, the fervency, all of ino’s pleasure. when ino tries to rut faster, nanami slows him with determination. and when ino tries to stop and grind his cock down in the little channel he’s made, pillow idented, nanami lets his hands go and pushes his ass deeper into the pillow before pulling back up.
“you can’t—nanamin, you can’t just—sh-shit,” ino whines helplessly, voice breaking, as nanami slows down his thrusts again.
nanami tuts at him. it’ll feel better if ino can just last a bit longer, but he’s not sure he can. “what did we talk about yesterday, ino? someone needs to learn to have patience. now be good, or I’ll stop helping,” nanami bites, but there’s no real bark to it. ino’s too good of a boy to disobey. and he lets go of all control and gives it to the delicious sensation of the friction his dick gets from rubbing against the soft pillow, over and over again until he's grunting and whimpering under his breath. gives it to nanami. hips frantically rolling now, chasing that build up that's making his toes curl inside his socks. hips frantically rolling now, chasing that build up that's making his toes curl inside his socks.
and when he’s close, he can’t hold it in anymore. “fuck, nanami, fuck fuck fuck, it’s good, m’gonna come, coming,” he croaks out all thin and aching and feverish. and nanami doesn’t deter him, and he comes as nanami gently presses his thumb against ino’s fluttering hole, mind racing at all the possibilities. strings and ropes of thick come, and nanami’s actually surprised at how much he comes. he keeps rolling his hips in that jilted, entirely too pleasured way to prolong the immense high of finishing.
he’s all sweaty and flushed. he doesn’t seem to come down from it for a long time, and he whines as nanami’s hands spur him to keep thrusting past his orgasm. the simultaneously dry and also too slick rub against his cock is instantly overstimulating, and he makes sure nanami knows that, letting out the most pathetic fucking whimpers, begging him to—to what? “you want to stop, ino? doesn’t it feel good?” nanami teases uncharacteristically.
ino can only sob. because it does feel good. so good. too good. and he’s so obedient, he just keeps rocking his body mindlessly, tears slipping down his pretty face. he keeps repeating the little mantra, “I can’t, can’t, can’t,” and though nanami thinks he definitely can, he lets his hips stop and just holds them tight. ino all but collapses down onto his bed. nanami flips him over to admire the pretty mess, the image of which will remain in nanami’s head forever and he will most definitely jack off too in the shower later. many times.
his dick is ally sticky and still stiff, but slowly softening. nanami disappears into the little bathroom inside ino’s dorm and returns with a rag, wiping off his sensitive cock, all covered in come. “shhhh,” nanami croons. when he’s finished, he slips ino’s boxers back up and tosses the pillow by the laundry pile in the corner. ino’s slipping out of consciousness at this point, and so nanami leaves, flushed and riddled with the complexities and complications of the situation. his most pressing and assuredly biggest problem right now, though—is his own boner pressing against his khaki slacks.
vyon vyon vyon i'll kiss the ground you walk if you drop an ino fluff fic/smau 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 or or anything silly and goofy about luffy cause i've started to enjoy anything and everything you put out about that silly guy despite knowing nothing about him
[ honestly i would read whatever you put out like i'm starving 🍰 ]
ㅤa boudoir's actㅤ𓏵ྀིྀི ㅤsynopsis. taking care of you whilst you're drunk｡ྀㅤ,ㅤ⸻ ino/luffy x 𝓰n!readerㅤᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ㅤ~𝟫𝟢𝟢&𝟪𝟢𝟢𝗐𝖼ㅤfluff. crack. alcohol mention. swearing. not beta'd. ｡ 𖦹° ㅤ︶ིྀᩧ1864libㅤ ﹏ got a vision you want to come alive? see me here . . . !
❛ extras.ㅤ┆ㅤshe said do whatever you want as long as i see ino/luffy and i took it and ran, ik you said or but why would i ever pass up the chance to write about luffy? muahmuah, thank you for requesting, i still dk what the hell fluff is but i hope this was sweet and funny and silly enough 🎀
your cheeks are unbearably warm under his palms; it's been a while since ino's felt this stressed considering he killed what one could pin as a magical creature for a living. the bulb of the bathroom light is a stark white— which he thinks only psychopaths have, a warm yellow bulb is so much better, so he'll be promptly ghosting whoever's apartment this was after the night passes. he's got you inside the bathtub, your shoes discarded beside him, any layers that could be taken off gone and your hair pushed out of your face haphazardly; like a normal person, you'd complained about the light making your headache worse so he'd also pulled the shower curtain halfway across the tub.
“hey,” he pats at your cheek, stern and demanding. “don't fall asleep. c'mon.” your head rolls over to your shoulder, a small groan on your lips, but your eyes don't open.
instead, your hand moves upwards from your lap blindly and you paw around until you feel his face, pushing him away. “shushhhhh,” you slur, shaking your head back and forth. “loud.” you tut, pointing your index finger upwards before shaking it in front of ino.
some shitty marshmello remix forces itself into the intimacy of the small bubble of the moment. ino's knee hurts with how he's knelt down beside the bathtub to take care of you; one moment, he was offering you a can of whatever he picked up first and the next, you'd been roped into a drinking game to defend his honour. he's not exactly sure how you'd been protecting it really, but you'd reiterated you “got his back, princess” far too many times whilst he was hauling you somewhere private— and well, what was he going to do but believe you?
he catches your finger as it wags annoyingly in his face and rolls his eyes. “you're a mess.” he sighs, dropping your finger when it starts wriggling in his palm and you make groans of protest. shuffling forward, he reaches out a hand and brushed back the hair from your face as your head hangs forward. “seriously, you can't fall asleep here.”
you make a noise at that. your head limply hangs on your neck, your back curved over your lap and your legs stretched out inside the porcelain tub. suddenly, your head shoots up and ino's hand turns back in surprise at the start. “where,” you press your lips together, swallowing something down, “where is…”
“we're at a party,” ino supplied before you can finish, hand dropping down to your shoulder, thumb rubbing against the skin tenderly.
you clap your hand over your sternum before a small burp escapes your mouth, then your eyes move scrutinising over ino. “nuh–uh,” you hit his hand away from you, “my boyfriend, where is he?”
ino's stuck between amusement and exasperation. your eyes struggle to stay open, blinking slowly around a shitty blinding light, lips pursed— then you turn and grip ino's hair with both your hands when he takes an unsatisfactory amount of time to answer. “m–my boyfriend,” you hiccuped, “came here with him ‘nd, and, he's real pretty, like a princess.”
ino can barely focus on the words you're saying, flattered rightfully when you say he's pretty like a princess but then you grip his hair and pull with the strength and intent of mimicking some medieval torture device. his hisses and winces of pain are unheard.
“he has,” you sniff, “reallllll good hair, like— mmmm, shampoo commonenurcial hair.” commonenurcial? then your fingers loosen around his hair and you pat your hand down against his scalp. “like your hair— congratulations,” you nod your head, drunkenly as ino rubs his aching scalp with a hand. “your hair is jus’ nearly as good as my princess’.”
you clap your hand against his head a final time, laughing for some reason that only a drunk person would understand. with a yawn, you slump back against the tub.
ino sighs, “i am your boyfriend.”
you shoot up so quickly that your head slammed into ino's. making a cry of pain, you pressed the butt of your palm over your forehead and lean back. “domestics! i— i want a divorce! how could you hit me?”
“i didn't—” ino winces, stretching upwards to hover over you. “here, lemme see.” he tries to pry away your hand but you're stubborn and still drunk, crying about a divorce and how his beautiful hair was probably a wig.
someone knocked on the door, demanding and obnoxious. “hey! people need to piss, man!”
sighing, ino turns his attention back to you. there was no way you were going to let him carry you out right now, suddenly acting a divorce lawyer with the script of a priest officiating a marriage.
“do you take this man to be your lawfully divorced ex–husband?” the knocking comes back again, forceful and louder than before and it makes you wince in the midst of roleplaying with yourself.
ino takes off his shoe and throws it at the door, “suck your fucking ma! dickhead, i'm taking a shit.”
the knocking stops. “sorry.”
then, he turns back to you, already looking up at him with a brightness in your eyes. your lashes flutter against your cheek, lips wet; he settles on the edge of the tub, turning himself towards you. you settle your head on his thigh, sighing dreamily to yourself. “my knight in shining armour.” you declare him and— wow, your standards of a knight were low. all he did was tell a man he was taking a shit to make him fuck off, but whatever.
his hand falls onto your head and his fingers turned down to tap against your cheek. he'll wait for you to sober up before he never lets you live this down.
panicking, he turns his head left to right, left to right, left to right before he gets resolutely dizzy and the food he'd just stuffed into his mouth threatens to crawl upwards. luffy has never been more exhausted in his life. nami, who'd passed him earlier as he was chasing after you, had declared it karma and she clapped her hands together to thank god— which was stupid ‘cause he'd beaten up god on skypeia, but maybe she was so traumatised that she forgot about it. robin told him that could happen.
luffy grabs ahold of a random partygoer, hands on their shoulder as he takes a few steps back, using them as leverage to send himself forward and up; when he sees a familiar head of hair, his arm stretches out for them and he pulls himself down, tumbling right into zoro. he gets a faceful of whatever alcohol his swordsman was nursing and then a strong punch for wasting his alcohol. “zoroooo,” he whines, hands on his head, “have you seen—”
zoro flatly jabs an angry thumb to the left where you were stood, arms looped around the heart's navigator with a wide grin. he shoots up, “thanks zoro!” and his arm navigates through the crowd to pluck an entire glass bottle of whatever out of someone's hands and shoving it into zoro's lap.
then, he's running full speed at you and the mink. “hey! bear! let go!”
bepo makes a noise of confusion, you're the one clinging onto him; his hands have maintained a very respectful distance in their raise of surrender from you. “sorry.” he says, regardless.
“hey!” strawhat continues yelling at him anyways.
bepo raises his arms further up, straightening them in the air. “i'm sorry.” he apologises once more as luffy skids to a halt in front of the bear.
“let ‘em go!” he demanded.
bepo stretched his paws upwards, “i'm sorry!”
“can't you see that your crewmate is the one clinging to my navigator, mugiwara–ya?” luffy snaps his head back and forth until he finds law, tucked away in a corner with a judgemental look on his face, unimpressed. he shifts his nodachi onto his shoulder as he kicks off the tree he was leaning on.
luffy's face soured, turning back to look at you— obviously wrapping onto a very unwilling bepo and rubbing your face against his warm fur. “nuh–uh!” he says, tone dripping with indignation.
the heart captain growls in frustration, abandoning all faux grip on a cool facade (like he usually does with luffy) and stomps up to him. “the hell d'you mean? look at them!” he points at you cuddling into his navigator with weight.
luffy looks at you a little more closely. your fingers fisted around bepo's fur and you lean your head back from his chest every few seconds to gasp for air before shoving your face back into his warmth.
frustrated for reasons he can't quite formulate, luffy points an angry finger at law. “you can't have my nakama! get your own! give ‘em back!”
bepo interjects with another apology that he gets shouted at for by both captains. “no one wants your psychotic nakama! room!” his palm opens, and then he shifts his wrist, open palm facing the sky, “shambles!” his words punctuated by his actions.
you teleport from bepo's warmth to luffy's back, the cape he'd been wearing swapped for you; law picks up the cape and pathetically throws it at luffy before grabbing onto his navigator and running away before he gets roped up into something more dumb.
luffy's arms wrap around your thighs before you fall. in seeking warmth, you shiver closer to luffy and your arms fall around his shoulders; the boy grinned, satisfied, and then stretched out his neck long enough to be able to turn his head back to look at you. “hide'n'seek over,” he declared, “no more, m'tired. got it?”
it doesn't seem like you do got it, but the fact that you look close enough to knocked out satisfies him enough to start laughing.
for a few moments more, he watches you quietly. a nearby campfire pulls a veil of ember hues over each feature, careful in its separation of glow and shadow; the mischief on your face earlier as you made a game out of finding a new crew after luffy had snuck a piece of your food washed out for a quiet tire.
your eyes slowly open, droopy with alcohol as you slowly blinked at luffy.
“hi,” he gives you a grin, moving his forehead to rest it against yours. the deceptive warmth of flames coloured over your cheeks burns him alive.
your eyes lighten to consciousness with every blink until you're reeling back. you look at luffy's stretched out neck and then luffy, then his neck, then luffy— you scream. scrambling off of him, you shout for zoro, telling him to protect you from the weird octopus sea king.
luffy follows after you closely. for some reason, he keeps his neck stretched out, searching for you with his head and having his body follow after. “hey!” he cried out, “what a mean thing to say! you can't say that about your captain!”
