#SLAMS the like button 👀 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

punkshort · 8 months ago

Note

I don’t know if this is an annoying request but is there any way to get a Drabble of when reader had gotten jealous (in the past before the accident) when she found out that joel and Angie had history. In one of your previous chapters, Joel described it as some of the best sex of his life 👀

-Kiwi 🥝💚

Not an annoying ask at all! Thank you for sending this to me, this was a great idea! Sorry it took so long to get to it!

Jealous

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), blow job, unprotected piv sex, language, edging, lil bit of dom reader/sub joel, masturbation, angry/a little rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, spanking, hair pulling

WC: 1.6K

A/N: I want to let everyone know this part of their history took place very early on in their relationship. Reader does not yet know his secret, they are in the 'messing around' stage and if you recall, Joel once compared reader to taming a wild horse. So the reader in this story is very different from the one we know. Enjoy!

"Please," Joel whimpered, no longer above begging.

You were between his legs, his cock leaking and heavy in your mouth. With every swirl of your tongue and pump of your fist, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the brink just to have you pull away with a devilish smirk. It was maybe the third time you left him gasping for breath but he lost count so he couldn't be sure. His brain was a jumbled mess and his skin was on fire, soaked with sweat due to his heart pounding so furiously in his chest for the past twenty minutes.

"God, I love it when you use your manners," you purred. You cracked your back and neck with a soft moan, completely ignoring his cock throbbing and aching for attention in front of you. "It really turns me on. Wanna see?"

He groaned and arched his back off the bed, desperately trying to get you to touch him again. He wasn't used to this. Whatever it was you were doing together was fairly new and while the sex was always good, this was something else. And all because at dinner that night, you discovered he fucked someone else well before you even arrived in Jackson.

It was beginning to bother him how non-committal you were. The first couple times you were together, he didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it that way. Especially considering the guilt that weighed him down ever since he first recognized you. But recently, something changed in the way he looked at you, thought about you, felt about you. He was so fucking rusty, he had no idea how to shift the nature of your relationship to something more meaningful. So when Angie showed up, batting her lashes and touching his shoulder at the bar while he waited for you to finish playing whatever game you were playing and come home with him, he leaned into it a bit. He tossed Angie a smile just to add fuel to the flames and make you end the charade. And out of the corner of his eye, when he saw you stiffen and slam down your drink, he felt his cock twitch with excitement.

Maybe he shouldn't have pushed your buttons.

"You're not listening to me," you said sternly, grabbing his chin and forcing his attention back onto you. "I asked you a question."

"Yes," he rasped, "show me. Please," he added, remembering at the last second how you liked it when he begged. You smiled and let his chin go, then took that very same hand and slowly dragged it down your bare chest, over your stomach and underneath the fabric of your panties. You tipped your head back and moaned when you slid two fingers into your pussy, and when you began to rock your hips into your hand, still kneeling between his legs on the bed, he whined and fisted the bedsheets next to him.

He desperately moaned your name, wiping the sweat from his forehead, but you cut him off.

"So wet," you whispered, rolling your neck and opening your eyes, steadily holding his gaze while you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers. "Feels so good. Maybe I'll just make myself come, instead."

"No!" he growled angrily, sitting up and grabbing the back of your neck. You gasped in surprise but he could see your eyes sparkling with excitement and the corners of your mouth twitch.

"No?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side and sinking your teeth into your lower lip, your eyes locked onto his, now inches away from your face while you snapped your wrist even faster between your legs.

"I wanna make you come," he said through clenched teeth while he did everything in his power not to grab you by the waist and slam you down on his cock.

"If you don't like it, maybe you should've taken her home tonight, instead," you seethed angrily, then your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open when your fingers finally brushed up against that one spot that always made you come undone. Joel's nostrils flared when he realized you were close and decided he had enough.

"Fuck this," he muttered. He wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked it out from between your legs, and before you even had a chance to open your eyes and yell at him, he scooped his other arm around your back and flipped you over so you were lying underneath him. He smirked down at you, finally getting the upper hand. "Did I make you jealous, baby?"

You scoffed and wiggled underneath him, but he pinned you down.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're allowed to fuck whoever you want."

He hummed and noticed your fingers still glistening with your slick. He grabbed your wrist and popped both your fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up your arousal with a heady groan, making sure to lick up every last drop before releasing your fingers with a grin.

"Only wanna fuck you, though."

He noticed the way your expression softened a bit, just for a split second. The first crack in your armor. But before he could dig into it deeper, you shifted gears.

"Then go ahead and fuck me already."

He yanked your underwear so fast down your legs, you heard the fabric rip, but you could hardly care when a moment later he was sinking himself inside you with a strangled groan, both finally finding some relief in the familiar stretch.

"Y'drive me fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" he murmured into your cheek. He held your jaw tightly in his grip, his hips roughly slamming into you as you gasped and moaned under him. With every harsh thrust, he brushed against that one spot, already stimulated from your fingers earlier. "Can't just admit you're jealous? Wouldn't look my way all night 'til someone else did and now look at you. Makin' a mess all over my cock."

Your eyes flared with anger and you yanked your chin out of his grasp. Grabbing a handful of his hair, you pulled as hard as you could, causing him to lose his balance for a moment, but it was all you needed. You wrapped your legs around his waist and with a grunt, rolled him over onto his back so you were straddling him.

Your mouth crashed down against his, teeth clashing and tongues messily licking into each other. With your heavy breaths mingling together, his hands roamed, grabbing onto every part of you he could find until they settled on your hips. He helped guide you in his lap, fingers digging into the fatty area where your thighs and hips creased, adding more force every time you dropped back down onto his thick length.

"Jesus, fuck!" Joel growled, lifting one hand to slap your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp until the pain faded and you ordered him to do it again, so he did.

You moaned and tilted your chin to the ceiling, hips grinding into him so you could give your burning thighs a break but it apparently wasn't enough because he started to ram up into you, soft grunts slipping past his lips with each thrust.

With little warning, your back arched and you cried out, convulsing and squeezing his cock as you came, gasping desperately for air. He couldn't tear his eyes away, completely mesmerized, like usual. You were gorgeous, he always knew that, but when he got to see you fall apart for him, it transcended his definition of beauty and left him in awe.

Once you collected yourself, he pulled you down to his chest, burying his face against your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your ribs, slamming into your used cunt over and over, making you whimper against his skin.

"I wanna come inside you so fuckin' bad," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

"You can't," you whispered back, leaving out but I wish you could.

"I know."

With a rough groan, he pulled out, causing your eyelids to flutter weakly and your pussy clench angrily at the loss. He pulled your hips down flush so he could rut against you, stilling momentarily when his hot spend spilled out, smearing all over your stomachs.

After giving him a moment to catch his breath, you tried to roll off of him but he didn't loosen his grip.

"Just another minute," he said softly into your shoulder. He felt your body relax and he inhaled deeply, breathing in your scent for later. He tilted his head so he faced you and locked his lips with yours, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. But you didn't allow it for long. You never did.

"Joel," you murmured against his mouth, pulling away and pushing yourself up. He sighed and let you go, watching as you stood on shaky legs to enter his bathroom and clean yourself up. You handed him the wet towel before collecting your clothes from the floor, holding up your mangled underwear with one finger and giving him a look. He chuckled as he wiped his stomach and shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and turned around so he didn't see the smile on your face as you got dressed. His eyes raked up and down your body for a moment before he said, "you don't gotta leave, y'know."

"I have patrol in the morning."

"So?"

"So I need to get some sleep," you said, pulling your shirt on and fixing your hair. He was really growing to hate this part. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," you added over your shoulder as you headed towards his door. He didn't respond. He just watched you leave, a slow smile pulling at his lips because even though you acted indifferent towards him, the fact remained that you were jealous of another woman giving him attention, and that had to mean something.

666 notes · View notes

greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year ago

Text

give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don��t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter fluff #will poulter angst #will poulter smut #ava writes

2K notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Note

Mutual Masturbation with Joel Miller? 👀 could we be so lucky ??

-ˋˏ 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 ˎˊ

— pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

— word count: 1k

— warnings: mutual masturbation, [Snape voice] “obviously”. voyeurism, dirty talk, the ol’ switcharoo at the end. Not proof read.

joel miller masterlist || main masterlist

Fuckin- It was so fucking hot.

The sunshine thumps through the windscreen and into the black interior of the pickup truck. Appropriated by Bill to finish this smuggling mission, Joel insisted the battery wouldn’t survive the journey to Pittsburgh if he turned on the air conditioning. Not even for a second.

Sticky. You’re sweltering, the beads of sweat sticking the fabric of your linen shirt to every inch of your torso. Rolling your head back against the headrest, you let out a soft whine of complaint. It’s not even the suffocating Pennsylvania temperatures that tortured you anymore. No, it’s the ardent pulse settling between your thighs. It’s Joel.

His eyes are settled on the dusty road, watching intently for hunters who might be stupid enough to tempt fate. He’s so calm that you’d be forgiven for thinking the heat doesn’t affect him at all if it wasn’t for the sheen of sweat that glossed over the skin of his brow, the wetness in his hair.

You can smell him. Joel smells like musk, like dirt, a tinge of whiskey that he always liked to drink and the bite of death- the sweet tang before decay. It shouldn’t be attractive, shouldn’t even be pleasant, but it’s Joel, and it makes your heart slam against your ribs as you swallow back how much you need him.

“Stop your scowlin’,” Joel’s voice is throaty, half asleep after hours of silence settles between the two of you. The engine's rumble nearly drowns him out, but you hear him.

“M’not,” you rebuke, keeping your eyes forward and avoiding the silver of the wing mirror where you would no doubt find his tawny eyes boring into you. Your answer is quick, too quick, and suspicious.

“No?”

“Nope.”

God, you want to fuck him so bad.

Hesitating momentarily, you finally pull your eyes over to his body. His knuckles drape over the steering wheel, delicate with the leather. The denim of his jeans is dark with his sweat, sticking so closely to him you can see his thigh muscles shift when he pushes down on the accelerator. There’s a bead of perspiration running down his throat, dribbling down the collarbone exposed by his open shirt, and you whimper when it soaks into the fabric because you would have licked him clean-

“Can touch yourself, f’you want.”

Joel’s tone is so lazy it almost masks how filthy his suggestion is. Your attention snaps up to the wing mirror, finding those deep irises settled on your expression.

“I’m not—“ you scoff, but Joel jerks his head just slightly. ‘No’.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” he insists, the term of endearment dripping with patronisation, “You’ve been rubbin’ your thighs together since we joined the highway.”

Swallowing thickly, you smother your denial like Joel suffocates your propriety. The air is no longer pulsing with heat but with tension. Joel’s waiting, watching for you to give in. Fuck, you’re buzzing.

You can’t anymore.

Shoving your fingers down your cargo pants, you graze your fingers over the seam of your panties and let out a trembling breath of relief. They’re soaked, your cunt practically dripping.

“Don’t you stop,” Joel insists, and when you glance up, you can see his knuckles are white against the steering wheel now, his eyes flicking between the road and the reflection of your pleasure.

You aim to appease him, rubbing your throbbing clit with the pads of your fingers and melting into the humming pleasure it elicits. Brows pinched together, you push your body back into the seat and rock your hips upwards.

“Unbutton them.”

You do. You raise your free hand and pop the button above your naval, using the free space to work your hand under the elastic of your panties and roll the drag of your fingers over your clit.

“Joel-“ you exhale shakily, body trembling with need.

His right-hand breaks from the wheel, palming himself through his jeans and squeezing at his growing erection while he watches you.

“C’mon Darlin’. Keep goin’,” he whispers, unzipping his jeans and working his cock out of his boxers. “You look so fuckin’ good; look at your tits.”

He’s rambling, talking so much more than he usually does. In your haze, you wonder if he’s got heat stroke.

Joel slams on the brakes, jolting you forward in your seat. What the fuck?! Your free hand darts out to hold the dash, gasping his name in shock.

“Joel-!”

“Fuck-“ he rasps, paying no mind to your half-hearted reprimand. His hand reaches over to cup at your breast and squeeeze. The linen of your shirt is see-through with your sweat, sticking to your skin and pert nipples showing through. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, letting out a thick moan as he ruts into his fist.

Joel is so sexy like this. It’s like he’s lost his mind, fucking his fist and squeezing his weeping head. His greying hair is slick with sweat, swept back against his skull. A burgundy flush tints his cheeks, blurring the sun spots on the bridge of his nose and the peaks of his face.

“Joel,” you whisper, watching him roll his hips upwards, seeing him swipe his thumb over the head of his cock and swear the precum across the reddening skin. “Joel, tell me what you need.”

You ask because it’s obvious. The burning arousal, the building orgasm as you tease your clit, the need you’d felt since you joined 83. None of it had compared to the desperation Joel had been so expertly hiding from you.

He tremors, sweat weeping down his temple as he shuts his eyes, tilting his face towards the car's roof. You can see him thinking, can see him chastising himself and recalling that it’s a bad idea to sleep with your snuggling partner.

“Joel.”

“Fuckin’ come’ere,” he gasps out like he’ll die if he’s not inside you within a second. Joel’s lips are crashing onto yours, bruising them as he grasps your hips and hoists you across the console to the driver's side.

4K notes · View notes

ma1dita · 9 months ago

Note

I need a pt 2 to the Luke and long distance!gf PLEASEEEEE

mdni

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

pt 1 here

a/n: man... getting out of my writing rut so here's this filth. sexting. kinda public. luke cums in his pants. what a loser

wc: 780

*bzzz*

Luke’s phone buzzes for the third time in a row in his Financial Marketing lecture today. The notification shakes his phone against the wood of the table to the point that it’s bugging the hell out of Chris who’s locked into whatever the professor’s saying—but as soon as Luke sees your name flash across the slightly cracked screen of his iPhone, he drops his pen in favor of you. His brother rolls his eyes, slumping further into his seat head lolling against his arm. There’s a smile that immediately settles upon Luke’s cheeks at the thought of you.

“baby 🤭 you busy?”

“why are you not answering you don’t even like this class anyway”

“fine ig i’ll ask someone else for their opinion 🤷🏻‍♀️”

He chuckles lowly as he types out a reply, “opinion on what babe 👀” and Chris nudges his arm with a nod to ask if everything’s good. The professor drones on in the background about the stock market and for once, Luke is glad that Hermes gave him the ability to skate through his Econ degree (the only think he’ll be grateful to his absent father for), because it gives him more time to focus on more important things, like the slew of images of you trying on bikinis that infiltrate his phone.

[5 Image attachments]

“oops sorry! guess i sent them to the wrong person”

He gulps almost comically, shifting in his seat as he saves them for later. Shifty eyes and quick fingers can only do so much in a crowded lecture hall. But you see that his read receipts are on, and frankly the lack of a response is irritating when you’re pulling your best poses in the comfort of your living room. Boys never get how much effort it takes to be sexy.

“damn. guess i’ll go find a new boyfriend who can appreciate all of this”

Luke sighs, half stifled by is need to see you bare and his spit going down the wrong pipe that he clears his throat loudly, trying to ignore his jeans tightening by the second. Licking his lips, he clicks on the presentation slides, trying to catch up to where the professor is after your very welcome distractions.

[Image attachment]

He presses the ‘next’ button just as another iMessage notification pops up on his screen, trigger finger clicking open an image of your tits pressed between your fingers, nipples taut against the fabric and lips between your teeth—all shiny soft skin almost bursting through the flimsy top that’s loosening and almost vivid through the still image. If there’s more, he thinks he’s seeing stars.

Luke slams his laptop shut and it echoes.

He takes a deep breath trying to remember what year it is.

“You good bro?”

Chris mumbles with a furrowed brow, watching sweat glisten against Luke’s flushed cheeks.

“Not feeling well. Think I’m gonna head out. Send me notes later?”

It’s almost an inside joke between the two of them, but Luke laughs a little too hard trying to play it off. He shoves his laptop into his backpack, before slowly weaving through the row and hoping no one noticed his girlfriend’s tits on the blown up screen of his Macbook. But then again, something’s obviously off as he walks stiffly towards the exit, feet swift with no predetermined destination. Luke contemplates the probability of someone interrupting him in the hall bathroom if he goes there to rub one out. His dick is hard and weepy, frustration brimming at the seams of his resolve when he walks out of the lecture hall. Readjusting himself into his waistband and groaning at the pressure, Luke wonders if he can walk home fast enough.

[Video attachment]

He stops in his tracks as he opens your message, the sound of your moans and slick movements of your fingers buried under the damp bottoms of your bikini almost too loud in his Airpods. His dark brown eyes trace the movements of your swiveling hips on his screen and he leans against the wall to groan lowly, a pathetic noise clawing up his throat, until his mouth dries at the sight of you parting the fabric aside just in time for him to watch you cum hard, soaking the rest of your hand and the leather of the couch beneath your ass. Luke doesn’t realize his body’s unprompted decision to join your release until he feels a sticky, uncomfortable warmth pool against the bottom of his shirt, soiled beyond belief.

His head of curls bangs against the wall behind him as he moans.

*bzzz*

A lopsided grin forms on his face when his phone buzzes again in his hand.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎

415 notes · View notes

theemporium · 1 year ago

Note

Ok ok ok but Daniel x fem getting caught mid bang after a race 👀

thank you for requesting!🖤

You adored the arrogance that oozed off your boyfriend after he won a race.

You couldn’t explain it. You couldn’t explain the fact that if it had been any other person on the planet, you would have scrunched your nose up in disgust and declared it an ick. But something about how cocky and sure of himself after a race win made you desperate to get your hands on Daniel the first second you could, your fingers itching to tear that race suit off him.

And he knew that. And he fucking loved it.

He had been desperate to get to you after the podium ceremony, practically running off after the photos had been taken and finding you on his way towards his driver’s room.

The trophy was shoved off to the side the second the door clicked shut and your hands were already on him as your fingers nimbly moved to unzip his race suit and get him undressed as quickly as you could.

But you were both impatient and needy and neither one of you had time to deal with the details of his race suit or the oddly confusing buttons of your dress. Instead, Daniel pushed his race suit until it was pooled at his knees and slipped your panties off before flipping up the skirt of your dress so he could sink into you.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, completely unashamed in the noises you made as your boyfriend thrusted up into you with quick, short thrusts.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze around me,” Daniel groaned as he watched you bounce up and down on his cock, the neckline of your dress pulled down so he could watch the way your tits jiggled with each movement.

“Shit, you feel so good,” you whined as you leaned down, pressing your lips against his in a sloppy kiss. “You’re so fucking sexy when you win.”

Daniel’s ego soared as his hands moved around to squeeze your cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, so fucking hot watching you dominate them,” you muttered against his lips, your nails digging into the fabric of his fireproofs that he hadn’t gotten the chance to take off just yet.

“I like dominating you better,” he remarked with a cheesy grin, smacking your ass until the sound echoed through the small room.

“Danny,” you whined.

“My needy girl,” he cooed mockingly as he held your hips still, shuffling in his seat as he thrusted up into you. “Need me to do all the hard work, hm? You’re just too pretty to be tiring yourself out.”

“Need you so bad,” you whimpered.

“You got me, baby,” Daniel groaned, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching. With your pretty moans and the way you were clenching around him, he was just seconds away from coming when—

“OH MY GOD, MY EYES!”

Just as quickly as the door opened, it slammed shut and you both sat there, Daniel’s cock still deep inside you, as you stared at the door with wide eyes.

“Max, what the fuck?” Daniel called out, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs when he felt you squirm uncomfortably on his lap.

“We have media duties! Christian told me to come get you, I didn’t know you’d be fucking! God, who even fucks without locking the door.”

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you moved to get up but Daniel’s hands kept you where you were.

“Tell Christian I’ll be five minutes,” he called out to his teammate on the other side of the door.

“Gross!”

“Fuck off, Verstappen, and let me worship my pretty girlfriend,” Daniel remarked, grinning when he felt you clench around him.

2K notes · View notes

kitashousewife · 1 year ago

Note

hii idk if I missed it but did u ever expand on the sakusa perfume ad thought 👀

YES please let me do so (sorry this is so late)

—————

“yes, that’s perfect. right here,” the photographer snaps another shot, clicking sounds echoing through the small set as sakusa lets out an exhale.

really he’s not sure why he agreed to this. some new perfume line contacted the team a few months back, talking about some sort of collaboration to boost each others popularity. a few phone calls later and now, most of the teammates have had their turn behind the camera.

sakusa was last. he really didn’t want to. he was flattered, a little flustered that they thought he would be good for a perfume ad. he’s seen them this whole life, casting movie stars and other famous athletes. the mere fact that he’s now at that level is mind blowing enough.

but now that he sits here, uncomfortably warm and sick of the attention, he’s thinking maybe it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

until you call him.

you’re in your local grocery store, picking up things for the week after work. thoroughly worn out, you grab a magazine from the racks while in the check out line to pass the time. your fingers flip through aimlessly, completely unaware of the contents of the glossy pages, until you are.

staring back at you is sakusa kiyoomi. head rested in his palm, in a partially unbuttoned black silk shirt, with a bottle of cologne to his lips.

you almost shut the magazine. your body feels warm, your head spins. almost ripping it open again, you stare right back at the photo. his jaw is sharp, and his milky skin glistens behind the shiny bottle. and his eyes, they feel like he’s staring right at you. before you can think twice you’re shoving the tabloid onto the belt, and begin to try to catch your breath.

“hell-“

“kiyoomi,” your voice sounds apprehensive, strained even.

“what? i just got back from practice, i need to sh-“

“we’ve been friends for over ten years and you forgot to tell me that you were in a fucking cologne ad?”

sakusa about chokes before he slams the mute button on his phone. he completely forgot, he hadn’t even been told by the marketing team that the ads were out. he feels embarrassed, suddenly worried about everyone in the entire world seeing a completely different side of him than normal.

but he’s also curious.

part of him wished this would happen. while he was staring down the lens of the camera, the thought did cross his mind about how you specifically would react.

he can’t help but find out.

“it slipped my mind i guess, i’ve been busy,” he sets his phone on the kitchen counter. “kinda cool, huh?”

you don’t even know what to say. the most beautiful photo of the prettiest man you’ve ever met is in front of you, and his raspy voice is coming through your phone, making for an incredibly distracting combination.

“you look so irritated,” your voice is quiet. sakusa smirks, only slightly.

“i was. i was there for hours,” his smirk grows for a moment. “i think there’s going to be a short video ad, too.”

you rub your temples. your mind is blank. you’ve always thought sakusa was handsome, but not like this. your tongue feel heavy in your mouth, and you can’t stop staring.

“a-and what do you think of it? what did your mom say?”

sakusa shorts at the desperate conversation change attempt. “she had a fit, you know how she is.”

the thought of how could she not crosses your mind, and thankfully you don’t say it out loud.

“well, it’s really something. congrats, omi,”

sakusa smiles. “thanks,” he can hear you sigh on the other end. “everything okay over there?”

no. “y-yeah, yeah, just fine,” you shut the magazine and toss it onto the coffee table.

“staring at my picture?”

“n-no!” you’re quick, and sakusa laughs.

“miss me that much? jeez, want me to come sign it for you too?”

you pause. he laughs out loud. “shut up, omi,” you groan. “i’ll see you friday anyway, for motoya’s dinner,”

“okay, see you then.”

he hangs up, and he can’t help but snicker to himself. he can’t wait to see you on friday now. and, he even has the shirt from the shoot.

he decides he’s going to wear it, just for you.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #sakusa fluff #hq fluff #hq drabble #sakusa x reader fluff

562 notes · View notes

wolvietxt · 17 hours ago

Note

Hey! Could you do Bucky Barnes with this prompt?? 👀

grumpy’s soft side: sunshine accidentally finds grumpy’s secret stash of cute little things they’ve kept as mementos - like a doodle sunshine made or a pressed flower from a walk they took together. grumpy tries to act embarrassed, but sunshine can see the fondness in their eyes.

BUCKY BARNES was many things - grumpy, stoic, and impossible to read most of the time. but sentimental? that didn’t seem to fit, or at least, that’s what you thought.

until today.

it had started innocently enough. bucky had left to grab groceries, grumbling something about you forgetting the eggs, leaving you alone in his apartment. with some extra time on your hands, you decided to tidy up his desk - a cluttered corner of his otherwise neat space.

you knew bucky wasn’t the most organized person. papers and odds and ends were scattered everywhere, some of them clearly years old. while straightening a stack of books, you noticed a small drawer slightly ajar. curiosity got the better of you, and you slid it open, intending to tuck away the loose papers.

instead, you froze.

the contents weren’t what you’d expected.

a tiny doodle you’d drawn months ago sat on top of the pile, the edges a little crumpled but otherwise intact. it was a quick sketch you’d made while teasing bucky - an exaggerated cartoon version of him with a cat on his head. he’d scoffed at it at the time, rolling his eyes, but apparently, he hadn’t thrown it away.

beneath it was a pressed flower, carefully preserved between wax paper. it was from a walk you’d taken one spring afternoon, when you’d playfully tucked the flower behind your ear and teased bucky for being grumpy even on such a beautiful day.

there were other things too: a stray button from his jacket you’d helped sew back on, a photo booth strip from an impromptu outing, and a receipt with your handwriting scrawled across the back.

your heart twisted, warmth spreading through your chest as you took it all in.

bucky barnes, who rarely let his guard down, who always acted like nothing phased him, had been keeping these little pieces of you.

the sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts.

“damn cashier was slower than molasses,” bucky muttered as he walked in, shaking his head. he stopped short when he saw you standing by his desk, the pressed flower in your hand.

his blue eyes narrowed. “what’re you doin’?”

you turned to him, holding up the doodle with a small smile. “you kept all this?”

a flicker of panic crossed his face as he strode over, snatching the drawing from your hand and shoving it back into the drawer. “it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, slamming the drawer shut.

“it’s not nothing, bucky.” you took a step closer, your smile widening. “you kept a doodle, a flower… even a button? this is -“

“don’t say it,” he cut in, pointing a finger at you. “don’t you dare call it cute.”

you bit back a laugh, unable to help the way your eyes sparkled. “but it is cute. bucky, this is adorable.”

his jaw tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “it ain’t cute,” he grumbled. “just stuff I didn’t get around to throwin’ out.”

you raised an eyebrow. “a pressed flower isn’t exactly something you ‘forget’ to throw away, buck.”

his gaze darted to the side, avoiding yours. “it doesn’t mean nothin’,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

“doesn’t mean nothing?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. “bucky, it means something to me.”

his eyes flicked back to yours, guarded but softening just a little. “you’re makin’ a big deal outta nothin’, doll.”

“because it is a big deal,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “you kept these things because they remind you of me, don’t they?”

he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “maybe,” he admitted, his tone reluctant. “but don’t go readin’ too much into it.”

your smile softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his arm. “too late. i’m already reading into it.”

he groaned, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and you’re a big softie,” you shot back, your grin widening.

he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look annoyed. but the way his lips twitched betrayed him, the corners tilting upward despite his best efforts.

“fine,” he muttered after a moment, his voice gruff. “maybe i kept ‘em ‘cause they remind me of you. happy now?”

your heart swelled at his quiet admission, and you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “very.”

he froze for a second before letting out another sigh, his arms falling to his sides. “you’re gonna tease me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

despite his grumbling, bucky reached out to pull you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “your secret’s safe with me.”

he relaxed a little at that, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled, his voice low but affectionate.

“you’re luckier,” you teased, earning a low chuckle from him.

and as he held you there, the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart grounding you, you couldn’t help but smile. because as much as he tried to act grumpy, bucky barnes had the biggest heart of anyone you’d ever known.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

133 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 1 year ago

Text

Release: Duke Leto x fem!reader

Don’t mind me, just thinking about being used like Duke Leto’s personal stress toy. 👀

Warnings: smut, minors DNI.

A/n: This isn’t really a full fic, more another “here’s what I’m thinking about right now” sorta deal. I swear I’ll write a “proper” fic soon. For now here is my very hastily typed train of thought about ever so selflessly serving the kingdom, via delivering a little… stress relief to your Lord. (Fucking. It’s just fucking, basically.)

The Duke arrives back to his quarters, returning from a fraught council meeting. The fate of Caladan is resting on his shoulders, and hours of negotiations are proving -so far- entirely futile.

He’s evidently tense, muscles taut and coiled, brow heavy, mouth curved downward. He’s silent, his words seemingly compressed, held deep beneath a layer of frustration. He enters the room and storms to his desk, standing over it and pressing his palms into the surface, shoulders hunched over and head hung low. He does not acknowledge you but you approach him; cautiously. Not because you fear his stony demeanour, the breaths seething from his flared nostrils. His hands clenching into the surface of the desk. You never fear him, but you do seek to ease his transition. To ease him towards the relief you can provide him.

You step up behind him, slotting yourself against him, resting your head in the spot between his shoulder blades. Working some of the tension from his tight muscles with your hands.

As soon as you touch him, it is instantaneous, as though he cannot pause. His words still not coming but his body working on his behalf, his broad hands seeking you out. Grabbing you. Manoeuvring you. No time even to kiss you, to look at you.

His fingers raking clumsily and urgently at the hem of your skirts as he roughly folds your body over the desk edge. Pushing you down. His shaking fingers clawing at his own belt buckle, air seething through his teeth as he contacts his throbbing, painfully hard length. He needs you. Needs you like this, with your tits spilling out of your dress. The meat of your hips and ass grabbed up in his clawing palms.

Fuck he needs you.

The council are so rigid, so resistant, and you? You are so… soft, flesh so forgiving. So pliant for him, so easy, moulding to his every whim and desire. He grunts again, no words still as you hear him spit, and you cry out in surprise as you feel the sudden slick of his warm fingers as he applies this cursory lubrication to your heat.

“My Lord,” you purr, all too willing to fulfil him. “Working so hard for the Kingdom. Let me help you relax.”

He needs no encouragement.

You yowl as he fills you. Roughly, and sudden. All the way to the hilt, spreading you open on his girth. You stretch your arms out before you, fingers splayed and tightly gripping the opposite edge of the desk to brace yourself as your thighs are shunted against the other - an all too pleasant bite.

You moan for him, the sound liquid, so smooth, so soft, so compliant, and so at odds with his rigid, unforgiving thrusts. With the hard shape of his frustration, and your slickening cunt offering no resistance.

The Duke presses his hand to the centre of your back, pinning you, your cheek crushed against the table, moans covering all of his official papers like a balm over the abrasion of his duties.

Leto snaps his hips then, slamming himself into you, thrusts needy and oh so careless. So desperate. He grunts as he fills you, stretches you, with no care for anything else but his relief.

He slows. Only for a moment. A slow, tantalising drag out of you, his swollen head notching him inside as you hear him -you think- relinquishing his uniform jacket to the floor, buttons clacking against the tiles. You imagine the sight behind you of Leto in his white, open-collared shirt, the hem billowing over his full, clenching ass cheeks as he resumes his thrusts, working you at a brutal pace. You imagine the sweat gathering across the bared “v” of his chest, glistening on his skin.

He grunts again now as his thrusts become sloppy. Precarious, with the way the wetness is gathering between your thighs. Indeed, momentarily, he slips out of you, and he curses at the loss. Leans forward to gather up your boneless, pliant body, bringing your back to press at his torso.

You feel the tacky heat seeping through layers. Feel the rake of his beard and his hot breath against the back of your neck as he eases himself back inside of you. Slowly, slowly, slowly, with ragged stunted breaths against your skin.

Wraps his arms around your chest to pin you securely to him as he fucks into you - harder now, pace gradually climbing. At just the right pace. Pinning your trembling, waning body harshly between him and the desk edge. Fucking up into you so brutally now that the furniture is shunted across the floor; but he doesn’t stop.

Just keeps thrusting, up and into you so hard that the heels of your feet lift off of the floor, toes against the cold tiles. So hard that you almost tip forward from the force of it - would, if he wasn’t strong enough to brace you. To keep your where he needs you as he uses you like this. Like a stress toy. Like you only exist for his relief.

Then, you feel a soft, deep, shuddered moan bloom against the nape of your neck. He bites you there, against your throat, teeth marking and mouth sucking as you feel him convulse inside of you. As he shoves himself and his seed up into you so deep, like he never means it to find its way out.

You come with him, your release moulding around him, clenching down on him, and dragging further aftershocks from him. He shudders against you momentarily, and you feel all of the tension drop from his body, shed like his layers.

A soft hum and a soft kiss is applied to your sweat-tacky neck as he releases you; gently - ever so gently now - draping your limp form over the desk as your ragged breaths continue to flare in your rib cage. You slow your breathing. Enjoy the lingering bloom of residual pleasure in your centre, your core honeyed and dripping.

When you feel able, you turn to him again, perching yourself on the desk and facing him. Wanting to see him undone for you, but finding him redressing in his uniform - and his composure - instead.

Ah. It becomes suddenly clear to you. “The Council is still ongoing?”

That niggle resettles in his brow. “I stole a moment, but the negotiations will not cease.”

“And you will return with your dick wet?”

His hands reach for you again, but this time, it is to cup your face tenderly. To look down, with amusement, at your skirts all in disarray. Your breasts spilling from your corseted top, and he dips to gather you with a broad palm, freeing you and mouthing softly at your nipple, beard brushing against your tender flesh. You see the ghost of a smile cross his features, despite his busied mind and mouth. “I will return the better for it.”

Mouthing at you more hungrily now, Leto dips quickly to your heat, settling his head under your skirts and sealing his warm mouth over your heat like he’s well aware he’s running out of time. He shivers a tongue through your folds, tasting you. Your core throbs as a resonant hum bleeds through your centre.

“I must go,” he says regretfully, straightening up. Buttoning up his jacket - and his composure.

“Wait, my love,” you call, before he turns away. He obliges, and you make quick work of it, smoothing the undone curl - which has fallen across his forehead - back into place. “Perfect.”

He does not smile; but his eyes do glow for you. “If a conclusion is not yet reached, we intend for another recess at ten.”

His meaning is quite clearly implied, and you are eager for it already.

“I’ll be waiting, my Lord.”

You send him away to fulfil his duties, all the better for you having fulfilled yours.

Truly, it hardly seems like work at all.

#duke leto x reader #duke leto Atreides x reader #leto atreides x reader

669 notes · View notes

attapullman · 4 months ago

Note

Okay, I don't know if I get more than one but... "Reader and Rhett are dancing what eventually leads to a slow, intimate dance. Rhett gets aroused from Reader pressing close to them." I am picturing Rhett popping a boner on the dance floor of a cowboy bar during a night out and dragging reader back to the Abbott ranch to deal with it 😅🙈🙈

For you? Of course! I'm so sad we're never going to get dancing Rhett because I need to know what that would look like. This is important scientific research! Based off Calvin and Jordan, there's likely a lot of hip 👀

Drabble Day

He’s two left feet and a few beers deep, hips wiggling as he tries to keep up with the two-step. The crowd is rowdy and the live band in the corner isn’t stopping. You appreciate his willingness to indulge you in a little dancing, even if he looks like he’ll topple over any second.

With a spin you end up back in his strong arms, the other couples around you whooping and hollering for the next song. Rhett looks relieved when the tempo calms and he can quietly sway with you in the dimly lit converted barn.

“Thank you for dancing,” you breathe against his neck, enjoying the smoky, sweaty scent of him. He wears a hard days’ work well.

His arms close tighter around you, button nose colliding with your temple. “S’embarrassin’,” he laughs. “You’re lucky yer s’cute.”

You give him your best smile and press closer, guiding his hips with yours to the smooth twang of the singer. The push and sway of the music leading your bodies as you lose yourself in the short song, only aware of him and his calloused hands dangerously low on the waistband of your jeans.

With a start, the next number begins and the tempo takes off, everyone back to swinging their partners around. You pull back from Rhett with eyes bright, shimmying with the beat. A dusky pink bursts through Rhett’s cheeks and he grabs you close once more, firmly heading toward the exit.

“Rhett! I wanted to keep dancing!”

But he ignores you as he keeps your body in front, gently pushing you out the bar. His voice is low in your ear as his truck comes into view. “Need t’get home. Now.”

It’s punctuated with a push of his hips to your ass.The bulge needs no further explanation. He grabs your hips and helps you into the passenger seat, expression neutral as he fights his demons and your tight jeans. Slams his own door shut abruptly, the constant fixer upper roaring to life.

You’re already crawling across the bench seat before he hits the highway, fingers dangerously close to his Wranglers zipper.

#drabble day #rhett abbott x reader

71 notes · View notes

lyramundana · 1 year ago

Note

Ok so hear me out:

Yknow that one tiny crop top hannie wore which showed off the entirety of his slutty jaist and cute lil toned belly in a lalalala stage?

What is reader sees all the horny stays on twt describing just what filthy things they want to do to him? What if she shows them to lino too? What is they both get so painfully turned on and deliciously jealous by it that they decide to teach our quokka a lesson? How, you may ask? By fucking him absolutely brainless and marking every single bit of his gorgeous body, especially his waist and stomach (and lower ofc)

And, the lil cherry on top of the poly!minsung sundae, what if reader makes hanni take a picture to post on his bubble while she's pounding him with her big ass strap, and lino playing with his pretty nipples?

It'll be their dirty secret, they do have quite a possessive streak (poor hannie can't wear crops for a long time after that)

ohoho you dirty anon, i love your brain so much🤭👀

Me personally, if i was the girlfriend, i'll be proud of the chaos he unleashed and join the Stays's excitement, but the idea of marking him and reducing him to a pile of tears and begs sounds far too tempting.

You bet they won't leave a single trace of his skin clean. If there's not cum in it, there's a bruise, if not a bruise, a hickey, and the list goes on. They want to imprint themselves in Hannie's body, make an statement to the world that this beautiful angel is theirs and only theirs. And sweet boy is enjoying it so much, getting punished by both of his loves is his utmost fantasy. Having their greedy hands over him, playing with him, scratching him, slapping him, it makes his cock so hard it hurts. It hurts deliciously.

They can't help it, he looked so damn good and irresistible in that top, and he knew what he was doing. He wanted to push the buttons, delight in their hungry stares on him. He loved it. It thrilled him to no end. Meanwhile, Lino is too busy counting the time until the shooting ends to drag him to the nearest empty room and teach him a lesson. When the door is closed and there's only the two of them, it's on. The only thing preventing him from ripping the damn top off it's knowing that their sweet girl would want to see it first, so he just pulls it up and rips off the jeans instead, forces him on one of the make up tables and slams unto him with a fast pace, not even prepping him. He covers Jisung's mouth with his hand to mute his moans, while the others grips his waist. Minho bites his neck roughly and sucks on it until the familiar purple-redish bruise starts to appear. His handprints are all over Jisung's butt cheeks, still bouncing against his cock helpessly. Minho has to close his eyes and groan lowly when his orgasm hits, thousands of white spots filling his vision. He ruts into Jisung's hips to push his cum deeper, and then drops him like an used toy...without making cum.

"What's the matter, slut? You wanted to cum? Too bad you don't fucking deserve it. We'll see when we get home, wonder what Mommy has to say about this"

Once they arrive, it's obvious "Mommy" isn't happy about it. Not in the slighest. She spent the entire morning seeing Stay's feral reactions to that top, and her blood boils at the idea of so many people seeing and wanting what belongs to her. She sees Jisung's glossed eyes, his trembling lips, the bruises in his pretty skin. "Mommy, please, help me. It hurts so much. Daddy left me hanging li-"

She grabs his jaw and seethes on his lips.

"You should be grateful he actually put his dick inside you, you fucking whore. You really think you deserve anything after that stunt you pulled, letting the entire world see you like this?"

He stutters, eyes wide in fear and excitement. God, he loves this.

"B-but, I didn't want to! It was my job, the stylists said-" Minho scoffs.

"Bullshit, they told me you insisted on wearing that. Said you wanted to cause an impression on our fans.."

A dark, tense silence fills the room.

"So, not only you're showing off without our permission, but you have the nerve to lie to me?" she growls.

His eyes start to get teary again. "Mommy, I.."

Minho places a firm hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, love, it's not his fault. I think we might neglected him a bit, our poor baby. You know how much he hates not being the centre of attention all the time"

"Is that it, baby? Aw, i'm so sorry. Don't worry then, we'll make up for it"

And they do. By the end of it, he's tied on the bed, completely naked except for the top. Blindfolded and Minho thrusting his hips brutally while folds him in half by his legs. His pretty thights covered in teeth marks and bruises, same with this abdomen and cute waist. Minho whispering dirty things in his ear as the boy cries out and tries to free himself from the handcuffs. He lost count how many times he has cum, but he can feel the excess of his cum (or your and minho, he doesn't know at this point) tainting his face and lower body. She's holding a vibrator against his dick, her free hand holding the phone and recording everything.

"C'mon, Sungie, smile at the camera. Wasn't this what you wanted? Leave an impression on Stays? I'm sure they'll love this one"

Minho lets out a breathy chuckle, panting and groaning.

"Too bad they won't ever get to see this"

Jisung is a mess. His cheeks wet with his tears and reminiscence of both of his lovers' cum, drooling with his tongue out and gasping.

Such a pretty picture for Stays.

Tags: @channieandhisgoonsquad @moonlightndaydreams @2chopsticks2eyes @skzms @hyunsvngs @noellllslut @hanjibug @hanjisunglover @queenmea604 @thightswideforhanin @roseykat @minsungisvreal

#I don't know what the fuck came over me #this was supposed to be a short reply #anyway hope you enjoy!💖#poly minsung #minsung smut #minsung x reader #anon asks #lee know smut #han jisung smut #han jisung x lee know #minsung

284 notes · View notes

marshmallowprotection · 3 months ago

Note

So in the spirit of pirates

Imagine this with pirate lady Suit. A siren takes on the image of MC and they're like oh 👀 how interesting

You were taken ashore with one of the crew members to do a supply run. She trusted them to go with you because they were someone in the crew who could keep a close eye on you. There wasn't anywhere for you to run or hide (it wasn't like you were itching to go back home to the parents who abandoned you in the name of wealth) but still... it wasn't like she wanted you to leave. You were useful for her mission... a mission to get the hell out of this port and away from the torment it caused.

Saeran didn't want to be here.

There was no noble cause to save the people suffering on the bottom from the misfortune they'd been subjected to. She just wanted to get far, far away before the bottom fell out. She knew it would happen, it already happened once before when that man got his hands on what he wanted, and she knew it would certainly happen again. Lightning could strike in the same place twice when you were facing an enemy who didn't know when to stop.

If she followed the expected rules of her quest, then when she got what she wanted, she could either put you out of your misery or send you back to town to live whatever remained of your life on edge of the angry townsfolk. Most pirates weren't soft, they would get rid of their captive if the ransom would never be paid off, but she didn't want to get rid of you. She didn't want to send you packing so someone else could do it, either.

But, it was dangerous to confess that sort of thing, wasn't it? To say she didn't want to throw you away or send you back to shore was no different than saying she had a vulnerability someone could exploit in an instant. She saw what happened to people who shared what they were fond of, it happened to her sister, and it would happen to her in an instant if someone caught wind of it.

She would bite her tongue.

You weren't special... you were just the first person she'd ever come across that wasn't afraid to look her in the eye and challenge what she thought to be truth. You pushed her buttons and made her use that brain of hers to think harder than she ever had before, and that made her a damn better pirate. You urged her to break past what she saw as an obstacle and she followed that advice every time, even if a normal pirate wouldn't trust a fool.

Those tempting nights where your finger tips danced across her thighs were nothing more than a dream from a pirate who hadn't known the touch of another person in years.

She wasn't some glorified schoolgirl in love with you!

Saeran was dragged from her thoughts when she heard the sound of a loud thwack on the deck.

That sound was strange because it wasn't just a boot on the deck. It was something else entirely. She knew that there were two things it could be! It would either be you coming from the port or it would be an enemy trying to board the ship and loot it while the crew was out and down for the night.

That sound continued. It called to Saeran, urging her to run faster and faster and faster to the deck. She didn't know how to describe that noise but it made her feel like a moth to the flame. She needed more of it. She slammed the door open to the top deck and saw the outline of a person leaning over the side of the ship, and with a quick breath, she rushed over to the figure cloaked in mist and fog.

It was then Saeran realized the noise she heard below deck was a melody.

"Hmm... hmmm... mmmm..."

She growled, hand gripping the hilt of her sword on instinct, "Hey, you!"

But, when the figure turned around, it revealed your face. Saeran was gobsmacked as she let go of the sword and stormed over to you with that mystified look still burning on her face. The humming was gentle and made you feel far away... but as angry as she wanted to be about it, she found it was impossible to remain angry because she couldn't look away from your face. Even if the voice sounded strange and odd to her, it was your face that made her feel at ease.

Strangely at peace...

Almost, too comfortable.

By the time she realized what was happening, she was already in front of you, and your hands reached out amongst the fog and cupped her face with ease.

The melody didn't waver, but the voice cooed, "How very interesting... I've heard rumors of you... though, they said there was nothing I could conjure to sway Saeran's cold heart. So, this is who you like? I wonder when you found such a wonderful face to lust after... you didn't have such a weakness the last time one of my kind found you."

Saeran's cheeks burned hotly as the song of the siren took control of her heart and sent her twisting deeper and deeper in her thoughts of you and you alone. She couldn't fight it. She wouldn't fight it. Her tiny heart clamored for more than what she had... and the siren knew that the longer she stood there with her lips spread apart and eyes wide in awe.

"I could give you a taste of what you want, you know? Is that what you want, little quartermaster? You want to throw everything away just to feel their lips against your bosom? If that's all you want, I can give it to you... forever... you wouldn't have to fight anymore... all you would have to do is be my little human plaything. It would keep all of my kind safe from yours, and benefit our survival."

She nuzzled her cheek against the siren's hand, "[Y/N]..."

"You need only make a deal with me, why don't we shake—"

A loud bang resounded inches away from the siren's head, and a bullet was left encased in the pillar up to the crow's nest, "My Lady Saeran! Get away from that beast! That's not me! It's a Siren!"

The siren clicked her tongue in frustration as Saeran fell out of her stupor, shaking off the effects of the siren's song long enough to grab hold of her sword again. The real person the illusion was created from had arrived and that was enough to break the vision. Saeran growled at the beast of the sea and shoved her back into the water without a second thought.

"You won't deceive me!"

The siren cackled in mirth and called out with a whisper meant only for Saeran to hear, "But, you can't deceive yourself, either, can you?"

#sensetenou #pirate saeran #suit saeran #fem saeran #lady saeran #mod kait #ask #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #mysticmessenger #mm #choi saeran #saeran mm #saeran mysme #saeran mystic messenger #drabble

33 notes · View notes