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hischiershoe · 3 months ago

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Can I please request “You know, I only came here tonight because I heard you’d be here. How ridiculous is that?" With Luke Hughes. It just screams him.

thank you for sending in! i kind of changed the prompt a bit but not too much Warnings: a little angsty but not really, not a ton of dialogue til the end, one singular smooch

Luke had never been much of a partier. Sure, he would always go when his friends or brothers would drag him along, and he'd try to have fun, but in truth, he would rather be anywhere else. He would much rather be at home playing pool or playing stupid games with a few people at the house. At least, that's how he used to feel until he met you.

The first time you met Luke was a year ago when you'd been dragged to some house party with a group of your friends. They wanted to go because they heard there were going to be some cute hockey players from your university there, and you went to make sure they had a safe way home. When the four of you had gotten there, they insisted you go outside with them because that was where 'they' were.

While they flirted with a group of boys you'd long forgotten the names of, you sat off to the side and scrolled on your phone until they decided they were ready to leave. You felt him lingering a few feet away from you until he actually made the jump to sit next you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between you.

"Hey," You heard him clear his throat, "You okay?"

You put your phone down and let your gaze flit to the unnamed boy to your left, eyes landing on a tall, lean guy who had a messy mop of curls on his head. He was cute.

"I'm good," You nod, straightening your back as you focused on him, "Just waiting for my friends."

"Me too," He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm Luke, by the way."

From that moment forward, you looked for Luke in every crowd at every party, and he did the same for you. The two of you spent the entire summer seeking one another, but never taking the next step to further whatever your relationship could've been called. At first, you thought it was fun, thinking of it as a little game the way you'd always seek each other out. Though, you'd hoped that he would ask you for your number before he left for the summer.

He never did.

You tried to forget about Luke, to accept that it was nothing but some sort of weird summer fling without the actual fling part, but that was easier said than done. Before last summer, you never paid attention to the hockey subculture at Michigan, but now that you knew who he was, that became nearly impossible. Everywhere you went you saw his name, his picture, his friends.

It sounded silly to say out loud because you didn't really know Luke, just a version of him that you saw for a few hours, but you couldn't let go of him.

When the next summer came, you attended a few parties in hopes that you might run into Luke again. You'd even asked a few people about him, but you always came up empty. Your friends didn't know about your side quest, but they could tell something was off with you, and they made it their mission to find you something to take your mind off things. Well, someone.

Luke loved playing for Team USA, he really did, but he was so ready to go back to Michigan for the summer. He was ready to relax, to have some time out of some sort of spotlight, to find you again. He hadn't stopped thinking about you since he left for training camp last year.

He regretted not asking for your number before he left, but every time he would try and do it he would chicken out. No matter how many times his brothers or friends would encourage him to finally ask out the 'mystery lover girl', he couldn't bring himself to actually do it.

"I'm not talking to him," You groan as you walk up the driveway with your friends, "I'm not interested!"

"No, you're too interested in your random mystery boy," Josie throws her hands in the air, "Just give Logon a shot! He's really nice and he isn't bad looking. Please!"

Unfortunately for you, you were easily swayed, and that was exactly how you ended up uncomfortably pressed against the brick with an overly chatty boy next to you. To Josie's credit, Logan was nice, but he had barely let you get more than five words the entire time you've spent with him. At one point, you zoned so far out that you didn't hear anything he said until he was grasping at your bicep.

It was then that Luke walked out the backdoor, his eyes subconsciously scanning the crowd for you until they finally settled on an all too familiar side profile. He faltered in his steps, watching as a guy he vaguely recognized stepped closer to you. He couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to, he was forcing himself to stay rooted in place.

Luke eventually tore his eyes away from one when one of his college friends called out his name and dragged him back inside, and you were left with no idea that he was even there.

After a while, you managed to escape your dull conversation with Logan and found your friends again. Josie tried to make her attempt at a setup by saying she would be the DD, which made you nearly burst into laughter because she was already a bit too far gone for that to happen. Towards the end of the night, people slowly started to trickle out of the house, but the girls insisted they wander out back with a few others before heading back home.

"Hey, isn't that Luke Hughes," Hope slurs, pointing to a tall figure who was walking towards the boat dock.

It was embarrassing you quickly your head turned, how quickly your feet began to move in his direction with a certain determination to your steps. You can hear the girls talking behind you, making the very clear connection to Luke and your mystery boy. Despite his obvious ghosting from last summer, you still found yourself wanting to see him and talk to him. Maybe even get an explanation if you were lucky.

"Hey," You called out, slightly startling him as you sat next to him, "You okay?"

Luke's focus snapped towards you, his eyes wide and swimming with an emotion you can't quite place. You give him a soft smile as you take him in, noticing that he let his hair grow a little bit longer than he had last summer, noticing how much bigger he had gotten since then.

"Hi," He finally breathes out, his lips forming your name almost like he was testing it.

"Hi, Luke," You softly greet, "Long time no see."

"Yeah," He nervously chuckles as he looks away from you, "Yeah, it has."

Luke's mouth drops open like he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he grips the edge of the dock so tightly his knuckles were beginning to turn white. His face is barely illuminated by the light seeping down from the house, but you can still see the apprehension on his face. His brows are furrowed and his nose is slightly scrunched up, and it makes you want to pull him in by the shirt collar and kiss him.

"Do you want to know something," Luke suddenly bursts out, though he keeps his gaze in front of him.

"Of course," You curtly nod.

"I just got off a ten hour flight like four hours ago," He admits as he finally looks at you again, "But I came because I asked a friend if you'd be here, and he said yes. How crazy is that?"

Your face twisted with shock, his words ringing in your ears as you stared up at him. He'd been traveling all day and he should be sleeping, but instead, he was here. He came to a party, even though he didn't like them to begin with, because of you?

"Why," You swallow the lump in your throat, "Why because of me?"

"I wanted to see you again," He plainly states, but you can hear the hesitancy in his voice, "I fucked up last year by not getting your number because I was scared, but I didn't want to do that this summer. I was fully ready to ask you when I saw you earlier."

"Earlier," You ask, tilting your head, "Why didn't you then?"

"Well, you looked pretty busy," He scoffed. He sounded... annoyed? For what reason, you weren't sure.

Wait. Earlier you had been with- Oh.

"Luke," You stifle back the amused giggling threatening to slip through, "Are you jealous?"

"What?! No! Of course not," He hastily defends, roughly shaking his head in denial, "It just would've been rude to ask for your number if you're with ano-"

You cut Luke off by surging forward and placing your lips on his. It was a short kiss, nothing too over the top or romantic, but it was enough to render him speechless as you pulled away from him. His eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted and his breathing shaky.

"I'm not with anyone, idiot," You playfully groan, covering his hand with your own, "I come to every party with the hope that you'll be there, so if you're crazy, then so am I."

#you just got a letter! 💌#from: unknown #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #abby writes 💻

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cookiekissers · 7 months ago

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can we please get a buring spice x fragile reader, like they want to help and fight/hunt but physical can't because they are that fragile, simply bumbing into another cookie could cause them to crack!

Do Not Go Gently

[Burning Spice Cookie x Fragile Reader]

I was inspired and tried something a little different with this so I hope you like it! and Burning Spice redemption anyone? B)

The life of a Wild Spice was fraught with constant struggle and danger. If you were weak, you would be ground into dust, either by one of the other tribes or by the Great Destroyer himself. And you happened to be one of the weaker spices.

Delicate and fragile by nature, your main ingredient was parsley. The harsh desert winds of your homeland often left your leaves and dough brittle. The stronger Wild Spices almost always belittled you and your small tribe as you barely etched out an existence. You weren't tough and built with natural armour, like the Pepper Pangolins, or strong like the Saffron Buffaloes. But if there was one thing you were, it was tenacious.

When the Great Destroyer returned, you feared that your inherent frailness only spelled ruin for you and your tribe, soon to join the scattered remains of your ancestors. Despite the risks, you boldly joined the other Wild Spice leaders and offered your loyalty and service to Burning Spice Cookie.

He had looked over you and laughed, calling you weak and pathetic. As you knelt there, showing your sincere devotion, you thought it was all over for you. Still, Burning Spice miraculously passed over you and left you be. The Great Destroyer was not known to spare those he thought weak, so you could only imagine that he saw something in you that you hadn't. Since that moment, you were inspired by the Great Destroyer, not out of fear but admiration. You knew he didn't care for you. With a sweep of his hand, he could wipe your existence from this earth in seconds. But still, you fought hard and trained harder until your dough was cracked and crumbling to show that you had a right to continue living. Burning Spice Cookie had spared you. Your life had to mean something to him.

The little thing kneeling at his feet was pathetic. A Cookie so fragile that their dough cracked at the mildest of strikes was not worthy to be in his presence. And yet, instead of hiding from his inevitable fury, here you were. Burning Spice had to admit, you had guts. He didn't want to waste his time crumbling you himself when he knew you wouldn't put up a good fight. It would be far more entertaining to watch you struggle, only for you to fall to your unavoidable fate.

And yet...

That moment never came. Regardless of how grievous your wounds or the crumbling of your dough, you threw yourself back into battle again and again. Unafraid of the death that awaited you. Burning Spice Cookie found himself almost... fascinated by you.

You were so fragile, doomed to fail. And yet... you fought to cling a little longer to your short, pathetic life.

It reminded him of a time long past.

One day, after Burning Spice had enough of the annoying thoughts of you buzzing around his head, he decided to pay your tribe a visit. All the inhabitants of your tribe weren't as tough as you, which was somewhat of a disappointment. They scurried into their homes, terrified of him, or fell to their knees, grovelling at his feet for mercy. But you... you remained standing, like a resolute warrior, poised as if death were coming to claim you. You were unafraid. You had accepted it, but that did not mean you would go without a grand fight.

He approached you, ignoring the rest of your tribe, and you bowed your head in respect to the Great Destroyer. You didn't bow as deeply as you used to, but Burning Spice let it slide.

You had changed. Your eyes held a solemn understanding, and your dough was now riddled with scars, honourable rewards of fighting to see another day.

Burning Spice Cookie watched you, realizing he had no words. Why had curiosity brought him here to see you? He couldn't come up with an answer. His previous excuse of being amused by your antics had faded into something... else.

You broke the silence and invited Burning Spice Cookie into your humble home, and he accepted. Your tribe was astonished at their leader, who stood fearlessly in front of the Great Destroyer, and he had not razed their village to the ground in retaliation.

"Well, this is a surprise." Burning Spice Cookie mused. It was still surprising to him. Destruction was the end of all things, whether by his hand or not. But you stood in the face of it and fought it. Refusing to meet it on its terms.

"That I'm still here?" You replied bluntly, an amused smile on your face. Burning Spice Cookie would usually have felt excitement upon discovering a Cookie like you - someone who could ignite his passion and provide a worthy challenge now that you had grown stronger against all odds. However, that’s not how he felt at this moment. It wasn't even boredom. Instead, he felt the same solemness reflected in your eyes.

Burning Spice Cookie asked you to be his right hand. The request came so suddenly that it left you momentarily stunned. All the strife and gruelling work you had endured had finally paid off in a way you never could have imagined.

"Yes, I would be honored, my lord. Thank you." You said, quickly bowing your head deeply in gratitude.

Burning Spice Cookie knew that your luck was going to eventually run out and your fragile dough would crumble, slipping through his fingers like the sands of time. Like with all things, it was inevitable, regardless of how hard you fought to cling to your pitiful life.

But he would be there when it happened, he would watch you. He would burn your rage into his mind as you descended into the endless night, fighting and spitting for just one more day.

Once you joined your ancestors, he would remember you. Always.

#cookie love letters 💌#Anonymous #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run x y/n #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #x reader #x male reader #male reader #trans man reader #cr x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice x reader #writing this made me emotional. don't ask why 🧍‍♂️ idk hfjfhgjfh

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arabaka-archived · 1 year ago

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SSTROKING LAIO’S HAIR WHILE HE SUCKS YOUR TITS?????? oh im barking

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. laios touden x afab! reader. tit sucking. breastfeeding (it's laios. what did you expect.)

YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS YOU HEARD ME!!!

His head on your lap, he has the perfect view. It doesn't matter if you're small breasted or big, he'll think you're the perfect size. He can lose himself in you every which way but there's something especially fulfilling about touching, massaging, sucking your tits.

You eyelashes flutter as his big hands grope and knead your flesh, flexing the skin towards his mouth until your nipple's but a breath away. He purses his lips gently around your sensitive button and you watch his worries just drift away, his eyelids lowering and throat rumbling with a groan of contentment.

"You're really good at this." You manage between whispered moans, not wanting to wake the others nearby. Your fingers twitch as your toes curl and you look to him for an anchor; you weave a tender touch through his blond locks as Laios thirstily circles your nipple with wet kisses.

As he sucks on your tit, Laios' mind wanders... Thinking about how soft your skin is... How sweet you are on his tongue... It's only natural he starts to wonder how your breastmilk would taste. This makes his cock shoot straight up, relief thwarted by his pajama pants so all you see at first is the thick bulge as it throbs painfully hard.

Knowing your lover like the back of your hand, you hum, "Only one way to find out what my milk would taste like..."

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lonelydollparts · 5 months ago

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THINKING ABOUT … THANOS (player 230) 𓂃ᡣ𐭩₊˚. ⊹

content & warnings : nsfw, fem reader, fingering, oral (f receiving), pet play, dub-con/non-con, anal (painal? up to interpretation), drugging, dddne

wc : 311

a/n : my first posted work and it's squid game LFMAO

THANOS .. who's thickly ringed fingers pump in and out of you at a hurtful pace, the cold metal nudging your clit just right at times and making you shudder even more than you already do, only to slow down and push your hips back into the mattress with his hand on your lower tummy when you start grinding yourself on his fingers faster with no word of permission.

THANOS .. groaning and complaining, “Aw fuck, you're so wet, I don't want my nail polish to chip!” before he puts his tongue against your cunt.

THANOS .. whose whole face disappears from your view, a splash of purple the only thing you see when you glance down, highlighting the color of your own nails as they tangle into the flock of his hair.

THANOS .. telling you, “Stack, girl. Yeah, like you're a fucking show dog.”

THANOS .. who spits down on your ass and pushes a wet finger into it as you ‘present’ for him, holding you in place firmly when you start squirming and asking, “What? Wait, wait, no!”

THANOS .. who smiles as you start tearing up and telling him you've never done this before, grunting “I can tell” and "so fucking tight” in response.

THANOS .. who says, “Don't wanna make you a baby mama, do we?” when he presses his spongy tip against your hole.

THANOS .. opening his necklace up and taking out a tiny pill, the cross dragging over the skin of your back as he leans over you. He lets out a breathy chuckle next to your ear, watching your lips part in shock as you feel him begin to stretch the tight ring of your muscles. He pops the pink tablet into your opened mouth before you plant a hand over it in hopes of muffling your sniffles and whines. “I got you, girl. It'll help you relax,” he grins.

#💭 dollie thinking ..#💌 — l𖹭ve letters: thanos #thanos #thanos x reader #thanos smut #thanos x reader smut #thanos x you #player 230 #player 230 x reader #thanos player 230 #thanos squid game #thanos squid game x reader #squid game thanos #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game x reader #squid game smut

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luvacookie · 1 year ago

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she’s busy.

some of the aot boys responding to “she’s busy”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ featuring : connie, armin, eren & onny

❥ warnings : nsfw insinuation, cussing, blk fem coded reader.

❥ cookie for ur thoughts ? : a fake message scenario ??? yes please sir ! on a srs note : i’m trying to finish the other fics i have in the works,, bare w me guys !

connie springer

eren jaeger

onyankopon

armin arlet

#💌: alexies letters.#social media au #aot x black reader #aot x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #connie x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren x reader #armin x reader #x reader #black y/n #aot

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immoral-stranger · 5 months ago

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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it.

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers.

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up.

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.”

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath.

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl.

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common.

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations.

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him.

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound.

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.”

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter.

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat.

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting.

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink.

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it.

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall.

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen.

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove.

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly.

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan.

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.”

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?”

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that.

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.”

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have.

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.”

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?”

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task.

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.”

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared.

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste.

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again.

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?”

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes.

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion.

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles.

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere.

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story.

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia.

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed.

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.”

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water.

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions.

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others.

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned.

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon.

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared.

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop.

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.”

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.”

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.”

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.”

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month.

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone.

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again.

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend?

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted.

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.”

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door.

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him.

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening.

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him.

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.”

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly.

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle.

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.”

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket.

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress

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candyheartedchy · 1 month ago

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I'm sorry I really don't understand why you deserve the level of support you get in this community. You seem nice and all, but I never see you gifting anyone or interacting with others as much as some do for you. What did you do to deserve this while others get pushed out of the community because no one cares about them? Why do you get to sit there and get praised and gifted and interacted with while giving very little back? It's so genuinely unfair when so many people get shoved aside in this community. Selfshipping shouldn't have popular people. You should really consider why you got this support and maybe actually do something to help other people/send support their way or maybe just step down idk.

the fuck??

#im honestly lost for words #💌 letters 💌#anonymous

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pricesprincess · 1 month ago

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Hewwo 🥰 may I please have some cream pie w apple pie and hot coffe on the side?👉👈

18+ explicit smut + price and reader are married + hot wife + you fuck kyle + 1.7k wc

hello, and yes! this kinda went crazy because this is a fantasy come to life in writing and I swear this was hot tea so I'm glad I double checked lmao - prompts

This was crazy.

Unorthodox, truly.

Excitement zipped up your spine, as did heat that pooled in your belly like lava, causing your whole body to light up with the familiar kiss of desire, all because your husband, John, and his friends were watching you stand in front of them barely dressed like some sort of doll.

Not that you minded it because it made you feel beautiful to be wanted, lusted after like this, especially by four hot men, and one of them you get the pleasure of being married to. "John!" you whined.

He leaned back, melting into the couch with a pleased smile on his face, glad you made that bet with him a few days prior to this.

The bet?

Who could last the longest without touching one another?

You lasted all but a day when you said you could last a week, and John called your bluff; you were a handsy little thing. "Darlin'."

John mocked you with the same tone in his voice, making your face hot and your hands flex at your side, wanting to hide the way your tits almost spilled out from the bra. If he won, then you would have to try on some lingerie for his mates because they needed a pick-me-up.

Even though you acted like you didn't like it, you enjoyed the thrill from it and wanted to feel the power from making them want you.

As always, there was a safe word, and everyone knew it. The situation was very thrilling, making your nipples tingle tight with peaked need.

"If you don't behave, I'll let the boys take care of you." John murmured, leaning forward at the same time Kyle did, his eyes trained on your face and then down to the pebbled nipples.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "I'd think your wife would like that, Cap'n." Johnny nodded in agreement, a cute, lopsided grin plastered on his face as he appreciated the view in front of him.

Under the dim light you were covered by the shadows that played off your face, your eyes trained on John, feeling his and everyone else's gaze on you, but you only worried about your husband. "Maybe."

Your voice was sultry, and before you could really stop yourself, you were walking toward John, who was sandwiched between Simon and Kyle, who watched you quietly, enjoying the show between lovers.

With your arm hooked around his neck, you leaned in, teasingly brushing your lips against his before pulling away to look at Simon, who kept quiet the entire night, just observing until he spoke.

"Take it off." It was a simple command that had your clit throbbing.

You flushed again, knowing there was a secret between you, John, and Simon.

A few times you had a few drunken threesomes after he came over unable to sleep, and you and John would sandwich him on the couch.

The last one was just a few months ago.

Heated gazes dipped in liquid lust watched as you slowly pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders before reaching behind you to unclasp it, letting your full and swollen breasts fall free, aching for a touch. "Bloody hell," Kyle muttered beside John with a gulp.

There was rustling, palms rubbing against the rough fabric of their jeans trying to suppress their cocks from bursting in their boxers. Johnny whined from the love seat and leaned forward, boxing you in.

All four men pressed closer, filling the space with heat. John's fingers traced the under curve of your breast, loving the way your body responded, your flesh riddled with goosebumps and a soft sigh.

His fingers stroked your nipple, making you gasp and grip his knees, sending your hips to roll. "Workin' the poor thing up, Cap'n." Kyle rasped and watched the way your pussy strained against the sheer lace of your panties; they could all smell your sweet arousal.

Simon and Johnny were too busy watching the way you reacted to John to talk, even though the blonde man knew how you twitched when you were about to cum, your tight cunt choking his cock, drenching it in a creamy slick that you sucked off eagerly.

Your eyes locked with his for a moment as John's other hand cupped your cunt, his palm scorching against your already heated skin. "You'd be good for them, wouldn't you?" Your husband asked as his fingers curled around your jaw, his thumb hooked in your mouth.

He nodded your head for you with a dark chuckle, watching as you wrapped your lips around the digit and sucked while your hand reached for his belt, only for him to gently push them away with a tut.

"I think Gaz deserves a little somthin' for washin' up after dinner, don't you?" John asked with an encouraging nod as Kyle opened his arms wide, a toothy grin gleaming with white pearls hidden behind soft lips.

Kyle's hands were warm, different than John's or Simon's but not unwelcome; he held your waist and let you straddle his lap in nothing but panties. His heated gaze glued to your bare chest, you watched as he licked his lips and leaned in to latch his mouth on your nipple.

Your hands instinctively went to his shoulders, fingers curled in his shirt as you bucked your hips, rutting along the length of his throbbing cock beneath his jeans that you unbuttoned fast.

Lithe fingers had his zipper down next to tug his dick free, while his fingers slid beneath the ruined fabric of your panties to rub your swollen clit as his tongue swirled around your nipple, working you up.

Johnny had freed himself and was stroking his cock from base to tip, watching as you and Kyle got lost in your own world. He kissed his way up from your breast, letting go of your nipple with a wet pop to capture your lips in a searing kiss as you jerked him off.

It was so fucking hot in the living room you swore that the whole house would go up in flames. John leaned in, brushing his fingers along your back, letting you know he was here when you pulled back from Kyle with a string of spit between your swollen lips.

Kissing Kyle was erotic and thrilling while John watched.

This way he got to see the unbridled pleasure that washed over you, not with his own lustful gaze when he was fucking you, but this way he got to see how you fall apart in the deepest throes of bliss.

"Fuck me." You begged Kyle and looked at him, your eyes wet and shiny, clouded with need, and who was he to deny you?

He helped you sit up, the hot tip of his cock pressed against your fluttering hole, and Kyle could feel your slick coating him already as you eased your way down, letting his leaking head hit your clit.

You rocked your hips a few times and sat down inch by inch, your toes curled and jaw slack when he bottomed out, filling you with his thick cock that pulsed as you sat still for a moment enjoying it.

It wasn't until John stood up and rested his fingers over your throat, tilting your head back to look up at him with a wicked grin. "Ride him."

You told what you were told, humping Kyle with calculated moves that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head until he had your wrists pinned behind your back and his feet planted on the carpet.

Kyle fucked you from below with short, deep thrusts that stole your breath and made your tits jiggle in his face until he propped one foot on the coffee table, causing you to fall forward in his chest moaning.

Wet slaps and unrestrained groans filled the room as Soap moved to kneel behind you, watching as your cunt swallowed Kyle, puffy pussylips snug around his base. He mumbled something and stroked himself faster, squeezing just under the head with a muttered curse.

John and Simon knew the ecstasy Kyle was swimming in right now and watched the way you bounced in his lap, your head tilted back still as you looked at your husband while his friend drilled his cock into you like a well-oiled machine, hips flexing with his movements.

Your orgasm hit you like a train, blinding you with bright lights as you gushed around Kyle, choking on your whimper as John leaned down to kiss you roughly, his tongue gliding against yours.

Below you, Kyle kept pistoning his hips up, fucking you through your orgasm, his sack soaked in your sweet slick was sticky as it plapped against you in a crude way, making you squeal softly.

John moved back and gestured for Simon to scoot to the end of the couch so you could lay your head in his lap. Kyle was strong and shifted you on your back; his hands guided your legs over his shoulders, and his fingers played with your clit, grinning darkly.

Your husband now kneeled next to Soap and watched as Simon petted your head and gave the go to Johnny, who crawled over to where you were laid out, his hot mouth devouring your moans.

"My sweet wife likes all the attention, bein' touched, sucked, and fucked." John's voice floated to your ears, making your cunt clamp around Kyle's cock. His thumb brushed against your clit, making you tighten with a wet gush as his orgasm had his balls drawn tight.

Kyle pressed down on you, fucking you harder; his hips no doubt would leave a sore spot on your legs tomorrow as Simon watched you while Soap kissed you deeply, his tongue licking into your mouth eagerly and desperately.

He pulled out in time and shot thick ropes over your twitching cunt, gasping and panting, drenched in sweat. You groaned and reached out for John to wrap you in his arms and pulled you off the couch gently with Simon's help and cradled you in his arms, peppering your face with soft kisses. "You did a good job, darlin', took Gaz so well."

Ten minutes later, John had deposited you into the bath while the other men cleaned up the living room and joined you in the bedroom to bid you a goodnight, each of them kissing you, sealing the memory of the evening.

#💌love letter #minx writes #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod x you #john price smut #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x reader smut #garrick x reader #kyle cod smut #kyle gaz smut #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #call of duty

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lovesickletters · 3 months ago

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💜𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹ℴ𝓌 ℳ𝒾𝓁𝓀 𝒞ℴℴ𝓀𝒾ℯ | ℒℴ𝓋ℯ𝓈𝒾𝒸𝓀 ℒℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇💜

The long awaited next installment in the series is here! Thank you for the wait, and enjoy my loves 💜

(Item Description: A familiar blue seal in the iconography of an eye, that stares at you, unblinking. The letter itself is decorated similarly, with shimmering, shifting blue eyes against the black paper backing that you’re not entirely sure aren’t blinking at you out of the corner of your eye.)

Heeeey~! Welcome back! I see you’ve been waiting around for this one, what has it been, a year since the last one? Witches, you must be desperate! Well lucky you, your ever gracious puppet master is here to indulge you~ there’s no better way to kick things off (and end with) than with me, right sweetiepiedearestloveofmylife? (Revelations and all that mess~)

What, I hope you’re not thinking of reading any of those other lowlife cookies’s pathetic wittle wove poems? I mean, HELLOOO?? Why spend your precious time with those losers when you could be spending it with me? Seriously, while I can admire your dedication, your dedication is BOOORING. Stop wasting energy on those dullards, least of all that TRAITOR, Pure Vanilla, when I’m right here!

And speaking of whom, don’t you DARE show him this letter, or I’ll need to have a veeery friendly chat with the both of you, one. on. one! Got that? Yes? I’m so glad we could come to an understanding! Well, I’ll be seeing you around VERY soon~ byyye for now!

Omnisciently,

Your puppeteer, Shadow Milk Cookie

#still here are you? good~#while you’re here take a message to whichever cookie tries sending you a letter next #or better yet the ‘delightful’ person delivering these #i’m ALWAYS watching and I don’t take too kindly to someone else playing with MY toys #cookie run x reader #yandere cookie run #cookie run #🩸𝓎𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇ℯ🩸#crk x reader #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk crk #cookie run kingdom #💌 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ��ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇 💌#𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀

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mattslolita · 9 months ago

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꒰ dealer!chris sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have met bambi at some house party — you was a friend of matt's, so he was only somewhat aware of your existence; real sweet and innocent, you don't know the first thing about any drugs. you're in the bathroom trying to escape the noisy atmosphere around yourself, when chris stumbles in on you, a joint hanging lazily at the edge of his lips.

"woah, can you knock next time?!"

"m'sorry didn't know anyone was in here...hey what you doin' in here, anyway? s'your friends at?"

"matt's downstairs talking to some girl, i don't know-"

"matt? you know my brother? wait, aht, i got it, know who you are, now...y'eyes, got like a uh, bambi thing goin' on, y'know? gonna call you bambi, yeah?"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ never let bambi touch any drugs — he's dead set on making sure you prolong the innocence about you in that aspect.

"not even one hit? c'mon chris-"

"y'know the rules bambi, s'don't even try it. y'not takin' no hits of shit."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ chris keeps pink rolling papers, because bambi likes the color and it reminds him of your pink ribbons you wear in your ponytails.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have a specific playlist for when he takes bambi on deals with him — he's got dominic fike and marina playing throughout the car as you hum contently.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ have a glove compartment full of lollies and other sweets for when you're on deals with him. the sight of bambi's lips carelessly wrapped around a cherry lolly has his mind whirling.

"got any suckers for me today?"

"y'know where to find em', doll."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ spoil bambi all the time — he's buying you clothes, perfumes, and any little thing that reminds him of you.

"this top is cute, but i don't-"

"yeah, put it in the basket."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ not have a label on your relationship — bambi's a little naive and thinks might call you his, but he's not trying to label what you have going on any time soon.

"yo, isn't she your girlfriend? she's always with you."

"girlfriend? s'not my girlfriend, nah...she's my girl though, y'get me? not datin' or no shit, jus' my girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ always have bambi sat on his lap at parties — his hand drums in the innermost flesh of your thigh as he massages you, whilst the other hand diligently distributes to the awaiting palms of people.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ mad dog the fuck out of anyone who looks at bambi the wrong way — especially when you takes you on deals, he's seething with anger when a customer gets particularly too close to you.

"nice to see you, sweetheart, hopin' i'll see you more-"

"get the fuck away from her man, or i'm knockin' ya ass out where you stand."

"chris, seriously?"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ send bambi random fit checks + snaps to keep you updated when you aren't with each other. likewise, he makes you send the same back so he can keep track of where you are when he's not with you.

"new shirt, you like it?"

"it looks so good on you, baby!" ( he'd never admit baby drives him wild. )

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be affectionate to bambi in the most random ways — he's either got his arm slung around her, massaging her shoulder or he's got your legs resting atop of his own, massaging those whilst you scroll on your phone.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ always be kissing on bambi — forehead, cheek, arms, legs, anywhere he sees fit, really.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ make bambi wear his clothes when you stay the night at his place — he'll never admit that he loves the idea of having you in them, yet he can't resist the urge to smile when you're giggling sweetly about wearing them.

"i love this jersey! can i keep it baby, please?"

"y'know what, go head' sweetheart. looks good on you..."

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be extremely possessive in bed, especially if you're batting your eyelashes a little too much at a customer.

"he could never fuck you like this doll, could he?"

"f-fuck, no chris..."

"who's fuckin' pussy is this, huh? tell me who you fuckin' belong to."

"y-you, yours, fuck!"

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ love love love to give bambi backshots — you're at a party and he's horny? he's taking you upstairs to the bathroom, bending you over the sink.

"such a good fuckin' girl, takin' my cock like this..."

"look at yourself in the mirror while i fuck you, sweet girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ finger bambi in the passenger seat if you're getting too whiny and can't wait.

"please chris, need to feel you inside me..."

"so fuckin' impatient bambi, jus' can't wait? s'all you get, my fingers...make a mess on em' c'mon angel..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ definitely have a breeding kink — though, he knows damn well the idea of bambi getting pregnant scares him, so he keeps you with birth control.

"fuck, such a tight pussy...gon' make you a mama, yeah? wan' have my babies don't you, ma?"

"gonna look so pretty carryin' our fuckin' kids, fuck..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ love high sex with you — he's lazily thrusting up into you while you ride him, head thrown back in pure ecstasy, or

"ridin' me so well ma, look so pretty on top of me like this..."

✦ his lidded eyes watch in anticipation as you're down below on your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes while you suck him off.

"gah, shit mama, makin' me feel so good...keep fuckin' goin' thas my good girl..."

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ would love doggy — when you wear those short shorts around him, all he can think about is having your ass up in the air while he's pounding into you like there's no tomorrow.

✦ love missionary, too — it's a more intimate position, but he can't help wanting to see your fucked out expression while he's deep inside you, watching your ever changing expression while you feel him deep inside of you.

dealer!chris would . . .

✦ be a little bad at aftercare at first, but he's slowly getting the hang of it the more time he spends with you — he's cleaning you up and massaging you after you guys finish, and ordering food for the both of you whilst he smokes a joint for himself.

( lilly's corner 💌 )

dealer!chris are my roots guys, i'm gonna start writing for him again. dealer!chris & bambi!reader are my literal babies & i hope you guys enjoy them! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @guccifrog @fawnchives @cottoncandyswisherz

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chikaras-garden · 1 year ago

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Hi petal! May I request Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne dick headcanons? Like, size and width kinda thing? Thank you!

Sweet Jesus. Yes. Goodness. Oh my god.

DICK GRAYSON 💦

Not the longest. Not the girthiest. A pretty pink head that demands kisses. But the curve of his dick helps him reach places inside you that no one else could ever dream of. This is a cock that finds every spot that makes you squirm and scream—and then invents new ones, just to be sure no man has ever made you feel as good as he does.

He uses his whole body to fuck you. Hands cupping your cheeks, forehead against yours, breath fanning over your lips in between kisses. When he’s inside you, you’re two halves of one whole, and the point where your body ends and his begins may as well not exist. He’s so agile, so flexible; he’ll work as hard as is necessary to find every position that has you coming undone all over his cock.

Loves to stay inside you. He came so much, so hard, so fast—so he’ll just plug you up, you know? You don’t mind, right? He’ll be so impossibly gentle about it, too; laying on top of you, weight on his knees so he doesn’t hurt you, peppering little kisses up and down your face until his cock softens and slips right out.

DAMIAN WAYNE 💦

A cock so perfect that they should be making dildos based off of him. Very long. Very thick. Tanned and super veiny. Honestly, the worst part is that he knows this because he’s heard it a billion times. Praise does nothing to him after hearing so many people say he feels so good, that he splits them open just right—but the look on your face when he thrusts hard, fast, and deep until your eyes roll back in your head?

That has him feeling something he’s never felt before. He’s buried to the hilt inside you, you feel him all the way up to your lungs, and you reach down to grab his wrist and hold him right where he is. When your fingers wrap around him, he groans, seeing stars of his own. You reach around his hips and press your hands into his ass to pull him even deeper, and he starts forcing himself into breathing exercises to stop himself from coming right there.

Prefers you to come first. Also prefers when you have the time for both of you to come multiple times. He has a thing for coming on your tits first, and he’d love to come on your face if you’re into that, but sex isn’t finished until he fills you, duh.

@uc1wa I wasn't kidding

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne smut #batfam x reader #batfam smut #🌸— mine.#🌸— damian wayne.#🌸— dick grayson.#💌— letters for the gardener.#💋— anon.

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hischiershoe · 4 months ago

Note

“platonic sleepovers that somehow ends up with you waking up with their arms around you” & “sharing each other’s clothes (especially hoodies)” with nico <33

this was a teensy bit longer (1.9k words) than I meant but I hope you like it!

You'd known Nico for a few years, having met through a mutual friend back when you first moved to Jersey. The two of you hit it off so well that first meeting, that you ended up seeing him the following afternoon for lunch. From then on, he was one of your closest friends and someone you could always count on no matter what was going on. He was also someone you developed a not so tiny crush on, but of course, he didn't know that, and he never would.

More often than not, you'd find yourself at Nico's apartment when your schedule aligned with his, and tonight was no different. He had called you in the morning, asking you the same thing he always did before he was inviting you over in the evening for a small hangout with him and a few of his teammates. When you got off the phone with him, you'd spent the rest of your day thinking about him, which wasn't all that out of the ordinary anyway. He was always on your mind.

By the time you got to his place, your thoughts had slowed down enough that you were able to box your feelings up under lock and key and just be normal. Though, if you were being honest, you weren't entirely sure you were all that convincing based on the knowing looks from Nola or the subtle comments from Timo. Despite that, you just hoped that Nico was oblivious to their teasing and didn't suspect a thing.

"It's really coming down out there," Nico calls out to no one in particular as he stands by the window, "I don't think you guys should drive home in this."

"I don't think so either," Jonas agrees, moving from his spot on the couch to stand next to him, "It's supposed to get worse the next couple of hours."

You exchange glances with the girl to your left, and she was sporting the most smug smirk you had ever seen on anyone before. Your eyes widened in her direction, your face warming at her silent implication before you tore your eyes from her and stared at the ground. Usually, if you were going to sleep at Nico’s, you would take over the guest bedroom, but you couldn't exactly do that if Nola and Jonas had to stay over.

"You guys can stay here," Nico firmly states, looking over his shoulder to look at you, "You two can have the guest bed."

"I'll sleep on the couch," Timo chimes in, pressing his body further into the cushions.

"Timo, you live in this building," You point out, playfully raising your eyebrows at him, "You can just go back home. Besides, I'm taking the couch."

"No, you're not," Nico rushes out embarrassingly fast, earning the attention of everyone in the room. He clears his throat, avoiding the mischievous looks in his friend's eyes before he continues, "I can sleep on the couch. You can take my bed."

You quickly shake your head, rising to your feet and taking a few steps towards him as the others fade into the background, "I'm not taking your bed. I can sleep on the couch. I've done it before, it's pretty comfortable."

Neither of you hear Timo slip out the front door, or the couple tiptoe down the hall as the two of you bicker with each other about your sleeping arrangement. Nico isn't taking no for an answer, and neither are you, but eventually, the two of you settle on sharing Nico's bed. As friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. Friends share beds all the time, right?

As you follow Nico towards his room, you can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding in your chest. This was new territory for you. You knew this didn't mean anything to him, that he was just being the amazing friend that he is, but it made your entire world spin.

You'd been in Nico's room before, plenty of times, but it was always under far different circumstances. You stood near the end of the bed, watching as he shuffled the pillows around and adjusted the blanket so it was spread out evenly. It was impossible not to watch the way his biceps flexed with each movement, making your cheeks grow warm and your palms sweaty as you tried to shake away the images that flashed in your mind. You shouldn't be thinking that way about him, especially not right before the two of you sleep in the same bed.

When he was finished moving everything around, he shifted his focus to you, and he could see the apprehension clearly written on your face. He could see it in the way you furrowed your brows, in the way you were chewing at your lip, and in the way you were fiddling with your fingers. He couldn't help but think you only agreed to share his bed because you felt like you had to, and it made a small piece of his heart crack because he wanted to. He wanted to be close to you.

"Do you want to borrow a hoodie? I know you get cold in your sleep," He gently suggests as he carefully approaches you, his dark eyes shining even in the dimly lit bedroom.

"I do," You meekly murmur, holding his gaze for no longer than a second.

You hear him pad towards his dresser and pull open one of the drawers, but you don't move. You stay planted in your spot, unsure if you were supposed to take your side of the bed or wait for him to go first. It was silly; How nervous you were over something as simple as getting into a bed. But with Nico, everything was so much more than it seemed. At least for you it was.

"Here, you can wear this one," He called out from beside you, gingerly handing you the hoodie you always jokingly said you were going to steal one day, "I don't expect to see it again, though."

The light airiness to his tone made you relax as you playfully smack his chest before grasping at the fabric in his hand. His fingers brush against your own, sending a wave of electricity across every inch of your skin. You attempt to cover up your bashful reaction by promptly throwing the hoodie on and hurrying over to the nightstand to plug your phone in. The last thing you wanted was for you veil of normalcy to call and for him to see just the effect he had on you.

"Hey," Nico nervously calls out your name, forcing your attention back to him. He was hovering on the other side of the mattress, one of his hands nervously rubbing at the nape of his neck, "I think I'm going to go ahead and sleep on the couch, so you can have your space."

"No," You protest a bit too loudly, and you suddenly remember the couple across the hall from you. You know Nola’s going to tease you to no end when she finds out about this, "I told you, you're not sleeping on the couch in your home. If this makes you more uncomfortable, I'll go out there an-"

"It's not that," He swiftly interrupts, wanting nothing more than to reach over his bed and pull you into his chest, but he doesn't, "I only want you to be comfortable."

"I am," You affirm through a shaky breath, not able to break away from his piercing gaze, "I promise, I am."

"Good," He delicately breathes out, "Let's sleep then."

You slip underneath the blanket, making sure that you leave enough space between the two of you so you don't accidentally brush against him. As you're shifting in an attempt to get comfortable, Nico switches the lamp off and you welcome the darkness that envelopes you. Now, Nico won't be able to see how nauseatingly nervous you are, and you won't be distracted by his arms or the dimples that indented his cheeks.

Once you finally settle yourself in a way you like, you try and will yourself to sleep by squeezing your eyes shut, but the soft sounds of his breathing makes it hard. It makes you hyper aware that the very guy you’d practically fallen in love with was less than two feet away and under the same blanket as you. It makes it almost impossible to calm your mind, to let your brain relax enough so that you can sleep.

“Goodnight,” Nico softly mumbles, and you feel the tips of his fingers brush against your hip, but the touch was gone almost as soon as it came.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

When you wake up the next morning, you instantly pick up on the slightly uncomfortable feeling of an arm under your head, and the weight of another on your waist, keeping you pressed against the chest of the man who was just occupying your dreams. Your legs were tangled with Nico’s in a way that made it hard to tell where your body ended and his began. You weren’t entirely sure when the two of you ended up in this position, but you weren’t necessarily going to complain either. However, you knew if you stayed like this for too long, you’d let yourself grow hopeful for something that was never there.

“Nico, wake up,” You carefully nudge him, slightly wriggling under his hold, “Wake up.”

You feel him stir behind you before his fingers sre slightly pressing into your hip, his hold on you tightening as he mumbles, “Stop moving like that.”

If you thought you were flustered before, it was absolutely nothing compared to how you were feeling now. Your entire body heated up in embarrassment as a slew of apologies tumbled from your mouth, but Nico doesn’t let up his grip enough to let you move. He keeps you slotted against him, his breath fanning against your ear as your shudder under his touch.

“Nico” You swallow thickly, “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” He plainly states, “While I can.”

There goes that flame of hope flickering again, but this time he’s fanning it on his own.

“What do you mean,” You hesitantly ask, eyes fluttering closed as you slowly let yourself back into the moment.

“Before we’re just friends again.”

“Why do you so sound disappointed,” You test, your hand subconsciously grasping at his arm to keep yourself grounded.

“Because I want to be more,” He shakily admits as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, worried that he just ruined the best thing he’d ever had, but there was no going back now.

The flame was a full blown fire now and it was burning so brightly that it was almost blinding. The last thing you expected was to wake up in Nico’s arms, let alone him telling you that he wanted to be more than friends. It was overwhelming, dizzying, in all the best ways.

“Do you really,” You weakly whisper, slowly turning around that so you were facing him.

His eyes were still hooded from sleep, but they were still dancing across your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. He gently brings his hand up to your face, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen in your eyes before he cradled your jaw in his palm. The pad of thumb caresses the apex of your cheek as you peer up at him, gaze wide and pliant, waiting for him to say something.

“I do,” He reassures, the corners of his mouth twitching as he carefully brushes his finger over your lips, “I want to be as much as you’ll let me be.”

“I want you to be everything.”

#you just got a letter! 💌#from: unknown #nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #abby writes 💻

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