#will poulter fic
Text
just a taste
premise: meeting luca after work doesn't usually end up with the two of you in an intense lip lock, both of you knowing once you start it's hard to stop. but that's what offices are for, right?
pairing: luca x (f)reader
word count: 3.1k
contents: literally barely any plot here, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v, coming inside, established relationship, doing it at the workplace, teasing, dirty talk, pet names.
note: i know the bare minimum about this man because i’ve never seen the bear but those tattoos, the accent, the hair?? fill me like an eclair is all i have to say ok!
The cool breeze of the night air almost makes you regret not just heading straight home and slipping under the steam of a nice long shower and grabbing the first blanket you see on the sofa and planting yourself there for the rest of the night. Await your boyfriend's arrival under the comfort of cotton and cushion that he’ll surely plop down next to you on after he’s kicked off his shoes. His cold fingers finding you under the blanket to pull you close to his side, a string of kisses pressed along the side of your neck before finding your lips. The smell of yeast and sugar—embedded in his skin at this point—making you bury your nose into his collarbone.
But this was a ritual for the both of you.
You finishing your studies and then meeting him after work.
The two of you walking home together, barely making it through the threshold of your place before lips and clothes were being pressed together and thrown to the floor. Luca’s soft laugh at needing to shower. Thus always leading to your face pressed into the wall of the shower and Luca’s fingers digging into your hips as he thrust inside of you.
So that nibble of regret doesn’t last long when you come to a stop in front of his work. The makings of anticipation pull at the corner of your mouth as you grab your phone from your bag and start to text him to let him know you’re out front.
A text that’s barely on the last word when the breeze of the door is hitting you and making you look up, “you can go in. He's in the back.” a co-worker you’ve met a dozen times, but his name slips your mind as you give him an appreciative smile and thank him as you slip through the doors as he walks out.
You could enter the kitchen a dozen times—a million, a billion—your nose filling with that sweet aroma, Luca bent over a table, a dish, fingers deep in a ball of dough, the monochromatic uniform making his tattoos stand out on his skin like the most beautiful canvas, and you’d never get over the view.
Over how your insides react when you see him in his element.
See him doing what he loves.
It’s like the first time every time.
Just like the first time he dragged you into the kitchen after your tenth date. Showing you his own version of paradise. His love. His joy. The way his face lit up when your eyes brightened when you bit into the scone he had made—saved—for you. The euphoric sweetness a good dessert can do to one's brainstem is still a scientific mystery to you, but you’d gladly leave the research to the experts if you could experience it forever.
Taste Luca’s creations forever.
That memory seems like ages ago. Now well into two years of your relationship.
Nothing seems to fade with Luca.
Your first times feeling just as tortuous to your fluttering insides as the tenth or twentieth time around.
It knocks you off kilter in the best way.
And when you look over at Luca after dropping off your bag and sweater in an open chair, you can not help but laugh when he finally looks up from cleaning off the surfaces of the metal tables and that stone look of him being in chef mode falls from the creases of his face and his features melt into something soft.
He doesn’t say anything until his arm is around your midsection, drawing you in. “Hi, beautiful.” He smiles as your lips meet in a long kiss. Kissing you as if he hasn’t seen you in days, as if he has spent the entire day waiting for this moment and this moment alone. “How was your day?”
“Not as good as it is now,” you tease. Hand in the back of his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.
The hum that makes your lips buzz and that lands on your tongue as he backs you up so your back is pressed into the doorframe makes anything you could tell him about what happened in your day lackluster. Incomparable. How could you possibly think of anything worthwhile—how could anything be as worthwhile—as his tongue moving along your bottom lip, his hand at the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing a small circle into your skin?
It couldn’t.
"Let me finish cleaning up," he smirks. Thumb and pointer reaching for your chin, squeezing it, luring you in for one last kiss before returning to cleaning and leaving you dazed in the doorway.
And if you didn’t know how seriously Luca takes this, from the ritual of making pastries to maintaining a stern, clean kitchen, you would tell him to hurry. Complaining that it is not fair for him to kiss you like that and then make you wait for him to finish, but the payoff was always worth the wait. And you love Luca’s love for his craft. Love him in this element—watching him and seeing him go into that little part of his brain that makes him go into boss mode.
The stern gentleness of it all.
It’s breathtaking to watch.
It’s art.
He’s art.
So that’s what you do.
You push off the doorframe and enter further into the kitchen just to watch him.
“How was your day?” You ask while watching him write on the white board in the corner.
“Good. We got a new guy who came in.”
“Is he any good?”
“Better than he thinks he is.”
“I bet you brought out his best. You always do.” You smile at him when you watch him shrug off the compliment, not missing the twitch of the corner of his mouth. Ever so modest.
Wordlessly, he puts the cap back on the marker and sets it against the metal of the board, walking over to one of the refrigerators and pulling out a small bowl of something green and white.
Something that looks too beautifully crafted to eat, let alone eaten by someone who might not fully understand what went into making something so decadent—something that looks like it would be served to someone with a gold card, not someone who eats boxed mac and cheese for dinner twice a week (which Luca always tries to make fancier than Kraft ever could).
Luca hands you a spoon, “told him the only critic that mattered was sharing a bed with me.” You make a face, the both of you knowing how outlandish that sounds when the food genius himself is standing in front of you. The critic who mattered to a lot of people more than the girl who was sharing his bed.
But it still brings a smile to your face.
“Did he think you were utterly insane for such a statement? I think eating greasy takeout two nights in a row is five star dining.”
He chuckles, “you’re the only critic that matters to me.” His palms come down on the edge of the metal table between you as he leans against it. “The only important one at least. Try it.”
The swoop that runs through you from his words, from his eagerness to hear your thoughts on a dessert you do not even know the name of, but know you will appreciate more than anyone else because it came from someone he admires, makes your cheeks heat up.
And when it touches your tongue, when that euphoric sweetness overcomes your tastebuds, you don’t think the English dictionary could come in handy with describing the taste. The goodness of it. Compliments, which you know Luca and his fellow chefs have heard many times before and then some. But still bring that artist's joy to their chests when your eyes widen and you look at them in something akin to shock.
The moan you let out makes him grin.
“Good?”
“Is he single?”
“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” His arms cross over his chest, a playful brow raised.
You take another bite of the dessert, “I think you might want to start looking for another job.”
“And a girlfriend?”
You nod, “with something that tastes this good, I would give him my social security number easily. Oh my god.” You dramatically moan around the spoon, the action doing little to hide the simpering look on your face.
“Here I thought I was the only one who could make you spill such confidential secrets.” Luca strides across the table, coming to stand at your back. His lips pressing against the back of your neck and the top of your shoulder.
Finding its home where your collarbone meets the junction of your throat, where he lets his warm breath blow against the known sensitivity there, then presses his lips to it. Making your back push into his front, your body melting against him.
A soft noise lays dormant at the tail end of your throat, making a ghost of a smirk etch against your skin from his mouth as he murmurs, “and the only one who can make those noises come out of you.”
Your voice is breathy when you say, “so much for being humble.”
"When it’s the truth, I do not need to be humble." His lips trailing to your ear, fingers running up the back of your exposed thighs, pulling up your skirt until they are at the apex of your hip, skating forward and close to your clothed mound. “Am I wrong? Should we see?”
The spoon in your hand lucky you don’t have superhuman strength because it would be crushed in your grip right now.
Luca’s fingers splay themselves across your pelvis, toying with the top of your underwear. “Hmm, awfully quiet now. Where’d my mouthy girl go?” An airy chuckle tickles your ear as he lets it out, “humbled are you?”
There’s a teasing sneer forming on your mouth before it does a 180 and morphs into an ‘o’ as Luca’s fingers push into your underwear, the pad running through the clear as day arousal that’s been making your thighs clench uncomfortably since your kiss in the doorway.
When the finger moves against your clit there's no covering up the gasps that fall from your lips. Or the way your ass grinds against the erection that’s pressing up against it.
“Who’s humble now?” He teases. A cheeky grin on his face when he pulls his hand out from your underwear, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking it into his mouth. Making your cheeks heat even more when you turn to look at him. Your teasing turns needy as you give him that look, the one that always makes him drop whatever he is doing and have his body on yours within seconds.
You both know that making it home now will feel ten times longer. Ten times more agonizing in the cool air with your warming bodies.
With you soaking your underwear and him hard against his zipper.
So when he says “office”, all you can do is chew on your bottom lip in eagerness as you make a beeline towards it. Luca closer behind you than you expect when you hear the door shut seconds after you’ve entered and his mouth immediately on yours, your ass hoisted onto the nearest surface.
Luca’s fingers making quick work to pull down your underwear, your skirt bunched at your hips. You fully expect him to pull himself up from his knees after slipping the lace from your ankle and tossing it to the floor. You expect him to come back up and slide inside of you quick and easy, but instead he’s trailing kisses and bites into your thighs.
Blue eyes look up into yours, and he must see the need in them—that glint that tells him all you want is for him to be inside of you right now. The heady woes of foreplay just torture at this point.
His teeth sink harder into your flesh, making you gasp. “I’ve worked hard all day; don’t I deserve a treat? A taste of the best dessert out there.”
And how could you argue with that?
You can’t.
Not when his tongue runs from the bite mark in your skin to your wetness. Spreading you around him as he licks a stripe up your pussy. Your grip on the metal your ass is under hard and tight enough to leave marks against your palm.
And as crude as it makes you sound, as obscene and cocky as it comes off your lips, you will never hold back from telling Luca that his talent as a chef will never outweigh how good he is with his mouth and cock.
He’s multi-talented and it’s a blessing and a curse to your insides.
“Oh, fuck. Luca,” your head hangs between your shoulders. Your fingers in his hair, the heel of your shoe pressed against his back—his apron long gone, leaving him in that navy blue—his fingers digging into the side of your thighs as he keeps you against his mouth.
The mouth that’s switching between sucking your clit between his lips and rolling his tongue against it. Eating you like you’re the best dessert his tongue has ever had the pleasure of tasting.
It never takes him long to get you there. To make your chest heave and your nerve endings light up, as if they are about to make you panic from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that is completely taking over your body.
His fingers have created beautiful, mouth watering food, just as they’ve made you completely lose your mind. Your legs shaking around his head. Your back involuntarily bows until it hits the metal surface of the desk you’re perched on.
It’s when he slips two fingers inside of you that you completely lose it. The sob that pulls itself from your lungs feels red-hot in your throat as your fingers grip the strands of his blonde hair as you come against his mouth. Your hips riding out your high. Rolling against his tongue in a languid way, drawing out the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Your body still reeling and alight with that desire-train that still has it wanting more. That heavy ache between your legs that wants to be filled. To be fucked by something bigger and thicker than a finger.
Your mouth comes down on the tabasco tattoo below Luca’s wrist in a gentle kiss, one of your favorites of his, when his hand comes to cup the back of your head to pull you up to him.
His thumb runs from your cheek to your chin, where he pushes it up, so you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down at you as he stands between your legs. Your nails run along the tattoos along his arms, up his bicep, and to the nape of his neck. A fire burning in his eyes when your fingers run between the strands back there.
“Tell me,” he says close to your lips. He’s checking in. Seeing if you’re too spent for his cock, seeing if there's more you want. If you want to wait until you get home. If you’re ready for him now.
“It’d be cruel to not fuck me now.” You say it in a half-tease-half-serious tone.
“Ooh,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “I don’t want to be cruel.” You can feel his other hand move between the two of you, undoing the button of his pants and messing with the zipper until he’s pulling himself out of them, hard and leaking. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t give my girl what she so desperately needs?”
Luca smirks when you laugh into his mouth, “the worst kind.”
With one last kiss, lick, and nip at your lower lip, he’s rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your thighs shake. Nails dig into his skull as he soaks up your oversensitivity to coat himself before going lower and slipping inside of you in one slow, fluid motion.
Your mouth hung open at the stretch, and your breath caught in your lungs. Your foreheads resting against each other as you let your walls accommodate his girth, both of your breaths heavy. The pounding you can feel between your legs—that you’re not sure is coming from him or you or something more poetic and overwhelming like your conjoined bodies aching as one, like a heartbeat aches for a chest cavity when it’s torn from a body.
The two of you need this.
Need each other.
When Luca starts moving, you know the two of you are both completely fucked. Spent and so full of desire that you know your time in this office is just the start of a long night of tangled limbs and wet mouths.
The sounds you are making against each other's mouth are breathy and intoxicating. His tongue in your mouth swallows every mewl and moan he coaxes from your body with each stroke of his cock.
His fingers find the back of your head again, not allowing you to even think about leaving his mouth.
You think you see stars when his palm finds the back of your thigh and pulls your leg higher on his hips. Think you could let this man completely consume you, and you’d still never be satisfied. Never get over how good it feels to feel his hips drive deeper into you, to feel the head of his cock hit that spot inside of you that makes his name roll off your tongue like a prayer.
“Who’s pussy is it, baby?”
"Mm'fuck," you are not sure if he is still playing the game of you leaving him for the new chef or if his filthy mouth is attempting to completely destroy you—which is nothing new when he has you coating and tightening around his cock like this.
When you say his name, when you whine it into his mouth like a pathetic desperation, the erotic noise that it’s met with makes you cling to him tighter. Makes you press yourself closer to him. The movement makes the outside of his pants grind against your clit.
“So beautiful,” Luca murmurs. The octave of his voice grows lower and choppy with heavy breaths the closer he gets. Neither of you lasts much longer when his pace picks up. The grip the two of you have on each other is hard and rough, enough to tear and leave marks that you’ll later kiss with gentle lips, unlike the passion that’s coming through with the hard kisses your mouths are giving as you both come.
“How’d I get so lucky?” He breathes into your mouth, twisting your insides even more.
#luca x reader#will poulter x reader#luca the bear#will poulter smut#luca smut#luca x you#luca the bear x you#the bear#the bear fanfiction#will poulter x you#the bear fx#the bear one shot#will poulter fic#the bear x reader#will poulter#adam warlock smut#luca one shot#the bear imagine
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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.
***
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#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
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Anything you want - Luca x Reader One-Shot (18+ ONLY)
Content warnings: SMUT (18+ only), fingering, explicit language, dirty talk, slight choking (but not really)
Synopsis: Relationships are all about balance right? Luca lends the reader a hand after a rough day at work.
A/N: I can't stay away from my favorite baker for long 🤪 This was super fun for me to write, so I hope y'all enjoy it! My requests are wide open <3
WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND LUCA GIFS 🤒
"That poor pasta," Luca teases, watching the way you roughly knead the dough. It's his attempt at easing the tension in your shoulders, but he's met with a half-hearted sigh.
Normally, when you guys cook dinner together, the conversation flows and a warm energy fills the air. Tonight, he's lucky if he gets two words out of you.
"Sorry, it's almost ready for resting," you murmur, not catching onto his attempted joke.
He shifts around the large, marble island in your shared kitchen to stand beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, he watches the way your hands angrily work the dough, like a punishment. Reaching down to the lower cabinets, he grabs a large bowl, easing the dough out of your hands.
"Well, we should give it a half hour before you give it another beating," he jokes, wanting to see the light in your eyes again. He knows you had a rough work day, but you brush him off when he asks for details.
He figured your favorite meal might ease your stress, but he has another trick up his sleeve anyway. He goes to place the pasta in the fridge, your eyes following his path.
The worn, blue t-shirt, stretches across his muscular frame, a welcome contrast to his tanned skin. His loose pajama bottoms hang low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of his defined v-line as he turns to make his way towards you.
When you're in arm's reach, he loops an arm around your waist pulling you in close. His blue eyes drop to the dip in your tank top, briefly distracted by the way your chest presses against his own.
Before he can speak, you hungrily press your lips against his own, wanting to get lost in his affection. The surprise catches him off guard for a moment, before he's matching your actions. Your tongue brushes against his own, as your hands rake through his golden hair. Your nipples poke against his chest, causing the blood to rush towards his cock, but he can't ignore the elephant in the room.
"Woah, woah, woah," he gasps, pulling away to read your expression. Your full lips are parted when you stare back with wide eyes.
You attempt to pull away, suddenly feeling vulnerable, not used to your boyfriend denying you. "S-sorry", you stutter, feeling embarrassed by your actions.
"It's okay, babe, really," he asserts, reassuring you in the way pulls you back into him. "I just want to know what's bothering you. I hate to see you upset," he confesses, stroking your lower back beneath your tank.
The frustration builds again, and you know you shouldn't take it out on your boyfriend, but he's only making you feel worse.
"I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" you snap back at him, pulling out of his embrace. You all but stomp away, finding a nonexistent flaw in the counter tops to pick at.
Suddenly, you're enveloped by warmth as Luca hugs you from behind, pinning you between his firm body and the oversized island. It's meant to be a comforting embrace, and it is, but you're slightly distracted by his hardness pressing against you.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, chin resting atop your head, "I don't mean to push you to talk when you aren't ready," he soothes, gently swaying your bodies side to side.
"It's okay. I'm sorry I snapped at you like that," you respond. He dips his head to press apologetic kisses into your neck. The sensation causes a tingle in your lower tummy and goosebumps spread along your skin.
"It's just stupid work stuff. I'd rather focus on something else," you sigh as his hands ghost over your hips. You gently push back against him, nuzzling into his strong chest.
You're met with the subtle grind of his hips against your backside. Both of your pajama bottoms suddenly feel like a barrier between the two of you. You're feeling warm all over, needing more of whatever your lover has to offer.
"Anything you want," he places a kiss behind your ear, "it's yours". You attempt to turn around in his arms, but a gentle squeeze of your hips keeps you trapped in place. His movements are more intentional now, his slow grind making your panties dampen.
"Anything?" you huff out, pushing back to meet the growing bulge that's pressing against your ass. He murmurs a confirmation, sliding his hands up to your breasts, toying with your nipples through your thin top.
"Do you want my hands here?" his voice rumbles in your ear, rough hands massaging your boobs. He cradles the flesh, before using his thumbs to bring both nipples to a peak.
A soft moan eases out of your lips as he moves to tease you under your shirt, drawing circles around your senstive nipples. He dips his head down to suck on the side of your neck, causing that warm shiver to roll down your spine. Your body further relaxes against his own, lulling your head back.
"Answer me, sweet girl," he chides, the commanding tone in his voice making you even wetter.
"N-no, not there," you gasp out, just as he softly tugs at your nipples.
"No?" he playfully mocks, making his way towards the band of your pants. Goosebumps follow the path of his hands, anticipation building in your stomach. You can't help the moan that slips out when he dips his hand into your pants, stroking you over your panties.
"Oh, maybe you wanted me here," he chuckles, using his middle and index fingers to tease the outside of your pussy.
"S-shit, yes," you huff, hips messily grind upwards, needing more friction. You reach out to grab the island, steadying yourself.
He pulls you back towards him, needing to feel your body against his own. He uses one hand to toy with your nipple again, while the other finally dips into your panties.
"Fuck, I should've known my sweet girl needed me to rub her little pussy, hmm?" he coos, dipping into the wetness at your entrance. He drags his fingers upwards to toy with your nub.
You're hot all over, unable to focus on anything that isn't Luca. The hard length of him pressing into your ass, like he can't wait to get inside of you. The way his rough hand pinches and massages your breast, adding to your pleasure. The borderline overwhelming feeling of his fingers drawing slow circles on your clit, making your eyes roll back.
"M-more, Luca please," you beg, grinding your clit against his calloused fingers. He presses a hot, opened-mouth kiss to your neck that makes you whine out.
"I know, baby, I'm going to give it to you," he soothes.
His fingers are firm against your clit now, the pressure building in the pit of your tummy. He uses one hand to lift your top over your boobs, the cold air making your nipples tighten, as you clench around nothing.
"Fuck, look at those pretty tits," he groans out, earning a louder moan from you, as he sucks on the sensitive area of your neck. You can feel the way his eyes are locked on your boobs, like he's in a trance, and it makes you feel even sexier.
He strokes you up and down, messily spreading your wetness around, toying with your entrance. He chuckles when you whine, unable to take any more teasing.
"Ugh, shit," you sigh, finally feeling the stretch of his finger inside you. He's using a thumb on your clit now, slowly stretching you open with his pointer finger.
"Do you like that, darling?" His deep voice voice goes straight to your core, his accent thickened by arousal.
"Y-yes, I love it." Your high pitched whine makes him even harder, bucking his hips into the plush of your ass.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, the huffs you're letting out making it harder for him to focus. You cry out, his filthy words pushing you towards the edge.
Both of you are panting now, but Luca's determined to keep his attention focused on you. He eases another finger into your entrance, just as your walls flutter around the first.
"You like that? Like the way I'm stretching you out?" You cave at his words, leaking wetness into his wide palm. Your walls start to clench around him, a telltale sign of your incoming orgasm.
"Yes, shit, I'm getting close," you slur, only able to focus on the smooth glide of Luca's fingers and the steady pressure against your aching clit.
"Come whenever you want to, baby, you deserve it." The unexpected softness in his voice makes you clench around his fingers, the waves of your orgasm coming in.
Luca speeds up, drawing tight circles on your bud, making it hard to hold off your orgasm. As you turn your head to the side, you're met with a heated kiss. His tongue snakes into your mouth, stroking against your own. He uses his other hand to cradle your neck, applying a gentle pressure there, knowing it'll send you over the edge.
You're dizzy with lust when the cord snaps, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Luca swallows your moans, like he can't get enough, his mouth delving into yours. Both of you messily work your tongue against the others. Your soft whimpers are making him feel lightheaded.
Your orgasm feels like it's lasting forever, Luca slowly fucking you with his fingers to maximize your pleasure. He eases off of your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you.
By the time you've come down from your high your head rests against his chest, panting from your orgasm.
"Well, fuck," you giggle out, feeling lighter than you have all day. The rumble of Luca's chest behind you only making you laugh harder. He feels the relief all over his body, finally seeing that smile back on your face. Well, maybe not all over.
You're spinning around in his grip, reaching for his waistband before his mind can catch up.
"Maybe we'll just order in tonight," is the last thing he hears before he's closing his eyes, relishing in the feeling of your hand stroking his length.
..................................................................
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#the bear#the bear fx#will poulter#the bear fanfic#the bear smut#the bear fanfiction#luca x reader#luca the bear#pastry chef luca#will poulter fanfiction#will poulter x reader#will poulter smut#will poulter fic#the bear season 2#will poulter imagine#will poulter fanfic#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics
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A-Z NSFW Headcanons | Adam Warlock
Pairing▹ Adam Warlock x f. reader
This fic contains ▹ smut (title says enough), GOTG Vol. 3 spoilers!, lightly beta'ed writing
Word Count ▹ 1.8k
Notes ▹ No one asked but here are some sexy headcanons for my new fave mcu himbo. Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed! 😊
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Adam’s main priority is making sure that you are always taken care of, especially during sex. He’d make sure your skin was free of cum and he’d clean it off with a warm rag or his mouth. Then, he’d massage and kiss the areas that were more sore before cuddling you in his strong arms.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite body part on himself is his hands. He loves how they shape your face while he’s caressing your face before kissing you. Adam has learned to be quite talented with his hands. From holding your waist while deeply kissing you to squeezing your breasts and lightly flicking your nipples until you’re whining. When his fingers found the sweet spot in your pussy, it was over for you. Seeing you coat his fingers with your wetness always drove him insane.
Adam’s favorite body part on you is your eyes. The first time he gazed into yours, he knew he was madly in love with you. He loved the way they glimmered before pressing his lips against yours. What really turned him on was how you would bat your eyelashes and stare at him with doe eyes while sucking his cock. The same goes when he’s pounding you into the mattress and your eyes start to roll to the back of your head before reaching that blissful finish.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
As mentioned previously, Adam gets pretty aroused just from seeing you gush all over his fingers. After the first time you came from being fingered, he was really curious about the dripping fluid. He’d wiggle his fingers around, playing with your cum in fascination before sticking his middle finger into his mouth. It was the hottest thing you have ever seen.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Adam is an innocent character, so he is naturally curious about a lot of things. For example, he has wondered what it’s like having multiple partners. Adam was shy about wanting to bring a third or even more partners in the bedroom. You immediately reassured him that he has nothing to be nervous about because it was something you have wanted to experiment with even before meeting Adam.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Well, considering that he prematurely hatched from his cocoon, he isn’t experienced at all. And it’s not like he had much time with his mother to have learned about sex. Regardless, he learned everything just from dating you. As someone who was very eager to please, Adam caught on pretty fast.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Adam is clearly strong so he can easily pick you up and fuck you while he stands. The way he ruthlessly bounces you up and down his cock causes you to see stars. Adam likes how the position allows you to be really close. He’ll grip your hips while you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your foreheads against one another. You’ve also experimented with a standing 69, a position you both are growing more fond of.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Adam has his fair share of goofy and serious moments. He used to be very serious while fucking you, mainly because he was adamant about making sure he was doing it right. Along the way, you helped him relax more and he’d crack a joke or two. Sometimes, Adam would get tongue-tied because of how overwhelmed he was with pleasure, causing you to giggle and kiss him on the nose.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
When he was created, it wasn’t in The High Evolutionary’s intentions to give him hair. Therefore, he’s free of any body or facial hair. At least he has a silky head of hair that often gets tossed during battles and more so during sex.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
It’s no exaggeration that Adam is head over heels in love with you. Even when he is deep inside you, Adam will never turn down an opportunity to show any signs of affection for you. He could have your legs propped over his shoulders and he’ll still lean down to kiss you tenderly.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Adam is the type to hump the pillow to get off. Before you started dating, he found you grinding against your pillow and the sounds that came from your lips were music to his ears. That same night, he tried it himself and, well, he was well rested the next day. He only does this when you are away on a mission and misses you.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Adam LOVES being praised. He will do anything to make you happy and hearing the positive feedback from you makes him giddy and full of love. When you tell him he is fucking you so so good, it is the perfect motivation for him to continue doing what he’s doing.
He also may or may not have a Mommy kink.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Honestly, y’all will fuck anywhere and make it work. However, Rocket has made it clear to both of you not to fuck on the spaceship. Has it stopped you from sneaking to the back of the ship for a quickie? Absolutely not. But what Rocket won’t know won’t piss him off, right?
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Watching you kicking ass on the battlefield is enough to get him riled up. Adam knows that violence isn’t always the answer, but he finds it sexy when you are covered in the sweat and blood of the enemies (or just anyone that pisses you off).
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Adam would not want to do anything that would hurt you. He has hurt the guardians in the past and he did not like the consequences that came with it. So anything along the lines of choking or slapping you is not for him. He’ll playfully smack your ass, but he’ll never do anything more than a little love tap.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He loves receiving just as much as he loves giving. Hence why 69 is one of his favorite positions with you. Adam loves flicking his tongue along your slit, tasting your wetness which makes his cock strain in his pants. Just that alone will have your legs shaking and you’re pushing his face closer to your pussy.
When he’s on the receiving end, Adam is a whimpering mess. For a man as strong and powerful as he is, he can easily crumble the moment your lips wrap around the tip of his cock. He’s groaning your name, tangling his fingers in your hair, and begging you to suck him harder and faster.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
It depends on the mood. Adam can read your body language like the back of his hand so he’ll know when to be rougher and when to be softer. He tries not to be too rough because he doesn’t want to hurt you.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Adam quite enjoys quickies. Fucking you right before a mission is a perfect mood-setter for him and he feels less nervous about heading into it. He’ll have a bit more bounce to his step and the other guardians will be side-eyeing each other as to what has got into Adam.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)
Adam typically is down for anything in the bedroom and has tried things that none of your past partners ever wanted to think about. He asks a lot of questions about certain things before deciding if it’s something he wants to try, not so much out of nervousness but out of pure interest.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Again, he’s basically a god so Adam can last a couple of rounds.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He doesn’t have any toys himself, but he has come across your hidden collection of toys. You showed him how each one works by putting on a show for him. After the visual demonstration, Adam will often ask to use the vibrator while he’s pounding you from behind. He also likes fucking you while you wear your butt plug with gems that match the one on his forehead.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
At first, you were the one who did all the teasing, mainly because Adam wasn’t experienced in that field. You loved whispering dirty things in his ear while he was training and the moment he’d get distracted, you’d run away giggling like a little girl.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Oh, he is very loud! Adam is a delicious mix between a moaner and a grunter. The way his accent sounds while moaning your name is a sound that will forever alter your brain chemistry. But the sounds he makes while cumming are your absolute favorite and you are lucky to be the reason he makes those beautiful noises.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Ever since Rocket introduced him to music, Adam has been making playlists nonstop. He made a mixtape for you to confess his feelings for you. And of course, he made a sex playlist for you. His favorite song to fuck you to is "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
The High Evolutionary created Adam with the intent of making him the “perfect man”, so he is a substantial size.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Adam isn’t really needy. Over time, he’s gained more self-control so he doesn’t crave sex as much as he did after the first time with you.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Adam doesn’t fall asleep that easily. His ever-growing soundtrack tends to keep you both up even after many rounds. The sound of his voice singing some 70s love songs will put you to sleep before he does. He always makes sure to kiss your face before he succumbs to slumber.
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#adam warlock#will poulter#guardians of the galaxy volume 3#gotg vol 3#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock x you#adam warlock smut#adam warlock headcanons#adam warlock fic#adam warlock fanfiction#adam warlock imagine#will poulter x reader#will poulter x you#will poulter smut#will poulter imagine#will poulter fic
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Heyy, can I request a will poulter imagine since you do fanfics for 🧍🏾♀️. Ig a long distance scenerio that as lot of angst but end in either fluff,smut or angst I’m down for anything. I’m just thankful for a poc writer honestly 😭
Imagine you are in a relationship with Will but both of your work schedules are pushing you further apart. The distance begins to cause a strain on your relationship, leading to a fight that might end your relationship..or is it?
warning: 18+ only, language, smut, oral(f receiving), unprotected smut(wrap it before you tap it), you said you were down for anything lol, established relationship, slight angst, no beta reading cause I'm a thug, y/n is a black reader but woc/poc are welcomed🤎
You and Will rarely fight.
Sure, you two have had disagreements but those never escalated further. There's no yelling or backhanded comments, if anything, you both learned very easily on in the relationship that you both hated going to bed angry and always made it a point to talk out your problems together and come to a peaceful resolution.
So why haven't you heard from him in over a week?
The last conversation ended in a heated fight over FaceTime. It was going on close to a year since you last saw each other in person - not like it wasn’t anything that you two weren’t used to but this time around, your schedules made it damn near impossible to even call, especially being in different time zone.
You didn't want to admit it but it was hard - and as you lay in your hotel room, you couldn't stop the ache that's been slowly building in your chest. You hated fighting with Will and especially hated it had you questioning you own relationship but it felt like you were the only one trying!
Will joining Marvel and becoming apart of the MCU was a big deal and you couldn’t of been any more prouder of him than you already were. He was working hard, you knew that, but you still couldn’t help but feel a little neglected and when there was finally a free week in your schedule, you made sure to tell him.
It was only a week and you missed your boyfriend like crazy, so you were going to make it work. That was until he broke the news to you, reshoots. You were hurt, crushed really, and from the other side of the screen, you could tell he was too. It wasn’t Will’s fault, you knew that but couldn’t hide the sadness anymore. You let it out, and in turn, he rightfully defended himself. Looking back on it now, it was a stupid fight but in that moment, you angrily ended the call and turned off your notifications for the night.
'A few days to cool off is needed' you thought to yourself on set but before you knew it, one day turned into three and soon enough you were in your hotel room getting ready. You had glanced down at your phone, thinking about shouting a text first but your pride wouldn't let you and with a new reason to be upset all over again, you left the room and got your Uber.
It was the wrap-up party for a mini-series you were working on with HBO or should you call it Max? You didn’t know and frankly tonight, you didn’t really care, the only thing on your mind was Will. You scan the room as cast and crew mingled about. You should be celebrating with them, enjoying completing a project you spent years writing and having a great team to back it up but right now, you just wanted to be alone.
Stepping out to the private balcony, you breathed in the summer night before taking in the view. The restaurant that production rented out allowed you a decent view of the skyline and enough height to see people walking below or coming to dine in and as you people watch for a split second, a familiar figure just down the street looking slightly lost.
"Will?" you squinted, getting a better look and seeing that it was in fact, Will, and you quickly called out to him before finally getting his attention.
"Surprise!" He shouted and you tried to stop the smile from growing on your face but you couldn't help it.
"What are doing here?"
"Surprising you!"
You didn't have much to say after that, all the anger and pent-up frustration all but faded and you wanted nothing more than to ditch this party and spend it with him.
So you did.
On the way back to your hotel, Will let it slip that you had to bride your assistant to give him the location and when you asked why he didn't just call you, Will sheepishly pulled out his cracked open, scratching the back of his head. "Kinda messed around and broke my phone on set the other. I had my manager book my flight and everything."
You could of swoon.
It was quiet as you enter your hotel room, Will shut the door behind him as he watches you carefully. He doesn't know why, but he felt nervous, maybe it was because this was the first time you'd been in the same room in close to a year.
"So, um I-"
"Listen, baby, I'm-"
You both rush to speak, smiling slightly as some of the tension leaves the room. Will stepping closer until he was sitting next to you and naturally, you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry." You whisper softly, not wanting to break this bubble.
A sigh leaves his lips, "I should be the one apologizing, Y/n.
"Can we just agree that this fight was super dumb and forget it happen?" you glance up at him smiling softly at you as he pulls you closer.
"Forget about what?"
You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. "And thank you for coming all the way here too, it really means a lot."
Will places a gentle kiss against your forehead before pulling back slightly as he takes in your beautiful features. "I really was trying to surprise you."
A smile graces your lips, "and you did surprise me, really."
"Maybe I should get a reward for my brilliant plan."
"And what kind of reward were you looking for?"
"Hmm, a kiss should suffice."
You were giggling now, "I think I should be the one asking for a kiss."
Will quirks a brow, an amused smirk playing on his face as he shifts in his seat before easily pulling you onto his lap. "Really now?"
You innocently nodded your head before letting out a playful sigh, "Yeah, I was left all alone, broken-hearted and sad-" a surprised yelp leaves your lips as your easily picked up and tossed over Will's shoulder without even a second thought, yelping again when you feel his hand give your ass a quick slap before he places you on the bed, lips meeting in a kiss that quickly turned heated.
The dress and heels you wore were taken off with ease but you couldn't say the same for your panties which were practically torn from your body and Will's lips kissing down your body until he reaches your wet center.
The sounds that tumbled out of your pretty mouth had him groaning into your core, earning another whine and buck of your hips to meet his hungry mouth.
"Yes, p-please ahh, more!" you begged as your fingers tangled into his hair and tugged on his roots. You were already sensitive from being pent up for so long that you felt everything he was doing to your pussy; his flattened tongue rubbing over your throbbing bud before wrapping and sucking on your clit as his finger pumped into your sobbing core. You were breathless and started feeling way more exposed than you even realized getting lost in the feeling of his mouth and feeling the heat rushing from your ears down to the tip of your toes that it takes you a few seconds to realize that Will stopped his movements.
You quickly tug at the end of his shirt, "You got too many clothes on." Will chuckles, sitting up between your parted thighs and easily discarding his shirt as you take him all in.
"Better?" He asked but you quickly shook your head and he caught on quickly, getting out of his jeans and briefs, and you were finally blessed with seeing his harden length after so long you could cry. You were just reaching for it when his much larger hand stop yours, "Later, darling, I really need to be inside you right now."
You could see the neediness in his eyes, stroking his cock at just the thought of finally being inside you were breaking his cool, and honestly, you didn't want to wait anymore either. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as your legs spread for him. The tip of his cock brushes against your dripping folds and you can't help but moan, raising your hips to catch more friction. That's when he eases into you, both gasping at the stretch that had your walls already squeezing him in more.
"So tight," Will groans, his face buried in your neck that his breath tickles your skin, raising goosebumps. He eases into you some more and your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back as your nails dig into his back but he doesn't seem the least bit fazed from the marks you were giving him while you try to keep your wits end.
Will soon pulls back, his large hands traveling down your quivering body until he's pushing your thighs back unable your knees are touching your chest in a gasp but he doesn't stop his thrust. His eyes flickering lower to watch his cock sink deeper into your wet pussy, the slick sounds coming from your tight was starting to drive him mad.
"Fuck, I might just cum right now," he whines, his cock hitting your spot just right you were starting to see stars. "you're so good to me, baby. so pretty taking my cock, yes!"
He usually wasn't this vocal but you weren't complaining, responding back in whimper and moans since you feel your brain turning to mush when he slows his pace but thrust deeper.
Will drinks in your appearance. You look so beautiful with your face contorted with pleasure, your eyes half closed and your glossed lips parted with sweet-sounding moans, and the louder you got, the more tempting the thought of fucking you all night was in the stars. He closed the gap between the two of you and kissed you. It was hungry and messy with all tongue and teeth. The hand that wasn't on your tit moved to your clit, rubbing quick circles on your swollen nub.
You clamped around him even tighter feeling his hand and with the way you were moaning into his mouth, he knew you were going to cum and he wasn't far behind either. Your fingers tangled in his hair once you broke the heated kiss, forehead touching
"That's it, baby, cum for me. Cum all over my cock." He strokes deeper, leaving you panting more as you dig your nails into his shoulders, and from the low hiss leaving his lips, you're sure you broke skin this time but you didn't care, not when your eyes fluttered shut, body shooked underneath him as your orgasm ripped through you in waves after waves. "C-Cumming! I'm cumming!" His pace was unrelenting, giving your more deep thrust until he buried his cock deep inside you, flooding your tight walls with his cum.
It was quiet aside from you two catching your breath. He gently drops your legs as he steadies himself on one arm, he uses his other hand to caress your cheek, your eyes meet his gaze a soft smile grew on both your faces.
"I love you."
"I love you too, more than you'll ever know."
You and Will rarely fight but when you do, you two are always making up in the end.
@penny44224
#will poulter#will poulter x black reader#will poulter x reader#will poulter smut#will poulter imagine#will poulter fic#black reader#woc imagine#black reader imagine
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MDNI. you were sent to copenhagen to learn from the best pastry chef. little did you know that he was willing to teach you lessons beyond the realm of baking. 1.1k.
cw female masturbation, power imbalance
the sweet aroma of vanilla bean and molasses enveloped you as you tugged the blanket higher upon your body, the warmth and comfort of the soft bed soothing the knots and aches of your muscles.
you had been working nonstop since you're arrival to copenhagen— your working days had consisted of fourteen hours on your feet in the kitchen of your mentor while the rest of your hours were spent nonstop reading and researching various recipes. you had been sent to copenhagen by your boss to learn from his former co-worker and close friend.
you had been overjoyed, ecstatic even, to learn and work hands-on with such an amazing chef. yet upon your arrival, your excitement had been quickly replaced with dread— not for baking, no. but for the chef himself.
he was closer to you in age than you had expected— a handsome fellow with wavy blonde hair and various tattoos decorating his arms. he was quiet and dedicated yet very assertive in the kitchen. his tone had been dominant and blunt since he began his lessons with you, unable to hold his tongue while providing clear yet merciless feedback on your baking. he never yelled at you, though, refraining from doing so out of respect for your person, an action you rarely saw in your profession.
life after work had not been much better since you had been forced to stay with him— the rate of hotels and local bed n' breakfasts having been far too high for you to able to afford both a flight ticket and hotel arrangement for your trip. luckily, he had offered you his bedroom, allowing some divide between your personal life and his own.
and, as you lay there in your temporary boss's bed that night, your mind began to wander against better judgment. it had been far too long since you had any relief, far too long since you had felt an ounce of euphoria. hours upon hours of working had taken a toll on you, you thought as your hands drifted beneath the fabric of your large pajama shirt, you deserved this.
without another thought, your hands began to tweak your pebbled nipples, tugging and pinching at the sensitive buds as heat pooled at the base of your cunt. you rolled your head to the side, cheek pressed flat into your chef luca's pillow in a poor attempt to muffle your moans. one hand began to drift down, trailing lightly over the length of your stomach before slipping under the covers of your pajama shorts. your mind drifted to the sleeping chef on the other side of the wall.
you thought of his strong and tattooed arms. the sight of his tattoo sleeves had been an object of your desire, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as the idea of tracing the outline of the illustrations with your tongue flashed through your mind. your mind then fixated on his large hands— those long and girthy fingers making your cunt flutter around emptiness. you pondered on how they would feel buried deep into your cunt, if they were as skilled with toying with a woman's pussy as they were crafting orgasm-inducing baked goods.
the light of the bedroom flickered on as your fingers slipped into your wet slit, your walls clenching around your far-too-small index and middle fingers as the bright warm light blinded you. your cheeks grew hot as you made eye contact with chef luca, your mouth dry and muscles stiff.
at that moment you realized how inappropriate your actions were— here you were stuffing your cunt full at the idea of sleeping with your boss while lying in his bed. you were almost positive that he was going to kick you out at this point. you wouldn't blame him either— you much rather have a pervert sleep on the streets than sleep just a few mere feet away from you.
"i— luca— i can explain." you rushed out, retracting your hand from the depths of your walls not quickly enough. you couldn't help the rush of heat to your cheeks nor the clench of your cunt at the sight of his relaxed posture. wait, relaxed? why was he so relaxed?
"you look like you've seen a ghost, love," luca smirked, the thickness of his british accent ever present. he crossed his arms over his chest, biceps flexing through the thin grey shirt he had donned. with his legs crossed at the ankles and his body leaning against the door frame, he continued to taunt you with a knowing look in his eyes.
"don't stop on my account, pretty girl," he readjusted the grip on his arms, your eyes shamelessly drifting down to the tent growing in his plaid pajama pants. "i thought i had heard a noise and figured i'd check on you— glad i did now," he stated.
"have i been working you too hard, darling? body too sore and in need of relief that you felt the need to touch yourself," he raised a questioning eyebrow. "in my bed?"
you were too stunned to speak, your mind going blank as you processed the situation. you couldn't help but get wetter at the prospect of your boss finding amusement in your situation.
"pull the blankets down." luca ordered sternly, your hands moving quickly to follow his instructions. your body was performing on autopilot, all sense of self-esteem having gone out the window. "remove your shirt." he then instructed.
the cold air nipped at your chest, your nipples hardening even further under the weight of his gaze and the frosty atmosphere. "what were you thinking about while you touched yourself, hm?" luca questioned as he pushed his body off the door frame. his steps were slow and calculated, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he crawled into the bed space in front of you. "were you imagining this? imagining me walking in— catching you?" he taunted, fingertips brushing over the bare skin of your ankle.
within the span of a second, luca's fingertips had wrapped around the width of your ankle, tugging your body close to him and pinning you beneath his weight. he had situated his body between your legs, eyes fixed on you like a predator. any words had been lost to you, not that you would be able to find the right words to say anyway. like always, luca had left you speechless.
"tell me, pretty girl," luca's body hovered above you, hands pinned to the bed by either side of your head while he trapped you between his legs. his eyes grazed over your bare chest, drinking in the delectable sight of your breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath.
"do you want me to teach you another lesson?" he asked, one of his hands shifting to cup the underside of your breast. he squeezed at the plump flesh, expertly kneading at the fat of your breast like it was made of dough.
"yes, chef."
#˚ ༘♡ 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬#꒰ luca ꒱#the bear fx#the bear hulu#the bear x reader#the bear x you#the bear x fem reader#the bear fanfiction#luca x reader#will poulter x reader#luca the bear#will poulter smut#luca smut#luca x you#luca the bear x you#will poulter x you#the bear one shot#will poulter fic#luca one shot
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it's raining | will poulter x reader
Masterlist
summary: a cutesy little drabble about will picking you up while it's raining
wc: 852
a/n: these are so much fun to write...do you guys like these little drabbles about will being a hopeless romantic?
\𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨’𝗗 left for your meeting earlier, you'd feel so excited to feel the sun shining on your face that you'd slipped your cute leather flats onto your feet, glad they were black and matched your outfit. With a blazer thrown over a cute blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, you were the picture of chic professionalism, perfect for the meeting that you were presenting at. Your work at a talent agency right outside Hollywood was not only enough to pay the bills and then some, it also gave you the chance to help build up young actors. The more representation your talent agency got, the less bogus talent agencies would thrive. That's why you worked so hard in your marketing job: you wanted to get the talent agency's name out there.
Your car was currently in the shop getting a new door after some idiot had t-boned you and completely crushed the passenger side back door the week before. You were fine; just shaken, but your car was a different story, so now your boyfriend, Will, was acting as your chauffeur. You'd tried to protest and say it was too much work for him, but he was in town anyway for several award ceremonies, so you let him drive you around. It had only been in the last year that he'd learned how to drive; you'd taught him yourself, but he was surprisingly good at it for being so new to it.
Though, maybe he was just extra careful when you were in the car. Come to think of it, he did always refer to you as ‘precious cargo.’
Your presentation had gone smoothly, your words flowing like honey as you successfully pronounced every word, even the ones you'd had to review a million times the night before. Will had stayed up extra late to help you prepare even though he had to be functional today, and it warmed your heart to think of his kindness. He was such a thoughtful man, and sometimes, you wondered how you'd gotten so lucky.
The media wondered that, too, but the first time a reporter had dared to camp out on your lawn and ambush you with that question when you left your house, Will had confronted the man—first with words, then with his fist. He'd let it act as a warning to anyone who tried to interrupt your personal life, and you were grateful. Thankfully, your own insecurity had died down once you got used to the fact that you were dating a celebrity. No one was ever good enough for one of them in the media's eyes. Upon remembering that, you found that you no longer cared what they had to say.
After a long day at work that felt twice as tiring because of your presentation earlier, you watched the clock turn to 5:00, a groan of relief worming its way out of your throat. Finally. It was time to go home and eat dinner and then crash onto your bed and sleep for fifteen years. You almost forgot that Will was picking you up, jumping in surprise when you heard a throat being cleared.
“Love?” the British man chuckled with a bemused smirk. Your face morphed from startled confusion to happiness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him lift your feet several inches off the ground as you nuzzled into his neck.
“Baby,” you hummed in tired satisfaction, resting your forehead against his chest playfully as he rubbed your arms soothingly. You soaked in the sensation, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him closer to you.
“Don't you want to go home?” Will laughed, using your shoulders as leverage to push you away from his body a few feet, but only so he could look into your eyes.
“Yeah, but I'm tired,” you grumbled.
“An even better reason to head home, then,” Will grinned. You nodded, too exhausted to argue as you packed up everything you would need that evening before shutting off your office light.
When you reached the clear front door, you let out a noise of dismay as you took in the rain hurtling from the gray sky above, water splashing in the parking lot.
“What's wrong?” your boyfriend asked, worried.
“It's raining,” you whined. “Just another way to ruin my day.”
“Why does rain ruin your day?” Will inquired, genuinely curious. I sighed as if he was supposed to know, my annoyance getting the best of me.
“Because these shoes are leather. The shoes will be ruined.” Will just chuckled, patting your head. “What?” you eyed him suspiciously.
“You think I'd let your shoes get ruined?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “I would never allow such a tragic event to occur.” Before you could ask what he was going to do about it, Will had swept you off your feet in a bridal carry, your squeal of surprise making the British man smile.
“Don't worry, Cinderella,” Will murmured as he collected your things before sprinting across the parking lot to his car. “Your shoes will be just fine.”
the end
#will poulter#will poulter fic#will poulter fluff#will poulter headcanon#will poulter sfw#will poulter drabble#will poulter x reader#fanfiction#fluff#one shot
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Adam Warlock x OC
Part 1
Word Count: 1.556
Warnings: Adam being cute, fluff, slight angst
POV Seraphina
I've known Pete for a relatively long time and even though I said goodbye to the Guardians, I missed them all very much.
After Gamora left us and Thanos was finally defeated, my help was requested by my brother who I hadn't seen in a long time.
So I also left the Guardians, even though it was very difficult for me at the time. They were all very dear to me and I promised them that I would come back as soon as I was needed or my help was no longer needed by my brother.
x
I slowly steered my spaceship to the well-known landing site that was kept free for me.
Pete had enlightened me about what had happened and I was glad that Rocket was fine now. After all, we were good friends and often exchanged ideas about technical things and what could be improved.
My ship finally landed and for a moment I just sat and let it all sink in. I considered this small planet and it's inhabitants to be home, even though my native home was actually light years away.
Here on this planet was my real family, friends who meant a lot to me. A smile graced my lips and I turned everything off to leave the ship.
Pete had just notified me of everything like he had done all along while I was gone so no one knew I was actually coming back. He had told me about the destruction of the city and I really wanted to help.
With steady steps, I made my way to meet the Guardians and tell them of my return.
POV Adam
Almost helpless, I watched the many people who tried to rebuild their city and did everything to help them.
After I pulled Peter out of space and rescued him, a lot of people seemed to trust me more and give me another chance as well. Still, I couldn't deny that I felt kind of alone. Everyone had someone they knew or got along with.
I didn't really know anyone.
Mantis assured me that I would find my place but I wasn't so sure. My mother often spoke of a person who formed our other side. To which one belonged and which gave one the feeling of safety and security.
Did I also have such a person?
I continued to stroll through one of the streets and only looked up when I heard a bright laugh. My gaze fell on Peter who seemed to be hugging an unknown woman. The two knew each other well and began to talk quickly.
I stared at them both rooted to the spot and began to study the young woman further. Her blond hair was long and gently swept behind her as she walked further away with Peter. She had a beautiful smile that made me feel warm even though that smile wasn't even aimed at me.
The two disappeared around a corner and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of her face. If there were angels then I was convinced that she had to be one.
"Hey Adam! Come on! Pete has news for us! Hurry up, come on!", Mantis suddenly called out to me, who had stepped into my line of sight without me noticing.
How long did I stand there, just like that?
A little unsteadily I walked behind Mantis who also had Drax with her and was talking excitedly. However, my thoughts were still with the beautiful woman and her almost golden-blonde hair, which is why I didn't listen to her.
Together we entered a small bar that surprisingly survived the attack and was considered as our regular meet-up place.
"Listen up everyone! I have great news for you! Our dear Seraphina is finally back and will stay!", Peter's voice sounded. Everyone started cheering and even Nebula seemed to react positively to this news as a barely noticeable smile crept onto her face.
Confused, I looked around the small bar and waited for a more detailed explanation until a person stepped into the bar behind Peter. It was none other than the woman with the charming smile I had seen before.
So I stood a little apart and just watched how everyone hugged the young woman named Seraphina and were probably very happy about her arrival. At that moment, I really wished I could hug her like that and be near her too.
I watched almost longingly as she began to talk to the others and shared her story with them. Music started playing and Peter handed out drinks to everyone and although a happy mood ensued I just felt all the more left out.
Why would she want to talk to me too?
However, I couldn't take my eyes off Seraphina. She was pulling me in like some kind of magnet and I just couldn't resist the pull. Every now and then she brushed back one of her blond strands and I wondered if her hair really felt as soft as it looked. Her soft smile never left her lips and I secretly hoped that she would smile at me too.
"You can also talk to her Adam", Peter's voice suddenly sounded next to me and I looked over at him almost startled. He had a huge grin on his face and I got the feeling he had something in mind some kind of plan maybe.
"Instead of just staring at her, you know?", he continued and that's when I realized he must have been watching me without my noticing.
"I'm good... yeah. I'm just looking", I said quickly then looked back across the bar hoping he would leave me alone.
"Kinda creepy you know? Just staring and doing nothing", he said, leaning against the bar wall.
"I'm not staring!", I tried to explain to him again and crossed my arms uncertainly.
How was it that he could see through me like that?
"Whatever you say buddy. But talking to her won't hurt you y'know", he said taking a sip of the blue drink he'd been holding the whole time. With a huff I took one last glance at Seraphina and her smiling face, "I think I'm going outside for a bit."
Without Peter being able to say anything else, I almost bolted out of the bar and quickly inhaled the cool air from outside. I sneaked a peek through the bar window again hoping to see Seraphina but Rocket and Drax had apparently started a drinking contest and a large crowd had gathered in front of the window.
Almost furiously I kicked a stone away from the path in front of me and clenched my hands into fists. Now there was no way I could just go back after Peter caught me like that.
I wish it was that easy, but what if she just doesn't like me? What if all she sees in me is this monster that wanted to hurt her friends?
At that thought, a pain almost ran through my body and I put my hand on my chest. Shaking my head I walked on and admitted defeat. Countless feelings rolled through my body and I just couldn't place any of them.
"Hey! Wait!", a voice suddenly called from behind me and abruptly I turned just to look into Seraphina's blue eyes. She stopped in front of me and smiled softly at me.
"You're Adam, aren't you?", she asked me and I could only nod as she almost took my breath away.
"I'm Seraphina and I wanted to introduce myself again personally. I've heard a lot about you", she said and fear immediately went through my body like a bolt of lightning.
What had the others said about me? Did they also say that I was actually responsible for Rocket's injuries? In the end, I simply attacked the Guardians.
"Heard... from me?", I asked almost swallowing hard and stood as stiff as a statue in front of the young woman.
"You saved Pete and I'm very grateful for that!", she quickly explained to me and gave me an even bigger smile than before. Without warning she took one of my hands in hers and immediately that warmth flowed back into me. My heart started beating like crazy and I really hoped she wouldn't notice.
"The past is the past and all that matters is the here and now. You can decide who you are and what you do Adam. We're all here to help you", she said softly then let go of my hand.
I immediately missed her soft hands and their warm touch on my skin.
"I'd better let you go, it's already very late. See you tomorrow!", she said quickly and then went in the other direction past the bar. As if in a trance, I stood on the street and watched after her until her shape was no longer visible.
Her words echoed in my head and slowly a smile crept onto my lips as I had to look down. My hand was still tingling and I turned around as well.
For Seraphina, I wanted to be as good as possible. I wanted to protect her and make her proud, show her that I understood her words. I desperately wanted to feel more of her warmth and give in to this urge for her.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Feel free to comment your thoughts or prompts ✨
#fanfiction#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock#adam warlock x oc#guardians of the galaxy#guardians of the galaxy 3#peter quill#mantis#fluff#adam warlock fluff#angst#adam warlock imagine#adam warlock fic#marvel#marvel fic#mcu#mcu fanfiction#adam warlock imagines#will poulter#will poulter fic
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TO BUILD AGAIN : ii. — En garde.
a Chef Luca fanfiction | Fandom: The Bear. Rating: Mature/Explicit. Status: On going. Slow updates. Type: Multi-Chapters, Pre Canon. Tags: Chef Luca/Orginal Female Character, Disability, Angst and Feels, Character Study, Eventual Smut, Family and Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mature Themes, Mentions of Depression, Romance, Romantic and Sexual Tension, Romantic drama with a happy ending, Slow-burn, Strangers to Reluctant chef partners to Friends to Lovers, Sharing Cultures, Self-Love, Traveling.
CHAPTER SUMMARY : Prior to her impending departure for Copenhagen, Warda elects to make a final visit to her restaurant.
THE ATMOSPHERE AT RADIANCE seemed frozen in time, unchanged since her last visit. However, a persistent thought tugged at Warda's mind, urging her to seriously consider revamping the shopfront. Something about it didn't quite align with her vision. She struggled to pinpoint the exact source of her unease. Was it the stark shade of white, too clinical and lacking warmth? Or perhaps it was the font used for the restaurant's name, its rigid letters devoid of the graceful curves that mirrored her culinary philosophy. These elements seemed to fail to capture the essence of the cuisine she passionately championed—experimental, refined, and a vibrant fusion of Moroccan flavors with a new Nordic twist. (…)
• Read the rest HERE on ao3 (or click HERE to read from the beginning) • Listen to the playlist HERE •
#bleulone writes#the bear fanfic#the bear fic#the bear luca#luca the bear#to build again#disabled main character#luca x ofc#luca x reader#chef luca#luca x original female character#will poulter fanfiction#will poulter fic#the bear season 2#the bear fx#chef luca smut#chef luca fanfiction#the bear fanfiction#luca the bear fic#luca the bear fanfiction#ao3#chef luca ao3#the bear ao3#the bear hulu#chef luca x reader#luca the bear smut
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something new | luca x reader
i was awoken from a dream last night
contents: requested size kink so luca is hung!! basically pwp, slight somnophilia if you squint, unprotected sex, spanking, lots of pet names from Luca, reader receiving fingering, dirty talk, semi-submissive reader vibes, pulling out for backshots but some cum play still whoops
a/n: used a photo of will bc it fit the vibe so well 🌝 can we, as a fandom, decide a last name for this man!! only semi proof read i fear pls ignore any mistakes. also no pronouns or real reader description used.
contents: 2.7k.
the climax right before morning's first light
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Your body feels heavy as it’s pulled from a deep sleep.
There’s warm lips on your shoulder placing soft kisses along your skin, a hand kneading at your ass while you wake up. You hum into the quiet room while burying your face into the pillow desperately not ready to wake up. “S’everything okay?”
Luca’s chuckling against you, sliding his calloused hand up the back of your thigh while you stay lying on your stomach. He looks down at the sight of you illuminated in the moonlight from his apartment window, soaking in every inch. His hand cups under the bottom of your behind, giving it a little jiggle for his own entertainment.
“All’s fine, my love. Didn’t mean to wake you so early.”
You turn your head towards the nightstand and it takes a few blinks for your eyes to finally focus on the dim clock. 3:30 AM. Early enough for him to get up to shower, make tea, and leave out a small note of affection on the counter for when you wake up at a much more reasonable time. He typically doesn’t wake you, opting to shimmy out of the bed but not this morning.
There’s lips on your neck now. “Was dreaming about you and had to make sure you were real.” His hand is sliding in between your thighs now, pulling them apart. Inches away from where you’re starting to crave him. You’re whining in the pillow now while arching your hips up towards his touch. He’s grinning against your skin and rocking himself towards your side. Luca’s hard and heavy against you. “Gonna go take care of this in the bathroom. Just needed a little touch of you before I go.”
You’re shaking your head now, trying to unpin your arm that’s trapped between the two of you so you can find the waistband of his sweats slung low on his waist. “No, no. Don’t go.” The elastic is tight against your fingers as you slip your hand into his pants, fingertips brushing along his growing length which rewards you with a moan from your boyfriend. His hand gently slaps down on the flesh of your ass before he starts to pull away. You murmur out protests as you stretch your arms out straight ahead of you, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. There’s a rush of cold air as he pulls the blanket from your frame and tosses it to the empty side of the bed.
He’s grabbing a pillow next and tapping his fingers against your side, grinning as you take the hint and lift your hips for him. “Just lay there, Darling. Let me take care of you.” Luca makes sure you’re comfortable. Taking his time to fluff the pillow just right. Running his wide hands down your back while still lazily waking up. The bed creaks under the two of you as he moves to kneel between your spread legs. He admires your stretched out form. The curve of your ass propped up and his for the taking. You’re wearing an oversized cliche t-shirt from the last trip you took together and this old pair of underwear with a half worn off print. Not the sexiest outfit to ever grace this bedroom to say the least and yet Luca doesn’t mind in the slightest.
His thumbs slide along the seam of your underwear that’s stretched across your cheeks, warm hands sliding up your backside to your lower back to gently work on your relaxed body. He leans forward to reach up towards your shoulders, the length of him sliding against your ass and eliciting a moan from you. Luca’s taking advantage of this position to rut himself against you, the feeling of your soft body under him working him up even more than he thought was possible.
“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” You’re nodding against the pillow, turning your head to the side to press a kiss against the hands that are now on your shoulders. “Only yours, Luca.” He’s groaning above you and there’s warm, open mouth kisses being pressed along your spine now.
There’s a shuffling coming from behind you as Luca makes quick work of kicking his sweatpants off. You feel the warmth of his skin directly on the inside of your thighs now as he sits back up. He’s crooking fingers in the waistband of your underwear and finally, finally pulling them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to him. They’re stuck right above your knees - Both Luca kneeling between your legs and how far spread open you are making it impossible for them to go any lower. “Are you passionate about these?”
You barely shake your head no, because again they’re old and worn and you find it endearing he even asked, before the sound of them being ripped off of you fills the room causing you to gasp out. Luca haphazardly tosses them towards the trash can in the corner and gets to work pulling his own boxes down. You’re needy. Wiggling your hips through the air in slow movements to entice him. As if he needed anymore motivation. You follow his guidance and haphazardly make work taking off your shirt, balling it up and throwing it on his now empty side of the bed.
Since Luca’s doing all the work you allow yourself to stay, essentially, half asleep. Your eyes are still heavy and hooded and your body lax against the bed. He’s delivering one more small smack to the roundest part of your ass before his fingers find their way between your thighs. Normally he’d take more time teasing you, building you up. As much as he yearns to spend the whole day tangled in you, he does have to get to work soon. For now he’s going to be quick but he plans on taking his time with you again tonight.
There’s fingers sliding up either side of your folds, a slow languid motion to get you used to his touch before his middle fingers slips in. You’re slackjaw against the pillow, letting out a stream of breathy whimpers you can’t control. Luca knows you. Knows every inch of you. So he’s using that knowledge to get you ready for him. His pointer finger slides into you while his thumb finds your clit at the same time. You’re wet, the scissoring and dragging motions Luca’s making causing a slick sound to come from between your thighs.
“Luca, please.” He grins down at your backside, enjoying the view of his fingers working deep inside of you. “Always so greedy, aren’t you?” You respond by rocking your hips back against his hand and clenching down against his fingers which causes him to chuckle. “Alright, alright.” His hand slides out of you and smacks down against the back of your thigh. Your left behind wetness from his fingers attracts the cold air and causes goosebumps to rise.
You secretly like when Luca spends a little less time stretching you out then he probably should. The way your boyfriend stretches you out as he first pushes in you has become a piece of heaven. There are nights he spends as long as you’ll allow eating you out and fingering you, toying with your pussy for his own enjoyment. Leaving his chin wet with you and a darken spot on the sheets until he fucks through how sloppy he’s turned you.
Not tonight. You’re wet, yes. But you know there’s going to be a heavenly burning feeling coming your way. The amount of care your boyfriend puts into you making you comfortable enough to open yourself in that way. Knowing he’d stop the second you asked if needed.
The head of his cock sits heavy against your entrance and you feel yourself desperately clenching around nothing. He’s pulling you from your train of thought and your body is buzzing in anticipation. The slap of the tip of him against your clit causes your body to jerk which prompts Luca to use his free hand to grip your hip, holding you in place. “Be good, yeah? Let me get us off before I gotta go. Can’t have you wet all day waiting for me to come back home to take care of you.” Luca lines himself up with your hole, sliding just the tip of himself in which pulls a moan from both of you.
“Baby, please.” Pride swells in Luca’s chest as you start to beg. If he hadn’t been gripping your hips then you would have rolled them back to take more of his length in you. Instead he goes slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth inch by inch. Even after dating for this long, you still weren’t used to him yet.
There’s a bit of drool coming from the corner of your still parted lips as Luca works his length in. Your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least. A good length, something you could still take to the back of your throat but not so long you couldn’t sink all the way down it. But his girth? That was unmatched. Thick, heavy, and all yours.
“Feel so amazing, Darling. Was dreaming about this pussy spreading around me.” Luca jerks another inch in without warning, a squelching sound coming from you as the movement causes some wetness to drip out. You can’t form a thought when he’s got you like this. Your body is still relaxed against the bed as Luca stretches you out.
It takes a moment for him to bottom out and all your mind can focus on is just how deep he feels inside of you. The sensation causes your breath to catch, pathetically letting out whatever whimper you can muster and allowing him to use you to his heart’s content. Luca gives your hip a little squeeze as a warning he’s going to start moving, giving you a second to accept what’s to come before the first roll of his hips hits.
You’re a mess. Groggy still, already becoming cock drunk. It’s easy to do with him. “S’full, Luc. So, so full.” Even with his brows knitted in concentration as he tries not to instantly cum at the sight of your pussy stretched around him, he’s proud to get you this way.
But God does the sight of you already have him close.
Stretched out around him, filled to the max you could be. You look so beautiful like that. Luca fucks through all the wetness you give him, hips building a steady rhythm easily. His eyes flash over towards the clock and something about the pressure of a time constraint is making him a bit more feral than he expected.
His pace quickens and you’re back to being reduced to a drooling mess under him. Moaning out an incoherent string of pleas, praise, and curses. You couldn’t repeat what’s coming from your mouth even if you tried. His heavy balls slap against your clit which each thrust and Luca’s grabbing your hips with both hands now to get a better grip on you. Fingertips digging in enough that bruises will be left as he starts to fuck into with a firm pace.
“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. So wet for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna be sore all day now but you don’t care. Every step’s gonna remind you how good I fuck you.”
Your head is spinning.
You allow yourself to be fucked by Luca, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you desperately clutch anything within reach to keep yourself grounded. He’s… Brutal. Fucking you for his own pleasure in a way. He needed to get off and get off quick before work - But arrogantly knew how good you were for him. Knew that him using you like this would get you off too.
One of his hands gripping your hip loses his grip and there’s another smack being delivered to the fat of your ass. He groans at the sight of you bouncing, the red mark already blooming from his hand. The burning of being stretched out is fading away and being replaced by the pure pleasure of your boyfriend wrecking your body.
His hand is sliding up from your ass to press down on the small of your back, a comforting touch compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Long forgotten is the sleepy mask of morning, Luca just chasing after pleasure for the both of you now. You purposely flutter yourself around his length, trying to pull him closer as well.
“Can you come for me, Darling? You can do that, can’t you? Wanna feel this pretty little pussy finish before I do.” You’re squeezing yourself tighter around him now, the soft pillowcase feeling rougher as your face continues to bounce against it. The room is getting hotter by the second around you two.
Something about the combination of circumstances has you getting close to finishing far faster than normal. You catch yourself biting down on the pillow as Luca drags his nails down the soft skin of your back, his hips not losing pace as the all too familiar sensation starts to coil up deep inside of you.
You’re crying out at the sensation, pussy tightening around him as your orgasm rocks through your body. Toe curling, back arching, clit throbbing orgasm. You collapse even further into the bed, a mess of breathless whimpers as Luca continues to fuck through your sensitive body. God you sound lewd with how wet you ended up.
Luca’s quick to follow after watching you come undone around him.
He’s moaning out your name, giving a few more pumps through your wetness before quickly pulling out. Stroking his soaked length to keep the sensation and then you feel warmth splattering along your ass and back as he cums on you. He’s breathless and whiney, teasing his own overstimulated cock behind you. Thumb swiping along his tip to collect the last droplets before wiping it in-between your folds and pressing it into you.
As much as he loved cumming in you, he wanted to make sure he had time to get you cleaned up before he had to leave but he still couldn’t leave you without anything left inside of you.
Luca drags you to the bathroom after he gives you a moment to collect yourself. Normally he’d take his time with aftercare but sadly he’s lacking just that - time. You use the restroom while he draws the two of you a shower and take a good look at yourself in the mirror while he corrects the water temperature. Healing hickies low on your chest, your hair looking crazy from the combination of sleeping and being wrecked. He’s got twenty minutes left before he runs out of time to make his breakfast but he refuses to leave you in a pile in the bed.
He makes quick work of washing off your over sensitive body, letting you stand there and run your fingers along his chest, his arms, whatever inch of skin you can reach. “You’re so pretty.”
Now after what just happened in the bedroom? You’d think nothing would phase him.
But Luca’s cheeks are going bright red at the compliment. He cups your face with his soapy hands, bringing you two together for a kiss as a silent thank you.
Luca gets you dried off and sends you back to bed with a pat on your ass. He’s rushing to get ready for work while you lay down in a lump on the bed. Towel tight around your body and the covers long forgotten. It takes a few minutes for him to emerge from the bathroom clothed and hair gelled but he can’t help laughing at the sight of you. You feel the towel being tugged away from your body, the previously discarded blanket being tucked around you and a kiss pressed to the top of your head.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
He leaves everything you need for your morning tea sitting on the counter before running out the door.
#now how am i supposed to tag this!!!#luca x reader#chef luca#chef luca x reader#luca x you#chef luca x you#chef luca smut#luca smut#the bear smut#the bear x reader#the bear x you#will poulter#will poulter smut#will poulter x reader#will poulter x you#adding other tags bc i fear no one knows his last name so it makes finding fics hard!!#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto smut#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you#richie jerimovich x you#richie jerimovich x reader#richie jerimovich smut
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Not Like Quill
PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader
WC: 2.5k (longer than I intended, oof!)
SUMMARY: after your half-brother and half-sister leave, you’re left to fill in Peter’s shoes on the Guardian team. Unfortunately, Rocket can only see the faults where you lack the qualities that his best friend has. Luckily, though, a certain golden boy is always there to cheer you up.
WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, fluff, angst if you squint.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: so this is my first official one shot AND first time writing for GOTG (hopefully I did a good job.) I saw GOTG3 in the theaters almost a week ago and WOW, was I surprised by Adam!! (I make it a point to not watch trailers to avoid spoilers.) I liked Will in The Dawn Treader but I haven’t seen any of his other movies since they’re not genres I usually watch, but I have been SLEEPING on this man!! I’m now obsessed with Gally (I’ve never even seen TMR but I’ve now read a ton of FFs) and, of course, Adam. So, here’s a one-shot :)
I know that Peter gave Rocket his Zune but in this scenario he gave it to you, his other half-sister. You do have powers but they’re not really mentioned here; if anyone is interested I can make a sequel/prequel.
Part 0 , Part 2
The repairs to Knowhere were going well— or at least as well as could be expected with leaders who bickered as much as the remaining Guardians. Peter and Mantis had left the planet a few weeks ago, leaving everyone quite sad at their departure. But, there were things to do so those that remained moved on as best they could in order help out. You, however, as Peter’s half-sister, had been hit harder by their departures than the others. Mantis and Peter were the only family you had, especially since the group had killed your father (not that he’d been a good one, of course.) Sure, the other Guardians had become like family to you over the years, but they weren’t blood— but this is also the only reason why you decided to stay instead of going off on your own like your siblings.
To make matters worse, the only physical reminder that you had of your brother was his Zune, which he’d left to you since you’d always stolen it anyway. Almost every day since his departure you could be found with the Zune clipped to your belt with at least one— and often both— earbuds plugged in to drown out the world. You busied yourself with helping the rest of the population repair their homes, enjoying the physical work as it tired you out too much to think about your missing family. When you weren’t working, you were training, which is how you (more officially) met one of the newest members of the Guardians, Adam. It hadn’t been the best first meeting, but that was a story for another time.
You were grateful to him for saving your brother so after he apologized for almost killing you, you forgave him pretty easily. Since you wanted to fill up your free time as much as possible, you offered to help train him because although he had powers, he’d barely been a match for the Guardians during the initial fight. You became close because of this and you found that you enjoyed his myriad of questions. You made sure to always be patient when answering him since you knew that the other Guardians were either too busy or would snap at him.
However, that was about the only good thing that had happened to you since the defeat of the High Evolutionary. The only time you really saw Rocket, Groot, Drax or Nebula was when you helped out around the headquarters or went on a mission, and even that wasn’t the same as it used to be. Rocket was a very different leader than Peter; he was, well, smarter, so that was good, but he had yet to acquire any sort of nurturing or encouraging attitude. When they trained as a team to get used to each other (as they had also added Kraglin and Viola to the group), Rocket would veer towards critical rather than critiquing.
“No, on your left, you idiot! Your other left!”
“You call that aim? Blurp could hit the target better than you!”
And, lastly, “that’s not how Quill would do it!”
Ouch. That one was always aimed at you, for anything Rocket could criticize you for. It didn’t have to just be training; sometimes he took it to ridiculous levels, either for the music you selected or the food you cooked. Anything you did, he compared you to your brother. And of course, you loved Peter; along with the other Guardians, he had saved you and Mantis from Ego and for that alone you would love him, but he had left you terribly big shoes to fill and you weren’t even the leader. You tried to hide how much Rocket’s words affected you— usually by keeping your Zune close at hand to drown him out, but they did get you down.
Even worse was his nickname for you. Although it had once been endearing, “little Quill” now felt like more of an insult— as if he knew you could never measure up to Peter. You never confronted him about this since you knew Rocket had a barbed tongue, but after being abandoned by your siblings, his words seemed to hit you harder than before. So, you kept your distance from him as best you could and tolerated it when you couldn’t.
On this particular day, you had decided to make chocolate chip cookies, which Peter had taught you to make on the first ‘Christmas’ that you’d been with the Guardians. You were really missing your brother so you plugged in your earbuds and started on the familiar recipe. In this instance, the kitchen that you were using was communal, so it was no surprise that someone else walked in on you as you baked. You didn’t notice at first, too lost in the music of Bohemian Rhapsody.
Adam had come into the kitchen after following the sweet scent that had caught his attention. He smiled a little at the sight of you standing at the counter, elbow-deep in. . . something. It was golden in color, although lighter than his skin, and flecked with black. He waved to get your attention but as usual, you were oblivious to your surroundings (and you were a fighter?) so he made his way over to you and tapped you on the shoulder.
Feeling the presence of another person, you turned around to see who it was— if it was anyone worth talking to— and when you saw that it was the (literal) golden boy, you sent him a smile and pulled one earbud out of your ear. “Hey, Adam.”
“Hi,” he replied you, still a little uncertain with less formal greetings. “What are you making? It smells really good.”
“Chocolate chip cookies,” you said. “Peter taught me how to make them. Do you want to try some?”
He looked at what was in the bowl curiously. “What does it taste like?”
“It’s sweet. If you liked the smell I’m sure you’d like the taste. Watch,” you instructed. Then you carefully picked up a small bit that had a chocolate chip in it before you at it. You closed your eyes and hummed at the delicious flavor.
Adam copied your action carefully, even going so far as to close his eyes and make the same sound— and then he repeated it more genuinely as he realized how good it was. You grinned at his reaction. “You like it, huh?” When he nodded, you added, “want to help? I’m almost at the fun part!”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where we make the cookies— this is just the batter,” you explained.
After you both washed your hands, you showed him how to form the batter into matching spheres and line them up on the baking tray. As you worked, you talked about the music you were listening to and even transferred your spare earbud to him so Adam could listen as well. Bohemian Rhapsody had become Starless by the band King Crimson. . . and of their better-known members, Adam Belew. You couldn’t help but find it amusing that Adam had the same name, and that one of the lines was “sundown dazzling day/gold through my eyes.”
As he finished forming one of the last cookies, Adam glanced up to see the hint of laughter in your expression. Although he didn’t know what was funny, he smiled back at you. For some reason that he didn’t understand, he was happy that you were happy; it was an emotion that you didn’t really seem to show that often, so the rare chance that he got to see it only made it more special. Your grin widened at you leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially: “now comes the fun part!”
He frowned with confusion. “I thought making the. . . cookies was the fun part,” he said slowly, trying out the new word.
“Sort of, but everyone knows the fun part is licking the bowl!” you exclaimed happily. “Like this.” You scraped some of the remaining batter together until it was big enough to eat before you popped it into your mouth. Together you made quick work of the remaining batter and then you put the bowl in the sink. You’d started the oven earlier, so it was ready for the tray.
After setting the timer, you made a face. “Now it’s time for the worst part: doing the dishes. Peter hated doing them so much that we usually just put them in the contamination chamber and chucked them out to space,” you explained with a giggle. “If anyone asked why we had to buy so many new dishes we just said that Peter was really clumsy.” You finished the story with a wistful look, remembering all the fun that you and your siblings had had before the Snap had ruined everything.
Adam wasn’t sure if doing the dishes was really that bad, but the happiness that had been present while making the cookies had slipped off your face, so he figured that it must be an arduous task. Wanting to spare you the discomfort, he offered: “I can do them, if you want. You did most of the work anyway.”
His suggestion pulled you back to the present and you shook your head. “You don’t have to. Since this is your first time having cookies you can just enjoy them. Next time you have to help,” you added playfully, covering up your sadness as you always did with humor— you learned that from your brother, after all.
The golden boy allowed a small smile at that, although he’d picked up on your habit. “I can wash and you can dry?”
You agreed, and soon the task was done. While you waited for the cookies to be finished you answered a few more of Adam’s questions. You found his curiosity refreshing after spending so much time with smart-ass, know-it-all teammates that wouldn’t know how to ask question if it slapped them in their face. (And yes, you did love your teammates— that’s why you could call them out on their stubbornness.)
The cookies were done about fifteen minutes later and you took them out to cool for another ten before you took one for yourself and one for Adam. You sat down next to him and bit into the warm dessert, closing your eyes again to enjoy it. As much as you liked the batter, the finished cookie was definitely better. Adam seemed to agree as he made the same sound of enjoyment from before, causing you to open your eyes and grin at him. “Good, huh?”
“Definitely,” he agreed, and he was finished with his cookie before you were done with yours.
You saw him eye the tray greedily, which caused you to laugh. “Go ahead, you can have another one.”
As he did so, the other members of the Guardians entered the room, apparently drawn by the same scent that Adam had smelled. Kraglin took his with a nod of thanks, stuffing one in his mouth as he left the room. Viola took one as curiously as Adam had, seeing as she’d never had a cookie either.
“You can take some to the other kids,” you told her— you’d made a double batch since they were pretty popular, so there was plenty. She thanked you as well and took some extra for her friends.
Then, it was Rocket’s turn. After the rest of his reactions to whatever you did, you found yourself holding your breath as you waited for his opinion. It only took a moment before he pronounced: “not bad, Little Quill.” You perked up at that, eyes wide with hope that you had finally done something right— something that Peter couldn’t do better than you. But Rocket wasn’t done: “not like Quill’s, though.”
You slumped in your chair as he took a few extra, oblivious to the effect his words had on you— but Adam noticed. “I think hers are better than Peter’s,” he spoke up quietly.
“Sure, blondie. You ain’t never tried Quill’s though, so ya don’t have a comparison.”
“I don’t need to,” he insisted, glancing over at you. “I know they’re better.”
Rocket scoffed with disbelief but didn’t bother arguing the point (he knew he was right, anyway), and left the room without so much as a thank you. Adam glanced over at your defeated posture; you’d been so confident and happy moments before the other Guardians had come in, but now you seemed to shrink into yourself, as if Rocket’s careless words had physically hurt you. Normally your recovery time after such an incident would be fast so no one else could pick up on your feelings, but this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back— if you couldn’t do cookies right, what hope did you have for anything else?
You suddenly felt a warm hand settle on top yours, which had been resting on the counter. You looked up sharply, surprised by the touch— you hadn’t been so much as hugged since Peter and Mantis had left. Adam’s expression was sympathetic, but there was a hint of anger in his golden eyes. “You’re not like Quill,” he said.
Unfortunately, you mistook his words after being so used to Rocket’s insults and looked away. You’d expected this sort of thing from him, not from Adam, and the blow hit you harder than anything Rocket had ever said. “I know,” you snapped, taking your hand away from his. “Thanks for the reminder.”
He gave you a confused look since he wasn’t sure what chord he’d struck to cause your reaction. It dawned on him quickly how his words could have been interpreted and he gently took your hand again as he repeated more firmly: “you’re not like Quill. You’re. . . there isn’t anything to compare. You’re not your brother— Rocket shouldn’t expect the same things from you that he did for Peter.” He hesitated for only moment before he added, “I can. . . talk to him, if you want.”
As he’d spoken, you realized you’d made a mistake and your initial thoughts had been right: Adam wouldn’t use your brother against you. You felt guilty for jumping to conclusions and gave him an apologetic look. Then, his words really sank in; a statement about how special your uniqueness was from someone whose society was literally carbon copies made your face heat up at the impact of his sentiment. You found that you couldn’t look him in the eyes and lowered your gaze to your still-connected hands. “I— thank you,” you said softly. “I just wish Rocket would see that. You don’t have to talk to him— I should be able to do that myself; I’ve been his teammate for longer, after all. But. . . I really appreciate it.”
His expression softened as he squeezed your hand, which inexplicably made your stomach roll nauseously (but in a good way, like when Peter would do loop-the-loops with Milano’s pod.) “Anytime, Little Quill.”
And just like that, “little Quill” went right back to being an endearing nickname.
#adam warlock#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock x y/n#adam warlock x you#will poulter x reader#will poulter#marvel x reader#will poulter imagine#gotg imagine#gotg v3#guardians of the galaxy#adam warlock imagine#mcu fic#mcu x reader#adam warlock fluff#adam warlock fanfiction
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for the adam warlock thots:
i cannot see this sweet himbo as anything but a soft dom and i will FIGHT someone on that
@tom-whore-dleston and i are right behind you screaming in agreement bestie, because yes yes!! this man is the type of softdom that aims to please, to give his girl the most earth shattering orgasm and then ANOTHER!
warnings: eighteen+ content, face riding, over stimulation, adam being a bit subby, written on my phone so hella quick and dirty and full of mistakes probably.
When you’re not rocking against his tongue the way he wants—your clit brushing against his nose allowing his tongue to push inside your heat just enough to have your breath catching in the back of your throat—his fingers dig into the muscle of your butt cheeks guiding your hips to move.
To fuck his face the way he had asked you to when he had pulled you into bed with him. With his mouth at your breast bone leaving marks, his hardness rutting up against you.
The sweet look in his eyes, the way he had mumbled it into your skin, followed by his fingers moving down your side and between your thighs. Hooking a finger in the crotch of your shorts to run two fingers through your pussy.
“You’re so wet. Please,” he groaned.
His eyes begging, his lips moving in a plea.
Denying him would be torture.
And when he brings you to that edge, that burning pleasured heat that makes your thighs shake against the side of his head and your fingers thread themselves in his golden hair; a sob rakes through your body when he doesn’t stop after you’ve come down.
His lips wrap around your sensitive clit, sucking and flicking his tongue against the nerve—your fingers digging into his scalp as your body tries to move away from the intensity of his mouth—as he swallows down your juices and looks for more.
“Adam,” your voice is breathless. Your plea holds no ground.
Falls onto deaf ears as his eyes look up to you, his brows bowed in that way that lets you know he wants more of something. More of you. That he’s willing to beg for again—a craving he has yet to relieve.
When he releases your clit you whine. Run your hand along his cheek as his teeth sink into your inner thigh.
“You can give me another,” his tongue runs along the indent of his teeth left in your skin. “And another, and another.” His tongue moves to your pussy again. Pressing a light kiss at your mound before he spreads you and finds your clit again.
The whimpered “please” muffled and vibrated against you—Adam’s arms coming up to wrap around your thighs as your body starts to twitch—enough to have that ache building back up in your body.
#adam warlock smut#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock blurb#adam warlock x you#will poulter smut#adam warlock imagine#adam warlock x y/n#adam warlock fic
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give me a minute (2/2) | chef luca
pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader
word count: 6.6k
warnings: established former relationship, discussions of separation and divorce, discussions of moving on, luca and reader has a son, brief mention of blood and minor injury, smut 18+ (fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, size kink? idk luca's big, dirty talk, creampie)
notes: it's finally here! thank you everyone for your patience, i am a slow writer by nature and life gets in the way, but i finally got around to finish it! happy reading, and do comment, reblog, and send me asks to tell me what you think <;3
✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted for my latest fics ✨
<<< read part 1 here >>>
06.13 PM
Your apartment has never felt so claustrophobic after that little moment you shared with Luca. You try to stay busy in the next hour —tidying up Alfie’s room even after he made it up, checking your email four times, even doing the laundry, for fuck’s sake— as Luca keeps to himself in the kitchen area. Whether Alfie is obliviously enjoying his screen time or purposely ignoring the weird tension between his parents, you’re not entirely sure. Right now, you’re just grateful that he’s not saying anything at the moment.
The boy simply creeps up to the kitchen counter with a shy eagerness about him. “How long ‘til dinner, Dad?”
“3 more minutes, Chef,” Luca answers, focused on the task at hand, so poker-faced that it makes his son giggle.
“I’m not a chef, you’re a chef!”
“Well, where I work, we call everyone in the kitchen ‘chef.’ Out of respect.”
Alfie climbs onto the dining bench in interest, peering up to watch his father set the dish on the plates meticulously. Luca doesn’t miss how the boy deeply inhales the delicious smell in the air.
“Smells yummy.”
“Thank you,” Luca replies, his excitement seems muted although his heart is soaring. He looks up to find Alfie staring at the plate, chin propped up on his little fist. You’ve always said that he looks just like his dad, but in that moment, Luca only sees you. Alfie has the way your mouth tugs ever so slightly into a smile, the way your eyes shine in childlike wonder. In quiet thoughtfulness.
No Michelin star, earned or retained, would ever amount to this.
“Can you go get your mum and tell her dinner’s ready, please?” He softly asks Alfie, as if not wanting to disrupt this peaceful silence. “Thank you, Chef.”
“Yes, chef.” The six-year-old salutes him and pads over to your home office, which doubles as the guest bedroom. The door is open, and he sees you reorganizing the linen closet with your back to him. He hugs you from behind, startling you.
“Oh!” You put your hand on his head, stroking him lightly. “Hey, bub.”
“Daddy told me to come get you and say dinner’s ready.”
“Gotcha. Thank you.” You half-expect him to run off like he usually does, but he lingers, his arms still wrapped around you. “What’s up, bubbie?”
“Nothing.” He buries his face against your side. “Love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too, bubbie.” This makes you smile, pleasantly surprised at this seemingly random admission.
“Love Daddy too, but don’t tell him that,” he whispers as he looks up at you, putting his forefinger in front of his mouth.
“Why not?”
“Sometimes he gets sad when I say that,” he murmurs. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know it.”
Oh. His playful exterior sometimes makes you forget just how emotionally sensitive he is. And it breaks your heart that he can see through the complicated adult emotions with his childlike eyes.
“Alfie…” you level with him and pull him closer, “Your dad loves you very very much, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you say that. He’s just sad because… he’s been away, and he misses you a lot.”
“He should come home, then.”
It’s so simple, the way Alfie puts it. His Dad comes home and reunites with him and you, and his puzzle would piece together perfectly again. And you all live happily ever after. The end.
The truth, of course, is not so simple. But maybe, just for tonight… Maybe you and Luca can sacrifice a few of your own puzzle pieces. For your baby boy.
So you get back on your feet and guide your son out of the room. “Come on, bub. Let’s see what Daddy cooked for us, hm?”
When you and Alfie turn the corner into the kitchen-living area, Luca is wiping the side of the plate neatly. He smiles at you somewhat nervously, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, so you throw him the figurative olive branch.
“Smells amazing,” you compliment him as you and Alfie take your seats. “What are we having, Chef?”
Luca’s eyes light up and your heart stops. You stopped calling him ‘Chef’ long ago, when the moniker became synonymous with workaholism and neglect. But there’s no venom in the way you say it tonight. Call him sentimental, but it reminds him of the early summer days in the tiny apartment you first shared in Chicago.
Of blueberry pies and barely there bumps.
He has to remind himself that this whole ‘happy family’ shtick is just a charade now, it’s all for Alfie, it doesn’t mean anything for the two of us, but he can’t help but miss this.
And little does he know, so do you.
“Well, buckle up, you guys, because we are having…” He carries the plates over and serves it to you and Alfie with a flourish, “Baked sweet potato wedges with Mediterranean dip, and our pièce-de-résistance… Alfie’s Nuggies.”
It looks nothing short of beautiful, with the wedges fanned out like autumn leaves underneath a colorful burst of cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and feta cheese. The chicken nuggets are rich golden brown against the brilliant white plate. The splatters of sauce (is that Tahini?) is a hint of thoughtful chaos on the dish.
Your six-year-old let out a little noise of awe and amazement next to you, but no sound escapes you—not for the longest time.
“This is…” you look up at Luca as if he would have the word you’re looking for.
But his blue eyes just look a lot like I love you.
“Thank you,” you ultimately say, with absolutely no pretense whatsoever.
And if he does hear an ‘I love you’ hidden somewhere in there… he hopes he’s not imagining things.
***
08:37 PM
If you could travel just a few hours back in time and tell yourself that you would spend the whole day stuck at home in a nasty storm with your son and his father that you’re divorcing—and that you’d be okay with it, you would’ve probably scheduled yourself an MRI scan because clearly something is wrong.
But the night is winding down. Luca is tucking Alfie into bed for the first time in months. You are washing dishes in the quiet accompaniment of steady rain and running water, and everything feels just right.
“He’s out like a light,” Luca informs you quietly as he reemerges from Alfie’s bedroom and stops right by the kitchen counter. “Need a hand?”
“Nah, I’m just about done,” you casually wave him off. “You want anything to drink?”
“Uh… what do you got?”
“Scotch, gin…” you pause, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. The sink tap squeaks a little as you shut it off. “...wine.”
His heart skips. Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself. “Red or white?”
“Take your pick,” you shrug nonchalantly.
Luca reaches up to see the bottles of wine you have in store, and you try not to pay too much attention as his shirt rides up around the waist—or the sleeve, showing off the remnants of Alfie’s crayon work over his inks… you’re just two co-parents hanging out. It’s normal, right?
“What about the Malbec?” he eventually chooses, taking out the bottle.
He’s always loved Malbec—this particular brand of Malbec you brought him when he first invited you for dinner on your third date.
Don’t overthink it, you remind yourself. “Yeah, sure.”
You pick up two wine glasses and set them down on the dining table, shuffling into the corner bench. Luca settles into the other bench, directly against the kitchen counter, pouring the wine onto both glasses.
“How many bedtime stories did Alfie manage to get out of you?” you pipe up, swirling the purplish liquid around.
“Just one…” he sips on his wine thoughtfully. “Although he made me read it three times.”
You smile, bemused. “Which one was it?”
“‘The Bear Who Did.’”
“Ah, yeah. He’s been into that one lately,” you muse. “But… for what it’s worth, I’m glad he asked you to tuck him in tonight.”
The two of you exchange a soft look. A ceasefire. A truce, at least when it comes to your son. Because you really do want Luca to have a good relationship with Alfie.
“Me too.”
“And I’m sorry you had to… make do with spending the day with Alfie here.”
He shakes his head softly. “Nah, don’t be. I had a good time. It’s nice to just hang out… at home.”
At home, the words echo in your head.
With you, they echo in his, loud and unsaid.
“So, uh… how have you been?”
“Ah, you know how it is. Work is kicking my ass—my current client’s only two blocks away, but the house is a total fixer-upper, and Alfie’s… Alfie.” You don’t want to backtalk your own son, although you both know how trying he can be sometimes. “But it’s all good. My mom helps out with Alfie, and Jess insists that I go out and live a little every now and again.”
“And do you? Live a little?”
“I mean, within reason. I can’t go clubbing ‘til 4am anymore. I think I’m getting old…” you stretch your arms, feeling that soreness just from your daily activities.
Luca grins, raising his glass. “I hear you. I don’t even really go out anymore.”
“Seriously?”
“Mm-hm.”
You make an incredulous face. It would make sense for you not to go out much, with Alfie and everything. But he was alone, abroad… “Why, though?”
He just shrugs lightly. “I’m working. Whenever I’m off, I mostly just… eat or sleep.”
“I somehow find that hard to believe.” You take a dubious sip. You both know how much Luca enjoys grabbing a cheeky pint. He’s British; it’s in his blood, goddammit.
“Oh come on…”
“You don’t even go out drinking or whatever? Meet people?”
His gaze flashes towards you almost playfully. “Do you?”
Your face falls, not expecting to be caught so off-guard with such an innocent question. And upon seeing that, his face falls. Shit. And with that, the air between you shifts so dramatically.
Stupidly, you still try to save the conversation. “Of course my friends and I go out—”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice darkens, his blue eyes piercing through you.
This conversation is a long time coming. It’s a natural progression of your relationship—or the lack thereof. You separate, you get divorced, and eventually you move on. Two years is a more than acceptable time to start dating again. And still, you phrase out your next words very carefully.
“I’ve been on dates here and there…”
Luca sucks in a slow, calculated breath. “Does Alfie know?”
You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious so far.”
He’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s nothing serious, or that you’re holding out for something serious in the future.
“Look, we both know this is happening sooner or later…”
“I know,” he quickly recovers—or as much as he can recover. He just stares down the stem of his glass. “It just… It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”
“I understand.” The wine feels like gravel down your throat, and the words coming out of your mouth feel like throwing up a boulder.
“Because I do miss you.”
Your eyes immediately dart over to his, as if you’re not sure you heard it right. “Luca…”
“I miss you everyday. I miss us. I miss everything we used to have.”
Your heart catches—no, stops altogether at his admission. “Luca, we can’t do this anymo—”
He swallows thickly, his jaw setting as he braces himself. “I’ve been thinking about it everyday—the whole time I’m away, and frankly, I’m kicking myself over not telling you this sooner.”
“That’s probably just the homesickness talking.” You turn away. This can’t be possible. This can’t be happening. What the fuck?! “It got you reminiscing about the good old days. Give it time, you’ll come around.” You try to maintain a neutral, distant, cold approach to this, although the crack in your voice betrays you.
“No. That’s not it.”
“Then what the fuck is it?”
Your words cut through the quiet apartment like a flash bang. Luca stops dead in his tracks in his shock, and honestly, so do you. Awful silence hushes over the room, and both of you are almost too afraid to break it. Neither of you even dare to move.
After what seems like forever, Luca moves first. A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away with his knuckle hurriedly. “Noma should’ve been a dream. And it is, in a way. I guess.” He stares blankly ahead, his life in Copenhagen replaying in his head like it’s on fast-forward, and the playback seems to just highlight how lonely he is there. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly miserable there. I get up and go to work and I just feel empty. Because what’s the point? You and Alfie are way over here, being a family while I’m… doing what?” He wants to tear his hair out, because this is everything he’s dreamed of, and yet he is living the stuff of nightmares. “It makes no fucking sense.”
It makes even less sense to you. You can’t even begin to process this tangled mess in your head. “Luca… we are almost officially divorced. You’re telling me this now? When everything is—”
“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I should just… let you cut your losses and—”
“The best for me? How the fuck did you think giving up was the best way forward for me?” The thought of it burns your eyes with angry tears. They melt, and you don’t do a thing to stop it from running down your face. “You didn’t think to fight for us while you still could?”
Luca’s heart aches to see that. He is dying to reach out and wipe them away, but he can’t. His voice is quiet and small and almost childlike. “I tried. You were just so… sure about the divorce. You had it all figured out. And I… I thought you had no room for me anymore.”
“I had to keep it together. I had to figure it out—for Alfie’s sake. For mine.” You stare at your little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “I don’t see the point in being vulnerable with you anymore when you’re already set on leaving.”
The words have run out. The whirlwind of emotions has passed. What he feels and what he wants is now very clear.
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” You wished he didn’t. Everyday for the last two years. And everyday you set yourself up for disappointment because, the truth of the matter is, he did leave. So you stop wishing. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this. I really don’t.”
Nothing that comes out of your mouth is unexpected. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s just… seeing you guys today… We were a family again. And I would do anything for us to be a family again. Please.”
You sigh heavily. “What else is there to do, Luca…?”
“We can, I don’t know, figure something out, go to couples counseling—”
You groan in frustration, Jesus Christ not this again, wanting to tear your hair out when— CRASH! You accidentally knock over your wine glass and it shatters as it hits the floor. “Shit…”
“Mommy?” Alfie calls you from inside his room, sleepy but alert.
The two of you freeze just before you can move out of your seat. Afraid the slightest of noises would rattle your son.
“Yes, bubbie?” you try to sound bright and normal. Maybe if you can convince him that everything’s fine, he won’t come running in panic.
“What was that?”
“I just knocked over a glass, kiddo, everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
You and Luca wait a few seconds with bated breath. One, two, three… ten seconds go by, and there’s no movement in the bedroom.
The coast is clear.
You scramble down to pick up the shards of glass. The spilled wine looks like blood in the dim light of the room. It’s a painful reminder of the broken pieces of your former life, the casualties. He quickly follows suit, as if struggling to put it all back together. The irony is not lost on either of you, you’re sure of that.
“It’s fine, Luca. I got it, I—” a sharp piece of glass accidentally cuts your palm as you pick it up in hurry. “Fuck!”
���You okay?” He takes your hand as quick as lightning, wanting to inspect the wound, but you snatch it away.
“I’m fine.” You get up on your feet, teetering over to the sink, away from the crime scene, careful not to step on any piece of glass.
Yet he still follows you, walking over to where you’re standing now. “Come on. Let me just take a look.” He reaches out to your wrist, running little circles with his thumb to ease your grasp.
“It’s not a big deal…” you let him look anyway, you figure it’s easier to just let him do his thing than to argue your way out of it.
His calluses are brittle against your palm, but he handles you with the gentlest touch. The wound is not too big or too deep, but the sight of blood marring your palm makes his heart drop. There’s no visible piece stuck to it, that’s a good sign, he thinks. He rips off some paper towel and wets it on the sink, and softly dab at the gash, cleaning the wound and wiping the blood off.
You grit your teeth, not wanting to show any sign of pain although it stings. “It’s just a little cut…” your tone bears less and less conviction, as if you have no energy left to argue with him on such a small matter.
There’s a very particular way his eyebrows arch when he’s deep in thought. The left one always sits slightly higher than the right. Blue eyes fixed on the object of his focus. A minute gesture behind the chaos in his head. “You need a Band-Aid,” he points out.
“It’s in the—”
Luca is already opening the drawer next to the stove, taking out a packet of a Star Wars-themed Band-Aid. He still remembers where everything is, and you can’t tell whether the ache in your chest is a good or bad thing.
He puts the Band-Aid on your cut, then takes your hand close to kiss it better, like he used to do.
“Um.” You freeze in your tracks, taken aback. And it seems he’s just as equally as taken aback by his own action. He is flushed with embarrassment, and you feel your face growing hot as well.
He’s the first to break the awkward silence, quiet and tentative. “I’ll clean up the mess. You just hang tight.”
It seems so mundane, sweeping broken glass and cleaning the floor. His body registers it as a simple muscle memory—he must’ve cleaned up messes on this very spot a million times. But his heart is heavy with the burden of your history, and all the pain that comes with your separation. He might not be able to put the pieces back together, but maybe he can clean up the mess and make it nice again for you.
And all the while, you’re stuck to the kitchen counter, watching him so effortlessly reacquainted with his former home. It’s as if he never left. For a confusing moment, it feels like home again. How did you manage without this view, this presence for so long?
Luca puts away the debris in the trash, hidden away in another kitchen drawer next to you, and hovers in front of you, as if wanting to reach out and touch you… but too afraid you’ll push him away.
“Does it still hurt?”
You can’t tear your eyes off of his. The little cut on your hand is but a dull ache now, but the insides of your chest feels like it’s been mangled beyond repair. You burst into tears, sobs ripping through the seams.
His arms wrap around you, keeping your tattered pieces together. Your face is buried in his chest, surrounded by soft cotton and earthy perfume, and your first thought is you can’t remember the last time you were in his arms like this. You rake your mind through all the memories, all the times you hugged each other hello and goodbye and all the times in between, and you can’t remember the last time you stopped, why would you stop—
“My love…” Luca’s voice soothes you, so quietly murmured against your forehead with a soft kiss, yet rings so clear in your ears. He cups your face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay... I got you.”
The palm of his hand grazes your lips, and you kiss it the way he kisses your Band-Aid earlier. You have no energy left to fight whatever is going on inside you. You don’t understand the nagging urge to be away from him, when being close to him feels this good. You miss his touch and his voice and his face, and you’re so overwhelmed with longing that you close the distance between your lips and his.
Luca gasps when you kiss him—and it feels like the first breath he’s drawn in two years. Your lips are just as he remembers, just as warm and inviting and familiar, and he relishes coming home to them tonight. He didn’t think he would be so lucky ever again, but now you’re here, kissing life back into him again.
Against your better judgment, you stumble into the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible as you tread down the hallway. Still tangled in each other. Refusing to let go even for a second. His five o’clock shadow scratches your skin, following the trail of his lips down your neck.
You push him into bed and climb on top of him without a single thought. You need him close, closer than the past two years, closer than now, and your clothes feel like they’re in the way. Of his hands, of his mouth, of his warmth…
You tear your dress off and throw it away, and he stops in his tracks. He has every part of you memorized, every curve and every ridge, every notch of your stretch marks, every inch of your C-section scar from Alfie’s birth… and yet he’s looking at you for the first time all over again.
“Beautiful…” it escapes his mouth just like that, and you kiss him senseless in return. You worry that if you stop, the moment will pass and this whole thing turns out to be just an illusion.
Or worse, a mistake.
You tug his t-shirt over his head, trying not to linger on his broad chest too long. He gets the idea—he is dying to say something, but doesn’t—and just unclasps your bra in response. He keeps his mouth busy by kissing and licking and sucking your newly exposed breasts.
It’s not that you haven’t been touched like this in a while; it’s just that you haven’t been touched by him like this for so long.. “Luca…”
He never thought he’d hear that again. His name in a wanton sigh, uttered by the lost love of his life. He’s not one to waste his chance. “It’s okay. I got you, my love. I got you.”
Because for the first time in a long time, it’s true. He’s got you. He’s got your body underneath him, your nipple in his mouth, your sweet sex in his hand.
God.
You’re so soft, so warm, so wet against his fingers. The little stuttered moan you let out sounds absolutely heavenly. He remembers exactly the last time he was here.
Christmas Eve, two years ago.
Things had been tense long before that, but Luca was home and able to spend some time with his wife and kid at last. You didn’t seem all that chuffed having him around—whether he was here or not brought out that “neutral look of displeasure” from you these days— but at least you didn’t pull away when he rested his head on your shoulder as the three of you watched Jurassic Park (Alfie’s all-time favorite). Didn’t roll your eyes and turn away when he kissed you and wished you happy Christmas before bed.
And he wanted so desperately for you to openly want him again.
So he tentatively deepened the kiss and reiterated his love for you in every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. Trying to convince you that he was still here. Trying to convince himself that with every orgasm he pried out of you, that you still wanted him there.
But you just… laid there and watched. Hands locked in on the sheets, not even touching him. Motionless as he went through the motions of his thrusts. Numb as he touched and kissed and fucked you the way you used to like. He was fighting a losing battle. He might as well have been making love to a ghost.
“Luca…” Your breathless voice snaps him out of his own intrusive thoughts, more clear and alive and real than any memory of you posing no desire for him.
“I— yeah, sorry. I just…” he shakes off his own thoughts.
“Hurry up, come on…” you needily thrust yourself into his hand.
“You sure?”
No, and neither does he. But at this point, you’re much too stubborn about your decision in the divorce and much too prideful to admit that you want him back and maybe just a tad too eager to make a mistake with him.
So you nod your head yes, and with a searing kiss, he fingerfucks you the way you needed him to.
“Oh, God… fuck…” you sigh under the undoing of his fingers. It’s like he never forgot how to work your body. His fingers play a pattern on your clit that makes you sing. And when one slides into you, crooking and curling against your silky heat…
“Luca, I— now.”
He unlatches his mouth from your nipple almost begrudgingly, as if too sweet to part with you. “Not yet, baby. We can’t…”
“What, why?”
“Because…” he nips at the smooth flesh of your chest thoughtfully. How can he explain it to you in a way that makes sense? “I want…” to take as much time with you as possible, he adds another finger inside you deliciously slow. “I need…” to feel you in every way first, he chants in his head as he kisses you through your orgasm.
Your resolve is slipping, but the craving is as ravenous as ever. You try to squirm in protest anyway. “But…”
“Please.” His lips press against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I got you, okay?”
His blue eyes meet yours, as familiar as the sky you’ve walked under your whole life. As sure as day. And before you realize it, you find yourself nodding along.
Watching him slither further down your body. Mouth paving the way between the valleys of your breasts, up the diamond-hard tops of your nipples.
Down your torso.
Between your nether lips.
You don’t remember the last time you did this either. Memories of attempts to rekindle the romance flash before your eyes. The nights that he climbed into bed late at night after work, still smelling like chocolate or mint or whatever ingredient he was working with that day. Waking you up with the parting of your legs and hushed kisses saying, “Missed you so much, baby…”
“Right there. Yes…” you pant as he laps you up where you’re dripping, catching every drop and coaxing more at the same time.
His eyes close, and he swallows back a needy groan. “Come for me, baby.”
The words shoot right into your core, and you’re suddenly overcome with the waves of pleasure running through you, grinding your hips into his mouth shamelessly. Has he always been so greedy in the way he ate you out?
Your head is spinning with need and you hope the broken words you string up are comprehensible enough for him. “Luca, come on, I can’t—”
“No, please—” he seems to understand just fine, but still he shakes his head and buries his face deeper into you.
“Luca…”
“Wait, just let me—”
So insistent. So stubborn. So… needy. You grasp a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Both heaving, you breathe out,
“Please.”
The word stops him in his tracks. But it’s not so much the word as it is the gravity that comes with it. Whatever the two of you are doing, whatever you’re feeling is beyond words at this point.
It’s just you and him and this need.
And as much as he wants—needs— to satisfy his hunger, there’s just no way of stopping you anymore. Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he’s been stalling you in the first place. Not when you’re so eager to tug his clothes off and touch him absolutely everywhere. To stroke him, and taste him…
“No, baby.” He stops you just before you slither down his body, settling you back on the bed and caging you underneath him.
You throw him a look, indignant. If he’s gonna hold it off some more, you swear to God—
“No, I…” he kisses you hard, hoping you’ll get that he wants you too. More than anything. And that he’ll give you what you want. Hell, he would give you anything if he could come back to this again for the rest of his life. “Just trust me, okay?”
You marvel at the sight before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With dark blond locks tousled in passion and eyes lidded from lust and longing, and it makes your heart stop because… there it is.
Love.
As much as you shut it out and as much as you avoid it, love is permanently etched to his actions. Tattooed onto the smallest of things. In the way he kisses your temple softly, and the way he caresses your skin as he aligns himself against you, and the way he holds you as he pushes in…
“Luca…” you gasp sharply.
He stops halfway into you, his eyes searching your face with compassion. “You okay?”
You’re aching and craving the stretch of him all at once, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, so you ultimately nod your head. I’m okay.
And he knows that deep down. He feels the same. Soothed and tormented by your very presence, although he can’t help but ask, “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t ask me to stop…
You shake your head quickly. Neither of you would ever dream of it. You would take everything—the weight and the sting of it all— and he would leave everything behind just to have this again.
Your hips colliding again in a frenzy of a rhythm you haven’t played in so long—still remembering every beat like it’s your own pulse. Your walls gripping him like you wouldn’t let him go.
He shudders a little. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that…”
“I don’t care,” you murmur into his neck with a kiss, “Come.”
“What…?” He can’t have heard that right… right?
“I want you to.”
“Jesus…” he breathes out. “I wanna make this last, baby—”
You shake your head again and wrap your legs around him almost demandingly. “I want you to come inside me and fill me the fuck up… want you dripping down my legs… please…”
“Fuck!” The images flash before his eyes faster than he can stop his hands from grabbing you by the hips, slamming himself into you.
Nor can he stop himself from coming deep inside you.
There’s no way to describe the way he feels at that moment. The way tension peaks and snaps into release. How it brings you into your climax as well. Your lips must be swollen from the assault of your own teeth as you hold back the filthy noises coming out of you. You don’t mind the building ache in your thigh muscles, because as soon as that warmth fills you up, your body is overcome by waves of bliss.
“Fuck…” he flops back onto his side of the bed—the right side—and quickly gathers you in his chest. It’s an effortless little maneuver, making sense at last as you lay half on top of him.
Your hand finds his—more puzzle pieces coming together as he fills the spaces between your fingers. You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Surprised to find the gold wedding band still adorning his ring finger.
***
9:56 PM
“Was that really your first time since we… you know?” Your murmured question rings loud in the absence of the rain. The storm has finally passed, but neither of you move—neither even dare to bring it up— afraid to ruin the moment.
“It was.”
“Not even in a casual, ‘no strings attached’ kind of situation?”
“No.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it, but there is no hesitation in his answer.
“Wow…” your heart sinks. Is it possible to feel good and bad at the same time?
Luca pauses for a moment. You can see the conflict brewing in his head. “Did you?”
You don’t have to answer. The sheer silence you take is an answer enough.
The confirmation feels like shit, but he tries to stay neutral. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Can I ask how many?”
“Gosh, does that even matter?” You sigh. There’s another argument coming—you can feel it.
“No, I just… I wanna know.”
“You don’t really wanna know.”
“Is it a lot?”
“I mean…”
“How many?”
You take in a sharp breath. There’s no way out of this now. If the truth is what he wants, then the truth is what he shall get. “Twelve.”
He tenses up next to you. The whole world stops, and you can’t help but think, it’s over. There is no way this marriage is salvageable now. “What…?”
“I know that it’s a big number, and I know you might be upset—”
“That is a big number.” He doesn’t say anything about the latter part of her sentence, but it’s obvious that he’s upset, too. “I just… why?”
“I was trying to get over you.” It’s a pathetic answer, but that’s all it is to it. “I couldn’t sleep in this bed for months. I just couldn’t. Slept on the guest bed instead,” you motion at the next room, “and then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like a switch flipped inside my brain, and I needed to—”
“What?”
“I needed to… overwrite the memories of you,” you admit feebly. “On this bed. On my body.”
Knife, meet heart. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, but whatever it was, this hurts so much more. “And did it work?”
“Up to a point…” you pause, a sad smile in realization. “It’s funny. I keep getting bits and pieces of you somehow.”
“What do you mean?”
You close your eyes, your memories flashing, reminding you that every single time reminds you of Luca one way or another. “It’s… somebody’s perfume, or the timbre of their voice, or the way they hold my hand…”
“And you see me in them?”
“Every single one.”
“Jesus…” Luca finds himself relieved and choked up at the same time. He doesn’t want you to ever get rid of your memories of him, but at the same time, it’s painful to hear that you tried anyway.
And you tried very hard.
“I’m sorry.”
He hums, and you realize… he hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. Not even after your little confession. It makes the argument easier, knowing he’s there. It’ll be easier to part with him again after tonight, you hope, knowing you both did your best to understand. Why you needed to be apart. Why you did the things you did.
The armor has been shed, and the two of you are now naked, in every sense of the word.
Luca turns to look at you, studying your profile. He remembers the last time he was here.
He had just told you about Denmark. Stupid of him to feel excited, to tell you he’d just been offered his dream job, to ask you and Alfie to move someplace new with him, because it turned into a fight.
Worse than a fight; it was a death sentence.
You turned away and stared at the ceiling, and told him you couldn’t do this anymore.
And in some fucked up way, Luca feels as if he’d been brought back in time, and this is his one chance to make it right. So he asks you,
“Do you still love me?”
You breathe out, heart clenching because in spite of yourself, “I do.”
“Do you want us to try again?”
“Luca…” you sigh heavily, “How would that even work? Alfie and I are here, and you have Noma–”
“No more Noma. I’m giving that up.” The answer is straightforward, and he surprises himself over how easily it rolls off of his tongue. How right.
“What? You wouldn’t…” Your face falls as you turn to him.
“I would. And I am,” he says firmly. “Look, I’ve thought about this for months now. I can’t do Noma anymore, I need to be home.” His gaze softens, and you feel the pattern running on the back of your hand again.
Slow and steady and certain.
The tear rolls off the corner of your eye and onto the pillow with the tiniest drop. “I wanted you to come home…”
“Then let me come home. Please?”
“I want to. I just…” you reach out and cup his face tentatively. “I just want to make sure that we’re not doing anything rash.”
His eyes light up. The only thing that matters is that you want him home, too. It takes him everything to let his logical part of the brain take control. “How about this, then?” Luca pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll take a minute. For me to sort out everything at Noma, find a replacement… and for us to figure out if this is really what we wanna do.
“If it starts to feel like a bad idea, maybe we should rethink it. But if it feels good… maybe we can give it another shot.
“And in the meantime, we’ll talk. We’ll FaceTime and… figure out what the hell to say to our lawyers.”
That makes you grimace. You were supposed to have another meeting with your divorce lawyers. Tomorrow is going to be awkward. But awkward beats saying goodbye to the man you’ve always loved, right? It’s a small price to pay.
“What do you say, baby?” He looks at you with all the hope that he has. “Just give me a minute to get everything sorted and then I’ll come home.”
You smile tearfully. “A minute is not enough… how about a month, hm?”
“Yeah, that makes more sense, actually.” He chuckles sheepishly. “A month. I can do that.”
“Good.” You sidle up to him and kiss him where his heart is. You’re willing to settle for having him just for the night, but you can’t wait until he comes home to you for good.
You hope he will.
#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 smut#ava writes
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You’re #1 to Me - Luca x Reader One-Shot (18+ ONLY)
Content warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, explicit language, and sexual content
Summary: The reader and Luca are in an established relationship. Luca comes home after finding out he isn’t the actually best chef (based on the conversation in episode 4 w/ Marcus). The reader is determined to lend him a HAND 🤗
A/N: Did I just write smut about a character with less than 10 minutes of screentime?! MAYBE YES!! 😛 I’ve been extremely down bad for Will Poulter recently 😭 also,,, @wakandamama ‘s Sydney x Carmy fics are inspiring me to write more! Here’s a one-shot for my favorite baker! <3
“Babe, he’s like....really good,” Luca murmurs into the quiet air of your shared apartment.
“Yeah, but so are you.” Your confidence in him is slowly soothing the ache in his chest.
“It’s just…he’s like..” He can feel the words slipping from his brain, the steady feeling of your fingers against his scalp lulling him into a relaxed state.
The pair of you are tangled together on the couch, you’re halfway on his lap while he rests his head against the back cushion. The smooth column of his necks calls out to you, tempting and waiting. His eyelids flutter involuntarily, when he feels the soft kiss you place there.
“He’s like…what?” You breath against his neck, pulling him away from the noise in his head. The silence stretches between the two of you, Luca’s uncertainty stirring up inside of him.
“Because, I say,” you whisper into his ear, “you’re still number one to me.”
Your arm drapes loosely around his shoulder now, nestling further into his side. His strong arm acts as a cradle, pulling you in, before he meets your eyes.
The sadness in his eyes has given way to something else, and it causes a warm tingle to flood your body. The tension has shifted now, and it’s much more welcome this time.
“Come here,” his voice is firm, but gentle when he turns to give you his full attention. Leaning in, his lips are tentative against your own. This kiss is soft and light, but it still makes your tummy flutter. The insecurity that he’s been feeling at work weighs him down. Luckily, you know what he needs in this moment.
The intensity of your lips against his own brings him back into the moment. While he might not feel like the best chef in the world, he’ll be damned if he can’t help you feel as good as possible.
Deepening the kiss, he eases his hands onto your hips, bringing you to his lap in one fluid motion. The sudden change of pace leaves you breathless, giggling into the kiss when your lips meet again.
He breaks the kiss, only to softly nip at your neck, teasing you until he gets to the spot that makes you let out a soft moan.
Your hips softly rock against his own, the thin pajamas pants making it much easier for you to feel the growing tent in his pants. Wandering hands knead against the plush of your ass, his hips lazily grinding upwards.
When you bury your face in his neck, you’re met with the lingering smell of sugar that clings to him. The scent overwhelms you, driving your need to be even closer. All you can focus on is making him forget about his stress.
Your hands trail down, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, revealing the tanned skin beneath it. You can’t help but trail your hands over the defined muscle, his eyes following your motion.
“Luca,” your soft voice grabs his attention. He’s in a trance, the soft lighting of your shared apartment makes your beauty feel unbearable. It’s only when you softly smirk at him that he’s prompted to respond.
“Yes, love?” The raspiness of his voice makes you tug on your lip, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by your lover. His hands have slipped into your bottoms, toying with the string of your thong.
“I want to make you feel good, is that okay?” His answering groan makes your heart race, “You know you don’t have to ask me that,” he grunts, tugging you back in for a kiss.
His lips are urgent against your own, the smooth glide of his tongue causing a stir in your belly. You blindly reach down to loosen his belt buckle. The kiss breaks, only for a moment, so you can look down to lower the band of his sweats.
His lips frantically reconnect with yours, eager to be close to you. Each swipe of your tongue against his own is making him harder, the thin boxers doing little to conceal him. He jumps a little when you reach your hand down to stroke him through the fabric.
“Hmm, fuck,” he sighs, the gentle touch of your hand causes his hips to stutter. You ease off of his lap, sitting on your knees next to him, needing more space for what you’re about to do.
In a swift motion, you’re rolling down his boxers, causing him to hiss as the cool air meets his hard cock. He glances over as you reach up to wet the palm of your hand, the lewd act making him twitch.
When your soft hand wraps around his base, Luca swears he might pass out. You stroke him from the base to the tip, causing precum to leak onto your hand. He lets out a loud moan when when find a steady rhythm. He’s thick and warm in your hand, turning you on even more.
“Does that feel good baby, hmm?” You tease him, his hips bucking up to chase the relief.
“Yes, fuck, f-feels good,” he moans out, his hand reaching around to grip your lower back, grounding himself. You’re leaning into him, pressing kisses against his neck, then softly sucking on the skin. Your hand slows against him, toying with his tip.
“I can tell, baby, you’re making a mess all over my hand,” you breathe out, loving the way his cock twitches as you tease him.
“C-can’t help it, you feel so good,” he whines out, trying to keep his hips still. Your other hand comes up to softly tug at his balls, making him lose his composure.
He lets out a curse as he throws his head against the back of the couch, his hips bucking against your hand.
“It’s okay, baby, you can come for me,” the warmth in your voice engulfs him, causing him to release all over your hand.
His chest slows as he comes down from his high, muscles slowly relaxing further into the couch. You retract your hand, reaching for his shirt to clean him off before gently tucking him back into his boxers.
The soft presses of your lips against his cheeks bring him back down to Earth, his eyes finding yours without fail.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Both of you feel shy, the redness in his cheeks makes your heart swell.
His blonde hair is messy now, adding to the boyish look on his face. His eyelids droop now, the knowledge that you’ve fully relaxed him causing a genuine smile to spread across your face.
The rest of the night is spent in both of your favorite ways, tangled together, listening to the lull of the other’s heartbeat.
................................................................................................................................
Tagging my fellow The Bear enthusiasts 🥳 (let me know if you want to be added/removed):
@wakandama2 @blowmymbackout @kdoxkeic
#the bear fanfiction#the bear fanfic#the bear smut#will poulter imagine#will poulter x reader#will poulter fanfic#will poulter fanfiction#luca the bear#the bear#the bear fx#the bear x reader#will poulter smut#luca x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy the bear#will poulter#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics
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Bound to the Villain
Pairing: villain!Adam Warlock x guardian!gn reader
Word Count: 995
This fic contains: some dark themes, abduction, reader is captive, corruption, evil arc, reader has some insecurities, unbeta'd writing
Summary: You are more than a guardian of the galaxy in Adam's eyes.
Notes: I said I missed writing for Adam so I said yolo and revisited a WIP I thought I had abandoned long ago. It's way different than what I originally planned but it'll do for now. Who knows I might write a part 2 with a little extra something something ;) This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial, who I would like to shoutout for sparking inspiration back into my little brain :)
Your eyes fluttered open to what looked like a dungeon cell. As you gained consciousness, you struggled to remember what happened before you blacked out. All you could recall was fighting alongside the guardians of the galaxy. The reason behind the mission was foggy, along with who exactly you were supposed to defeat.
Upon realizing your friends were nowhere to be found, anxiety rushed through your system as you tried to stand and run. However, you failed to move further than a meter as the chains around your wrists sent you crashing to the floor. You winced in pain as the metal tugged your skin.
An ominous chuckle echoed in the room, yet you could not locate the source of the eerie sound. Your head whipped around the room until footsteps against the cobble approached you.
“Who’s there?” You yelled into the void. A tall man with pure golden skin and wispy blond hair emerged from the dark side of the room. You gasped as your eyes set upon a gem in the middle of his forehead. In fact, it was a stone. A stone you and your fellow guardians were awfully familiar with.
The soul stone.
Almost as quick as the snap that blipped your friends away, you immediately realized who you were up against.
Adam Warlock. The perfect man from space created to destroy the guardians of the galaxy.
“What am I doing here? Where are my friends?” You interrogated, masking your fear with an angry voice.
“No need to worry, my little one,” Adam answered. “Those idiots you call your friends are where you and I last saw them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are on their way to find you. Some heroes they would be.”
Goosebumps pricked your skin at Adam’s pet name for you. Then, your stomach flipped as you worried about the safety of the other guardians.
Were they really out there looking for you? The whole reason your team had been roaming the galaxy was in search of Gamora. Unlike you, Gamora was a stronger and more skilled fighter. Not to mention, Peter was still madly in love with her and refused to stop searching until she was found. You were intelligent, in fact, the most intelligent of the group. Hence, why you felt like an outcast most of the time, but maybe just this one time, you were wrong.
What really plagued your mind was what drove Adam Warlock to keep you of all the guardians as his prisoner.
“You kidnapped me? Why?”
The golden man laughed, kneeling to your level on the ground. “You know, I always pegged you as the smart one of the guardians.”
You cocked a condescending smile. “Perhaps their stupidity rubbed off on me.”
Adam matched your snarky smile. “My main purpose may be to destroy you and your beloved friends, but I realized there is more to my being than death and destruction.” His gloved finger lifted your chin up so you were forced to gaze into his eyes. The gesture made your breath falter as his eyes pierced your soul.
“I may be powerful, but I am also lonely. I have desired a mate since my birth and when I was fighting you and those morons on Knowhere, I was instantly drawn to you.”
You wanted to be infuriated, disgusted even, by his statement. Yet, your body betrayed you as your cheeks warmed up and you arched your back away from the wall. This made Adam’s grin grow wider.
“As smart as you are, you’re not very strong. It was very easy to use my powers against you and make you crumble to your knees. And there is no doubt why.” Adam leaned closer to you.
“Your mind and heart are wounded. You loved and lost so many that you latched onto others who are as broken as you are. You hide your emotions to avoid getting hurt again. You’re just like me, little one. You’re lonely. But don’t mind that anymore, I can fix all that. Be my mate, and you will never have to be hurt or lonely again.”
You conjured all of your strength to swing a punch at his face, yet the chains ricocheted your fist back. A frustrated huff escaped your nostrils as your muscles strained from the attempted attack.
“You know, for someone who was born yesterday, you sure know how to woo a lady. But I’ll have you know, I am not broken.”
The same gloves hand smoothed over your face and down your neck, chills following his touch.
“You can stop lying to yourself, little one. I may have been born yesterday, but even the dumbest creature to plague this galaxy can spot a broken soul.” Now, Adam’s face was only inches away from yours. His hot breath fanned over your lips as if hypnotizing you to close the space between you and him.
All of a sudden, the shackles released from your wrists. Yet, you were unphased by your freedom. You should have knocked Adam to the ground and fled the scene before you could get killed. Instead, you gazed into Adam’s eyes, who extended his hand towards you.
“Take my hand. You will never have to experience pain ever again with me.” You found yourself succumbing to his touch, his voice, and his offer. Yet, at the back of your conscience, you thought about the guardians. How hurt they would be to learn that you chose to side with your enemy. All that time becoming a family with them just for it to go to waste. Your mind became fuzzy from this internal conflict.
“So, what’s it gonna be, little one?”
Your once chained hand interlocked with Adam’s. It felt so natural, and you wondered if you were destined to be the villain. As his plush lips engulfed yours, the darkness clouded your judgment.
If being bound to the villain was wrong, you never wanted to be right again.
Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Adam Warlock Masterlist
header credit: @saradika | divider credit: @firefly-in-darkness
#adam warlock#will poulter#guardians of the galaxy volume 3#gotg vol 3#adam warlock x reader#adam warlock x you#adam warlock smut#adam warlock fluff#adam warlock angst#adam warlock headcanons#adam warlock fic#adam warlock fanfiction#adam warlock imagine#will poulter x reader#will poulter x you#will poulter imagine#will poulter fic#flash fiction friday#fff238
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no thoughts just will poulter in the bear… it feels criminal that I barely see any fics/oneshots for Luca yet this man is so fine omfg THE TATS like LOOK AT HIM
#b1ackbunny rants#will poulter#luca the bear#the bear hulu#the bear#luca#luca x reader#the bear luca x reader#the bear luca x fem!oc#luca x oc#pls someone write luca fics I need it for my soul#will poulter x reader#will poulter x oc#gonna implode
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