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#and then when it's plated you put the cheese on

klaprisun · 1 day

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One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 28

As promised, I decided to stay for dinner at Haley's. Emily has taken off to a shift at the saloon so we have the house to ourselves.

"What do you want to have to eat?" Haley questions me as she skims through the fridge for something to make.

"I'm fine with anything. I'm not picky," I shrug while sitting at the kitchen table, particularly interested in looking at Haley bent over looking in the fridge.

"Really? I set you up for a perfect joke and nothing?" Haley had whipped around with her hands on her hips. I feel my face get hot and I just shrug again.

"I figured it's too soon for that..?" I sheepishly say while giving her a goofy grin. I have never been so nervous and tame with jokes like that around other girls before. I don't want to say the wrong thing and make her run for the hills.

"It's never too early to make a joke, silly," she sings as she searches around the kitchen for food. Haley has also never given me back my cowboy hat either. She is still strutting around wearing it.

"I'll keep that in mind," I reply while I follow Haley's pacing with my eyes. She is making me dizzy from watching her.

"I really don't know what to make for you," She whines as she covers her face with her hands. Standing up, I make my way over to her and rest my hand on her shoulder. With my other hand, I take the cowboy hat and tilt it up. She takes her hands away from her face and looks up at me with her sparkling eyes.

"You could make me Algae Soup and I'd still eat it. Make whatever your pretty heart desires," I gently shake the cowboy hat on her head, causing her to giggle.

"Sit tight. I have an idea," she says as she leads me back to the kitchen table and sits me down in my chair.

When she returns to the kitchen work space, she immediately gets to work. Pulling all sorts of things from the fridge, stirring in large bowls, measuring ingredients, she was putting in work.

She finally slows down with the cooking and takes whatever it is from the oven.

"Ta da! It's pepper poppers!" She exclaims, holding out the tray of them with oven mitts on. "I know it kind of clashes, but I also made a fruit salad to go with them. I just love fruit salad so much."

"I think it's wonderful, Haley. Thank you," I say with a huge smile. She gives me a smile back and sets the pepper poppers on the table. Next, she brings over the fruit salad bowl and places it down.

"Dig in!" she announces while taking a seat across from me.

"Oh I will," I mutter, already taking a huge bite. Uncivilly, I use my hands and fingers to eat the pepper poppers. I should've known better and tried to be more polite, but I just couldn't wait a second longer.

Before you know it, I cleared my plate entirely. Haley, who is only on her second pepper popper, stares at me in disbelief. I start sucking my fingers clean of grease and cheese instead of using a napkin like the hooligan I am. However, the gesture makes Haley start blushing. When I catch her gaze, she quickly looks down at her food and takes a bite.

"Sorry... I'm not very polite. I'm used to eating alone at home," I apologized to her.

"You're alright. I can tell you enjoyed it," she waves me off, still looking down at her plate with a blush.

"Am I disgusting you already?" I nervously laugh, unsure why she is looking away.

"Quite the opposite actually," she mumbles, finally looking back up at me. I feel my cheeks heat up now at the seductive look she is giving me.

She finishes her last bite of food and takes her plate into her arms. She reaches across the table to take mine, but I knock her hand away.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Let me help you. These are my dishes after all," I scolded her playfully. She backs up and goes to the sink to start the dishes. I follow after her.

"You don't have to help, you know? You are a guest here," she sighs while scrubbing one of the plates.

"Don't matter. I want to help you," I retort while grabbing a towel to start drying the dishes. Since it was only the two of us, washing the dishes was going to take no time at all.

"How'd you know you were into girls?" Haley blurts out after a few minutes of silently washing dishes.

"I absolutely despised the thought of being with a man," I answered with a chuckle. "Now women..." I bump her with my hip and wag my eyebrows at her. This causes her to chuckle with me and she shakes her head.

She suddenly puts down the dish she was washing and turns her whole body towards me. I realize she seems to be in a serious stance, so I finish drying the dish I had and turn to face her.

"You said you've had one night stands. Why did those not work out? Why did you never want to settle down with someone?" She asks me very forwardly.

"I just never liked them enough to be more than a one night stand. I couldn't see a future with anyone, and mostly was focused on having fun rather than settling down. I didn't care about anyone enough to continue a romantic relationship..." I sigh, thinking back to the city days. I look at her to see if she was satisfied with my response.

"What makes me different?" I notice her take a deep breath and kind of hold it.

"You had my attention the moment I got here. My brain and body knew what I wanted and it was you, Haley. You aren't like everyone back in the city, you are so much more. How I so desperately hoped you'd be into girls so I'd at least have somewhat of a chance with you," I rest my hand on her cheek. She leans into it as she listens to what I have to say. I slowly creep closer to her so that we are only inches apart. I gently tip her head back so I can see her beautiful face that was hidden by the brim of the cowboy hat.

Neither of us saying another word, the two of us start leaning in closer to each other. I start lowering my head down to her as she brings hers up closer to mine. I didn't dare close my eyes yet so I could watch as her lips got closer to mine. We both freeze for a moment, making sure we are both okay with it. I slide my arm around her waist and pull her in closer.

Just as our lips are about to connect, the front door bursts open startling us both. We both quickly back away from each other and go back to doing the dishes. Haley fumbles one of the dishes she tries to pick up and it falls back into the sink. I start drying an already dry dish.

"I hope y'all are decent," Emily shouts from the front door, dramatically covering her eyes. I hadn't even realized how late it had gotten. Somehow, the time slipped by and it's already 11 o'clock at night.

"Wow. Old married couple much? I give you guys the house to yourselves and you are playing house?" Emily judges teasingly.

"Can't you go back to the saloon and stay there permanently?" Haley rolls her eyes, annoyed.

"Ouch. Did I just cock block or something?" Emily bursts out laughing at her own joke, making Haley more annoyed.

"I should probably get going. It's pretty late," I bend down and plant a kiss on Haley's cheek, causing her face to flush pink at the sudden gesture. It calmed her down immediately, bringing her out of the annoyed state.

I set the dish towel on the counter and head towards the door.

"Thank you again for dinner. It's my turn to make dinner for us next time." I give Haley a quick wink. "See you later, Haley."

"Don't forget your hat!" she calls after me, taking it off her head.

"Keep it until next time. It'll give me an excuse to come back," I call back to her as I step through the front door.

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girljeremystrong · 7 months

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oh but i have to tell everyone that we had pasta with red cabbage and ricotta salata and it was all purple and so good and i'm definitely making it again for myself and you should too!!!!

#i guess you just chop the cabbage in tiny strips and then sautè with oil and then maybe a bit of red wine #then you add the pasta #and then when it's plated you put the cheese on #which btw parmesan is probably good enough if you can't find ricotta salata

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brainworms-all-night-long · 5 months

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

So, what's your prediction for how it ends? Because my expectations have been broken

Heeeey, I knew I wanted to put tiny drabble I had in my head to words for this one but couldn't decide on how many rebukable details I wanted it to have to the point of just debating waiting until the 11th, but than I got a sudden new year's burst of motivation so I drew and wrote something vague at last!!

[281 words]

☆-–-–-–-–-–-•-–-–-–-–-–-◇

Nine did expect a ripple of energy to surge through him and snatch his consciousness along as the Prism was fixed and finally seated in its rightful place. At this point he was fine with that really, maybe even grateful.

What he expected less was cold stone beneath his head that pulsed with a headache and weak control returning to his limbs.

Soft red ambient light sat upon stone walls that slowly registered to Nine's blurry vision and for a second he believed he was back in New Yoke. That he, or someone, perhaps hit his head and then left him lying on the concrete, that everything in his recent memory was just a very weird and long-winded dream.

That theory had a couple of holes in it however, as it would be highly improbable for the Eggforcers to just leave him lying there for Chaos knows how long disrupting their precious "order" and two, the source of the red glow doesn't seem to poisonous be neon lights of the city but...him instead?

With a pained grunt and some struggle Nine managed to sit up and collect himself just enough to stare at his own hand and legs, which appeared translucent and glowing red, for some reason, familiar shades of red.

The second he let his bewilderment about his state fall he looked around and up, taking a note of a fallen scrap of an eggforcer and a long stone bridge connecting two rocky platforms high above.

So, still in the Prism cave then. Most likely got flung off the platform and into a ditch while hitting his head, but than, did putting the shards together not work out after all?

#sonic prime #starting off new year stronk💪#ok ok so basic idea for this was #you know how in the physical proces of breaking something. after putting it back together its not the same thing anymore yea #you can slap on as much ducktape or glue on a brocken plate but it will never be whole again?#sooo something similar happened to the prism and while I swiftly ignore the fact that its a magical rock that most likely has the power to–#–seamlessly fuse together again #and so since thats the case. the stuff it created with it's shattering also wont be the same as before #maybe I could mix in some theories that the shatterverse always existed its just sonic broke through the geteway to it by shattering the roc #but that just adds more holes to my cheddar cheese of an au theory so we'll leave that be #Nine was ultimately bribed back down from his silliness and defeated he put the prism back together #when that happened everything that was already in the cave stayed there but our fellow prime characters were back as well #nine just got very conveniently thrown way back so that no one knew of him until he made himself known #also sonic and shadow suffering temponary amnesia but Ill write that out somewhere else #so tada!! shaky foundation for my copium prime bros au!!#prime bros #miles nine prower #nine the fox #me does arts #actually finished doodl #me when I finish writing #also its 5am so uh. sorry for any logic inconsistencies-

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wanda-widow · 3 months

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Post-Mission

Grumpy!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 832

Summary: Bucky has always been one to try and pull away from people who care about him. However, you're always one to be insistent and care for him anyways, no matter what he says.

18+ MDNI

Warnings: slight angst, implied smut if you squint your eyes, fluff

Like and reblog if you wish 💗

Hearing footsteps shuffle down the hall along with the sound of a dragging duffle was all you needed to know that Bucky was back from his week long mission. Hopping off the bed and peeking your head out of your shared bedroom, you saw Bucky scrub a weary hand down his face. You instantly frowned, worried as you hurried over to him, taking the duffle out of his hands.

“How was the mission? Are you hurt anywhere? We should get you some food, you look exhausted” you said while rushing back to the room to unpack his gear as he let out a sigh, silently chucking off his boots before face planting on the bed.

“Bucky?” came your worried voice after you put his boots into the closet, sitting on the bed next to him and poking his shoulder. “Bucky, get up. Shower, eat, and then rest.” you urged, poking him again when his vibranium hand shot out to grip your wrist.

“Let me sleep” he said gruffly before shifting on the bed so that his back was turned to you, leaving you rubbing your wrist softly. You knew he wasn’t too responsive after missions since it took so much out of him, not that he was one for words or self care anyways. Still, you took it upon yourself to make sure he was cared for.

“Please? I’ll make you plum croissants tomorrow if you just shower and eat” you tried again, scooting closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder as you felt him sigh again before sitting up.

“Eat and then shower” he said, running a hand through his hair as he made his way to one of the compound communal kitchens, sitting down on one of the stools as he waited for you expectantly.

“Grilled cheese?” you offered, slotting yourself in the opening between his thighs, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he nodded, fingers trailing down your arm as you pulled away. You could feel his gaze follow you as you bustled around the kitchen to make his food. “Go shower and then you can eat after” you said softly, turning around to look at him as he frowned, reaching out to tug you by the wrist back into his proximity.

“Thought you would shower with me” he said softly, letting his walls down while no one else was around. You felt his hands come to rest on your waist, forehead between your breasts as he pressed a kiss through your clothes.

“Another time, I promise” you laughed softly, letting your hands run through his hand before stopping at his shoulders, letting one hand trail down his vibranium arm. He let out a quiet whine before getting off the stool, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. You watched as he went back to the room to shower before turning back to the sandwich, humming softly.

20 minutes later, Bucky was freshly showered and seated at the counter once more, gaze still fixed on you as you plated his sandwich and sat next to him. He ate in silence for a while as you observed the new wounds on his back. Finding some gauze and neosporin, you began to bandage them gently.

“They’re shallow but-”

“They’re nothing” Bucky cut you off but made no move to stop you from patching him up. After placing the last piece of medical tape, he turned in his stool to face you, the both of you exchanging silent conversation before he got up to wash his plate.

“If you keep going on long missions, you’re just gonna keep destroying yourself, Buck” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. It became more apparent that the past couple months, he just drew further into himself with each mission, determined to block out the pain with endless fighting.

“I’m just helping the team” he said tersely, putting his dish in the drying rack before he walked back to the room, expecting you to follow behind him. You stood there for a moment, willing for the emotions to fade, to appreciate that he was here.

Your legs moved in habit, walking to your shared bedroom and flicking off the light before sliding under the covers with him. You could still hear his breaths, short and controlled. He wasn’t asleep.

After a long moment of silence, he spoke up again. “I don’t mean it, doll. The rudeness, the violence. I’m trying.”

“Bucky…” you started quietly but stopped when you felt the bed shift, a heavy weight now resting across your waist, shallow puffs of breath ghosting across your collarbone.

“I’ll take a month break, spend time with you?” he half offered, half begged, the grip on your waist tightening.

“James…”

“Only time with you. No one else unless really needed” he whispered, his leg shifting to now rest over yours, lips gently sucking at the base of your neck, smirking when he felt you cave.

“How does Bali sound?”

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vivwritesfics · 6 months

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Tired Eyes

Oscar's girlfriend is hella sleepy and Oscar is the most caring guy

Idk i was thinking about my past relationship and how I don't miss the person but I miss feeling safe enough to fall asleep with somebody after work when the world had taken everything out of me

Oscar Piastri sat in his London apartment, in front of the television. He'd just gotten back from the gym and currently had nothing to do. Oscar sat on the sofa as he skipped through the suggestions on the Netflix account he shared with his girlfriend.

His girlfriend who was due home any moment.

Oscar was waiting patiently, but his patience was wearing thin. Not in an angry sort of way, but he was soon going to begin to get worried.

Y/N being late wasn't uncommon. Her job was demanding had her working into late hours of the night. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just the job, but Y/N had university at the same time. University and then working until 10PM was hard.

Of course, Oscar had offered to help her pay her way, but Y/N had turned him down. She didn't want to rely on him for everything and her studies were important to her.

When Oscar pulled up his phone to message her, the front door opened and Y/N walked walked in.

"Hey, Osc," she said as she dropped her things onto the floor.

Oscar turned in the sofa to face her. "Hey, baby," he said as he stood up and walked over to her. She opened her arms and wrapped them around his thick neck as Oscar pulled her in close. He kissed the top of her head as Y/N allowed him to lead her further into the apartment. "Have you had something to eat?"

Shaking her head, Y/N threw herself down onto the sofa as Oscar went to the kitchen. He wasn't much of a cook, but getting something as simple as a cheese toasty in her stomach before she fell asleep was going to be good enough for him.

As Oscar let the toasty sizzle in the pan, he brought Y/N something to drink as she put on a movie. A comedy, something Oscar wouldn't laugh at, but it was still an easy watch.

Two minutes later, Oscar sat down and passed Y/N a plate with the toasty on it. "Oh, Osc, I love you," she said as she took it from him.

It was gone within a matter of minutes. Y/N placed the plate down on the table beside the sofa and shifted so that she was leaning up against him.

"Long day?" He asked as he wrapped his arm around her.

Y/N nodded her head, her blinks slow. She was so fucking tired and Oscar knew that. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and let her watch the television.

Oscar was barely paying attention to the movie. It was one they had seen before, easy watching, like I said. "I never got this bit," he muttered and looked down at his girlfriend.

But Y/N didn't answer him. She didn't say anything. Her eyes were shut and her breathing was even, small snores leaving her lips.

Wow, thought Oscar as he stared down at her. She was so damn cute.

Oscar didn't dare turn the television off. He knew her too well for that. He knew as soon as the television went off, Y/N would wake up and then she wouldn't get to sleep for at least an hour, no matter how tired she was.

So, he suffered through the movie, his fingers playing with her hair while she slept on.

Y/N didn't stir in her sleep. But she shuffled closer to him and tightened her grip around him as she slept on.

It was only at the end credits that she finally stirred away. Y/N's eyes opened as the music played. For a moment she was disoriented, looking around around at the familiar apartment. "Shit," she groaned as she sat up. "Sorry, Osc," she whispered and pressed his cheek against his shoulder.

Leaning towards her, Oscar kissed her. "It's okay, sweetheart," he said and stood up from the sofa. "Lets get you to bed."

So, Oscar helped Y/N up from the sofa. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he walked her towards their bedroom. It seemed to be effortless for him.

Rather ungracefully, Oscar dropped Y/N onto the bed. She bounced slightly as she landed and Oscar turned to grab pyjamas for the both of them as Y/N pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows.

As soon as the both of them were changed and ready to bed, Y/N and Oscar climbed under the sheets. Oscar wrapped his arm around her and pulled her across the bed, holding her against him. "Love you," she said, shutting her eyes as her head laid against the pillow.

Leaning over, Oscar kissed the skin of her neck. "Love you."

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joelscurls · 4 months

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stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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luveline · 8 months

Note

bombshell!reader getting caught sleeping over at spencer's before making their established relationship public & the team still thinks spencer is uncomfortable with r's approaches. 🤭

Spencer bought you pyjamas. You're sick with secret pleasure at the fact, staring at yourself in every passing window and reflective surface. They're simple skinny knitted sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and it's not necessarily something you'd buy for yourself, but why would you ever complain? Spencer got you new clothes as a gift with no occasion or motive; you'd marry him now if you thought he'd say yes.

Too bad he's still sleeping.

You turn away from his kitchen window back to your cooking, an oiled frying pan sizzling hot on the stove, eggs browning at the edges as Spencer likes. Two twin mugs of hot coffee steam on the counter next to two plates of crispy bacon and toasted english muffins, deconstructed breakfast sandwiches. You're ninety percent sure he likes breakfast sandwiches.

It's odd knowing enough about Spencer to fancy yourself in love with him, but being in a relationship that's so new that there are a thousand gaps. You know how he likes his eggs but not his bacon. Does he like melted cheese? Does he drink orange juice this early?

You'll have to ask him. If he's brave enough to ask you to stay the night, you can ask him about breakfast.

It's getting way too hot in the kitchen. The opened window isn't cutting it. You hook your elbow into the hem of your hoodie and pull it over your head before folding them to set neatly aside. You feel cooler in your vest, if a little exposed. Good thing it's just you and Spence—

A knock rattles the door. "Reid, you home?"

Well, I brought that on myself, you think with a laugh. You take the eggs off of the heat and wipe your oily fingers clean on a dish towel as you meander to the door. It's too early for running.

"Hello, Derek," you say, opening the door with a put upon casualness. He blinks at you. He's wearing gym clothes, a sleeveless t-shirt and tight sweatpants. You wolf whistle before he can say hello himself. "Looking good. Early run?"

"You're kidding," he says.

"Am I ever? You look great! Did you want to come in– woah!"

Deft-fingered hands pull you out of the doorway and firmly behind it. Spencer steps into your place, closing the door to a slit. "Hi, Morgan."

"Reid. You're both kidding."

"I don't know what you mean." Spencer rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair. You try to ignore how much you enjoyed him moving you around.

"Reid, I just saw her!" Morgan laughs more happily than incredulously. You can't see him but you can picture his smile and his slightly slouched posture, his arms crossed over his chest. "Since when do you guys bunk up? You're a jerk, you know that? I'm always telling her to stop bothering you, but now I'm thinking you like being bothered."

"I never asked you to do that," Spencer says weakly.

You nudge Spencer aside gently, popping your head back into Morgan's view. "My AC broke, my apartment's a hot hell. Reid let me come over."

"Oh yeah?" Morgan asks, rolling his eyes. "That why he tried to hide you? What's so secret about broken AC?"

"He's a genius, he's not perfect. I'm sure he was just trying to protect my decency. I'm not dressed for company." You put a more than friendly hand on Spencer's back, the dip of it like a tempting line under his thin sleep shirt. You want more than anything to dig under his shirt and feel along the curve of it. You'd pictured it this morning, eating eggs and drinking coffee under his arm, your fingertips tracing the short wall of stretch marks he has just above his coccyx.

Spencer rolls with your lie as well as he's able to, which, having been caught off guard, is not very well at all. "Right. She's not wearing a bra."

You snort. Morgan laughs and almost turns around to walk away.

"Did you want breakfast?" Spencer asks weakly. He sounds resigned to his fate. Skewed, he uses the hand furthest away from you to reach behind his back and squeeze your hand in a swift apology.

"I'll pass, man." Morgan pulls his cap down a touch. "Sounds like you're having breakfast fit for two."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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bucks-babe · 23 days

Text

Let Me Be of Service

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Pregnant!Wife!reader

Summary: With your growing belly, it gets a lot harder to take care of yourself. Luckily, your husband is always willing to lend a helping hand

Warnings: Fluff, a little smut, reader is heavily preggo, established relationship, Bucky is down bad, Bucky shaves his girl’s cooch and boot, crack fic, embarrassing stories about each other, implied smut at the end, banter, Bucky calls reader Petal and she calls him Duckie

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: A little something something to hold you guys over while I’m working on part 2 of Change My Ways For You. Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

You hear the clashing of pans in the kitchen followed by your husband’s curse. It brings a smile to your lips, knowing that he is trying to make you breakfast in bed, even though he is probably the worst cook you have ever met. When you first started dating, he made the joke that he was the only person that could start a fire with water.

You didn’t believe him until he actually did start a fire while boiling water at his first and only attempt to make pasta for the two of you to eat. You still have no idea how he managed to do that, but ever since then it’s either you cook, he ‘helps’ you in the kitchen, which is you giving him the easiest thing to do and hope that he doesn’t blow you up, or you order out.

But ever since you got pregnant, doing everyday tasks has gotten harder. You get out of breath from just standing up. Don’t even start with trying to pick something up off the floor. If it hits the ground, it’s going to stay there until Bucky picks it up if you can’t grip it with your toes. Cooking has become a near impossible task for you. Who knew that carrying a super soldier baby would be so hard?

Your belly was larger than the average woman’s stomach for how far along you are. It wasn’t just that your belly was big though. It caused so much back pain that it was easier to just lay on your side all day, and your feet ached and pulsed from the shortest walk.

You felt like a bad wife, not able to help take care of the house, or yourself for that matter. But Bucky was a saint, he doted on you every second of the day. He took his leave of absence as soon as you started grunting while moving around. Bucky loved every minute of it though, albeit he hated seeing you in pain, but every change to your body was incredible to him. He was obsessed with how round you were, how full your breasts are, and the cute little pout that is always on your lips.

So you appreciated Bucky for trying to make you something to eat; although you knew it was going to be disgusting, possibly inedible, you would take it with a smile on your face because he tried and that was something you were grateful for.

You decided to get out of bed, not to take over making breakfast in the fear of burning down your house, of course not, but to watch your man in action. When you shifted, however, it became painfully obvious that you were overdue for a shave. The prickly hairs on your pussy were uncomfortable, making putting your legs together almost painful.

You have no idea when the last time you shaved was. All you knew was that it was when you could still see your feet, and that was a loooonnng time ago. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your body hair. He would still eat you out until you had to roll over from the weight of your belly making it hard to breathe. He never once complained about your public hair and you honestly forgot that you hadn’t shaved in so long, until this moment.

Throwing on Bucky’s henley, grateful that he was so fucking beefy so you could still fit into his shirt, although tight around the belly, and wobbled out to the kitchen. Bucky heard you, your feet heavy on the wood floors. “Petal, you’re going to love this! I made you grilled cheese and guess what?” He spins around, bright smile on his face, a grilled cheese plated in his hands.

“I have officially made something edible without us having to evacuate the house, AND it’s only slightly burnt.” The early morning sun casts a soft glow on his naked chest. He looked like a Greek god, corded muscles topped with a bit of softness, the result of your cooking and less time with the Avengers.

“Good job, Duckie. Good thing too because I’m starving. Bug isn’t going to stop kicking my bladder until she gets something to eat.” Crow’s feet bloom around Bucky’s eyes. He falls in love with you harder every day, seeing you carry his baby into the world, keeping her safe in your belly.

Bucky sets the singular grilled cheese at your spot on the table, pulling out the chair for you to sit, strong hands grabbing your waist, making sure you don’t strain yourself too hard. He spins around and gets you a cup of your favorite morning drink and places it in front of you, quickly sitting down opposite you, eagerly waiting for you to take a bite.

“Duckie, aren’t you going to have one, too?” His sweet Petal was too good to him.

“Well, Petal, only one turned out.” He gives you a sheepish smile and you can only giggle at him.

“Do you want half of mine then? I don’t mind sharing.” You were starving your ass off, but you wanted to reward Bucky with something for being so good to you.

He vehemently shakes his head. “Uh, uh, Petal, you and Bug need to eat. I can find something else. Now hurry up and tell me if I meet up to your standards.”

Before you take a bite you reach over the table to grab his right hand, running your fingers over the wedding band there. He couldn’t wear it on his left hand, but you wanted everyone to know that he was yours. “You always exceed my standards, Duck.”

Bucky blushes and gestures for you to have a taste. Your eyes widen as the cheesy snack hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is actually good!” Bucky leans back in his chair and does a small victory dance, proud of himself for feeding his wife.

His celebration is cut short when he sees you shift in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Petal, what’s wrong? Is Bug kicking?” Bucky is by your side in seconds cupping your belly, only to find that Bug isn’t causing a raucous.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You look down, away from his prying eyes.

“We have been together for 8 years, Petal. I stood watch while you took a shit on the side of the highway, it can’t be that bad.”

You whip your head around. “Duckie! We don’t talk about that. I told you not to bring that up again. It was one time!” Bucky only laughs and turns his head away.

“Petal, we both know that it was twice and we had to stop by Mcdonalds so you could wash yourself after you wiped with poison ivy.” Bucky was barely containing his laughter, while you were dying of embarrassment. “You know, that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you?”

You scoffed. “When we were stuck on the highway while I popped a squat? That cannot be when you knew you were going to marry me. That is not what you said at the wedding.”

“Didn’t think that you would appreciate that story being told to all of our friends and family. But your secret is safe with me.”

“Since we are bringing up the past, remember the time you were training with Sam and he hit you in the balls and you pissed yourself. You called me to bring you a new pair of underwear and I made sure no one knew.” You turned your chin up.

“C’mon, Petal, it wasn’t even that much. It was just a dot. And it wasn’t my fault I had a full bladder. Don’t make me bring what happened the other week when you-”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him close to you. “Don’t. You. Dare. We never mention that again, we forget it ever happened, yeah?”

Bucky moans at your dominance, it never failed to get his cock hard. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but you have to tell me what’s got you wobbling in your seat. And I know it’s not because my cooking turned you on.”

You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I can’t promise that, Petal, but I won’t judge you.” Of course, Bucky and you always laughed at each other. Never when it was something serious. But you were able to joke around when the other did something embarrassing, but he would never joke about it if you were uncomfortable.

“My pussy hurts.” You squint your eyes, the grumpiest look on your face, and cross your arms.

“Petal, that’s all you had to say. I’m an expert on taking care of my sweet girl. If I lick her bud would that make it better?” You feel your cunt pulse at his words, but the scratching is too annoying to let you get turned on.

“No, Duckie! I mean my fucking hair is too long and it’s poking me and it fucking hurts and I can’t reach to shave because of this huge belly, and it makes me feel like a sasquatch and I just want to feel pretty.” You almost burst into tears, not knowing that you had so many emotions bubbling under the surface, but then again you were pregnant and couldn’t control them.

“Oh, Petal, you are the most gorgeous woman on this planet, shaven or not. And you don’t need to worry about doing anything for yourself, you hear me? If you wanted me to, I would wipe your ass for you.” You sucked your teeth and slapped his chest.

“I’m being serious!”

“And so am I.”

Without another word, Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and heads to your bedroom and sets you down on the soft covers. “Duckie, what are you doing?” He still doesn’t say anything as he walks into the bathroom to get a towel and your conditioner and sets them on the bed. He leaves the room only to come back a minute later with a bowl of water and his razor. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, Petal, deathly.” He flicks the towel out and lays it on the edge of the bed and sets you there, your feet planted on either side of you and you’re forced to lay back with your belly.

You don’t see what he is up to, but you feel his hot breath fan across your folds and he groans. “Petal, is this making you wet? Your husband between your legs about to service you?” He chuckles as the twitch of your clit. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Makes my cock so fucking hard, could cum in my pants just from eating her.”

“Duckie, don’t lie. I know it doesn’t look pretty. Probably could fucking braid it.” You fight the urge to close your legs. You haven’t had sex in almost three weeks, mainly because your body is so exhausted all the time and you know you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

“Petal, when have I ever lied to you? You think I would lie straight to my pretty girl’s face? How could I lie right in front of Heaven?” He leans in closer and you hear the deep inhale he takes. “And about that braid comment, I learned how to braid hair in Wakanda so that isn’t a problem for me.”

He gets a giggle out of you. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re such a dork.” Rather than hear his chuckle, you feel it, his mouth pressed against your cunt, lapping your juices. “Fuck, oh shit, don’t stop.”

“Mmh, so fucking good. Don’t even need to eat breakfast when I have this meal on a fucking platter.” He dives back in, arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place. With his hands occupied with your thighs, you were able to grind against his mouth, urging him to focus on your clit. Bucky was in his own world, the hairs pressing against his face not deterring him in the slightest.

His groan is deep and sends shockwaves up your spine, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. All at once, Bucky lets go of your thighs and turns away to sneeze. With great difficulty, you sit up and stare at him, perplexed. “Duckie, you better not fucking tell me that my pubes make you sneeze or so help me.”

Bucky falls onto his back, clutching his stomach as his laughter rings out in the room. The obvious tent is his pants still there. “I’m sorry, Petal, just tickled my nose is all.” His entire face is red, each word coming out in a wheeze.

“Duckie, it’s not funny.” Even at your protests, you feel yourself unable to control your laughter.

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing, Petal?” Bucky is finally able to control himself enough to sit up and rest his head on your thigh.

“Because you were laughing. Don’t you dare try and eat me out right now.” You push his forehead away, much to his dismay. “Are you going to shave me or not?” Your pout has him pressing his lips together to stop the giggle from leaving his lips.

“Of course, my hedge.”

“DUCKIE!”

“I’m only joking.”

You lay back and prop your feet up again, jolting slightly as Bucky runs his hands, dipped in water, over your folds and mound. While slightly more prepared for the conditioner, it still feels foreign to have his hands touching you like this.

“Fuck, Petal, just one more taste.”

“Duckie.”

“Fine.”

He starts with your lips, using one hand to hold them tight, taking extra care not to knick your sensitive skin. “Hey, Duckie?” The only view you have is of the ceiling so you don’t see the absolute concentration on Bucky’s face, tongue poking out, and eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, Petal?”

“Do you think it’s normal that I’m getting turned on by this?” Bucky loved that you were comfortable enough in your relationship to casually talk about random things, knowing that he wouldn’t judge you for them, most of the time he was on the same page as you anyway.

“Probably not, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m solid as a rock right now.” You giggle at his casual tone, almost as if he was asking you how your day was. “Don’t move, I’m performing a delicate operation here.” It only makes you giggle more and Bucky has to pull away, leaning over to the side so you could see his face.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just lay here then.” It was Bucky’s turn to suck his teeth in but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Duckie?” Bucky sighs and begrudgingly answers. “Is that my slick running down my ass or water? I need to know how embarrassed I should be.”

“I could give it a taste and answer you.”

“Ew, no. I probably have little bits of hair everywhere.”

With each stroke of the razor you feel yourself relax more and more. The constant presence of his hands soothing you. Bucky taps your leg to signal that you’re done and picks you up, bending you over the bed. “Duckie, we are not having sex right now.”

“Petal, you know that I am very thorough in everything that I do, and I still have your perfect ass to shave” You groan and bury your face into the covers.

“C’mon, Duck, this is worse than before. I feel so exposed.” Bucky rubs his hand down your spine, his other hand reaching under you to support your belly.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, and I’m going to make my girl feel pretty.” He lands a light slap to your right asscheek and grinds his hips against your cunt once before pulling away.

He works just the same, using one hand to spread you open while carefully removing all your hair. When he’s done he pulls back, one hand cupping each cheek. You huff when he jiggles your ass to his heart’s content, letting him have his reward for taking care of you.

“Duckie! Did you just bite my fucking ass?”

“Couldn’t help it, Petal, so fucking sexy.”

You contemplate if you should kick him or kiss him. Your decision is cut short when he rolls you over again, now looking at your face. “Petal, we still have two legs to do and they both lead to my favorite petals.”

Fuck, you were in for it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #husband!bucky

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kissitbttr · 2 months

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pregnancy was never easy. if it was, fathers could do it.

and truly it was something that toji had learned throughout being married to you and seeing your belly swell with your baby girl. the constant mood swings, back pains, cravings and all. but toji is a wonderful husband. for that, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

anything you want, you get even if your midnight cravings hit. toji will still get up and get dressed before drive to the nearest store that has your favorite red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

but being pregnant also means that toji has gotten far more protective than usual. more staying by your side, more checking up on you through his phone, more hiring security cameras and guards to keep you safe. despite your protests, he still thinks it’s necessary.

“sweethea—what the heck?” toji grumbles, eyes almost popping out of his sockets to see you’re not beside him. eyes glancing left and right and that’s where the panic begins to seep into him. “fuck” he scrambles out of the bed, seeing the clock hits at two am,

“no, no, no—“ he feels bead of sweats racing on his temples before slipping on his shoes and a shirt over his head. thinking that something might have happened to you.

god, i can’t go through this. not again. not you. please, please, not you.

toji may not have been the most religious man that has ever walked on earth. but he will beg on his knees and plead to the man up above to never take you away from him,

and just as he about to grab a gun off his safe, he hears the refrigerator door shut downstairs. the sounds making him halt as he quick to whip his head to the source of it.

his eyebrows then furrowed, putting the weapon down carefully before stepping out of your shared room. sometimes he curses himself for buying a home far too big because now he feels like it’s an eternity coming down the stairs. but again, he bought it for you.

the living room lights are already turned off, the only dimmed light he could see is from the kitchen. not only that, but he could hear the metals clinking. so slowly, with ever so confusion written across his face, toji approaches slowly

and there you are ever in your glory, body draped in your favorite pink silky robe sitting on the floor with your back against the fridge. a plate of not one but two red velvet cake slice in your hand as the other forks your way through the delicious treat.

toji heaves out a breathe of relief, knowing that nothing had happened to you. and the noise is loud enough for you to stop chewing and look up. eyes widen at your husband’s figure standing only a few feet away,

“hi” your voice sounds small. almost like embarrassed because you feel like a kid who got caught stealing a cookie off the jar,

“sweetheart” the nickname falls from his mouth like he’s happy to see you after being a part for so long. “what are you doing?”

your mouth slowly begin to chew, a cute smile making its way as your eyes glinting with innocence that toji can’t deny but feel like he’s falling in love with you all over again.

“the baby is hungry” is the only thing you can muster to a response, like it’s an obvious thing. “she wants cake” you giggle quietly,

oh yes, he is definitely falling harder for you again

“the baby is—“ he sighs, hands coming up to rub his face up and down. not because he’s upset but rather amused. “she wanted red velvet cake?”

“mhmm!” you nod vigorously, taking another big bite of the dessert. “and cream cheese frosting!”

and for the first time in a while, toji laughs with his head shaking at the sight of his beautiful wife eating cake at two am. “she told you that?”

“yes! i heard her whisper to me before i go to bed ‘mama.. can we eat the cake? but wait until dada goes to sleep’ because she knows how dada doesn’t allow mama to eat cakes” you smile at him, doing your best of baby voice. licking the cream off the utensil,

toji is grinning so hard he feels like his cheeks are hurting, his eyes are full of love when he looks at you and the little girl you’re growing in there,

“well dada is just taking care of mama so she will be healthy. she needs veggies and whole foods” he takes another step closer, sliding next to you. his eyes never leaving yours, looking at you so lovingly by the way you eat. “i thought something happened to you.. i was panicking”

you pout, not wanting to cause anymore distress on him. “i’m sorry i shouldn’t have done that. but i couldn’t wake you up, you looked exhausted”

he frowns, bending his knees close to his chest. “you should’ve. i would gladly grab the cake for you hence you asked, baby” he leans forward and kiss your temple,

a grateful smile places on your lips, humming in a contentment at the feeling of his soft mouth on your skin. “hmm, i know—“ you cradle his cheek with your free palm, thumbing against his cheekbone and down to his scar.

he used to be so insecure about it until you made him not to be. giving so much praises and kisses about the scar that you think look so hot on him.

“want some?” you extend a spoonful of the cake towards his mouth, in which he opens almost immediately, biting onto the sweet goodness. “how lucky i am to have you, mr. y/l/n”

he laughs, wiping the walnut crumbs off the corner of his lips. “i should be the one saying that to you, doll”

maybe second chances do exist. and it’s a privilege for a person to earn one. toji may had done very questionable things in the past that would make a person think twice in befriending him, let alone married to him but change is real.

and the flaws are what makes it him. it’s one of the reason you are drawn to this beautiful man. because despite every negative seed he may have in him, he still tries. trying and trying to be the person you deserve and the father that your baby girl deserve.

it upsets you to no end knowing that everyone can’t see that. they just see him as a cold, reserved, selfish man who keeps himself closed from the world to see. they don’t see the tears he had shed almost every night for failing to be perfect, they don’t see him having a small banter with you because he wanted to take your last name, they don’t see the amount of times he locked himself in his room because of people talkinh, they don’t see him always rushing out of his office on fridays because he wants to get home before you do just so he can cook your favorite dish,

they don’t see all of that but toji doesn’t care. he doesn’t need their validation nor approval. he just needs yours.

because it’s you he always comes home to. you are his salvation. you are his peace. you are his dream came true.

you, you, you, you.

before you could protest, he presses his lips against yours and move his hand down to your bump,

“happy doesn’t even begin to describe how grateful i am to be your husband”

#lmao idk how it got from pregnancy cravings to angst #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro fluff

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miirohs · 9 months

Text

a little sugar and spice [v.s.s]

pairing: OPLA!Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: *in dj kahled voice* another one- also i started reading the manga! this was lowkey inspired by this one reel i saw in a series called cheese church- chessus bless guys!

"Finally awake?"

Sanji stood there, towel thrown over his shoulder as he mixed something, pausing for a moment to look at you.

There was a brief silence, in which you coughed, trying to fish a response out.

"Did i fall asleep here again?" You groaned, the sticky feeling of the leather ever present as you pulled yourself up sluggishly.

"You did, i'm not complaining. I got a lot-" He pointed to the chopped vegetables sitting to the side, "-of meal prepping done. It's just as quick as i remember it being."

"Speaking of which, when did i fall asleep? The last thing i remember was coming in here for something," You muttered, trying to recall any more you could.

"Nothing much. You came in here for a glass of water, and eventually you fell asleep on the couch," He said, smiling widely, "you tried to help me with the pastries i was making too, but you kept messing with the batter."

You shrugged, getting up and stretching.

"You want something to eat?" He asked, wiping his hands on the towel, "You haven't had anything since yesterday." Before you could protest, he gave you a pointed look, "And don't you try to protest love. As i recall, you drank the entire bar dry last night and started professing your love for m-"

"Shut up," You flushed, mouth opening and closing as he gave you a victorious smirk.

"Still, you know i'm not wrong." "Why you.... you know what? I'm not sure you'd be able to make what i want," You said, sticking your tongue out at him, "i'm very choosy about what i eat."

He gave you a deadpan look, rolling his eyes, "What? Fancying yourself a picky eater today love? I assure you, i can make anything you can imagine."

You thought long and hard, biting your lip before it hit you.

"I want a grilled cheese."

"A grilled cheese?" He let out a little laugh, putting down his knife, "Are you sure thats all?"

"Yes. That's all i want. A grilled cheese," You said, slamming your hands down on table, eyeing him up and down. "If you don't make it, you're not man enough-"

"Challenge accepted," He said, quickly putting away his other tools, "I'm assuming you know where the cheese is. Go get it-"

"Already on it," You said plainly, opening up the cabinet. Among various bottles and boxes, there sat a wrapped block in the back, wrapped with twine.

"Found something!" You pulled it out, coughing as he took it from your hands. Unwrapping it, he whistled, showing the block of cheese to you.

"Mold. I wonder how long it's been back there." He said, and you groaned, seatings yourself on the island in front of him. "Aw bummer, what are you gonna do now?"

Sanji chuckled, placing the block on the counter, "You know we never waste any food love, so now we just salvage it as best we can."

Within minutes, the sizzling of the bread filled the kitchen, and the aroma of melting butter and toasting bread wafted through the air. Sanji's concentration was evident as he flipped the sandwich with precision, ensuring it was golden brown on both sides.

As you reached for the cheese, he swat your hand away, shooing you off the counter.

"Sit down, you need to be more patient cause perfection doesn't rush itself." You huffed, sitting back down at the island, tracing the pattern of the counter.

The sound of ceramics being placed on the counter made you look up, grilled cheese and a mini green cake looking right at you.

"There you go, love. One grilled cheese, as you asked!"

"Mmm, this is amazing, Sanji," you exclaimed, stuffing the food in your mouth, "You really outdid yourself with this one."

Sanji's seemed satisfied as he watched you enjoy the sandwich, retreating to get something from the back.

"I'm glad you like it, love. By the way-" He returned, smaller plate in hand, "- i have something for you to try."

You didn't respond, looking at the mini cake he handed you.

"I'm guessing you're wondering what that is?" He said, and you nodded.

"It's a mini matcha cheesecake. You should try it," He urged you, and you obliged, taking a bite.

"Hmm. It's good..." You replied, wrinkling your nose.

"You're not telling me something," He said,

You glanced at Sanji, "Well, it's good, but it's missing something."

Sanji arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Missing something, you say? What could possibly be missing?"

"Sugar," You replied.

Sanji's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Sugar? You think my cheesecake needs more sugar?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "Definitely. It's got that nice matcha bitterness, but it needs a little sweetness to balance it out."

Sanji gave you a smile, clearly enjoying the banter. "Sugar would throw off the delicate flavor balance, but let's see if I can meet your sugar quota."

With a flourish, he reached for a small jar of powdered sugar and lightly dusted the cheesecake with it. "Now, give it another try," Sanji said, pushing the plate back to you.

You took another bite. "Mmm, that's much better," you declared with a satisfied smile.

"I guess i just didn't use as much sugar as i usually would, since you're so sweet."

"Don't forget i've got a bit of spice in me too," You rolled your eyes, leaning in closer.

"Indeed," He muttered, sealing the distance between the both of you, kisses tasting with the faintest hint of some kind of sweetness unknown to you.

"Hey Sanji I thought i smelled something really good cooking and- Oh!" You both tore away from each other, Luffy watching you as Zoro stood behind him, annoyance scribbled all over his features.

"First thing i see this morning-"

You hopped off the counter, blowing Sanji a kiss as you ran from the kitchen. Your departure was followed by an angry rupture and laughter, resounding loudly through the halls.

"Wait- You idiot why would you do that?!"

"Well i wasn't the one initiating PDA this early in the morning!"

#opla x reader #op live action #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji one piece #opla #opla fanfiction #one piece live action #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 3 months

Note

hi, i hope you're doing okay!

so look i know your requests are closed but i just had an ✨insight✨while reorganizing my room today and i couldn't stop thinking about it, so i decided to write it down here cause either i'd forget it like tomorrow. you don't need to do it, obviously, but if you will, take your time.

so. fem!reader and bucky, established relationship (maybe married) and she's pregnant but she doesn't know cause it's like, super early, she didn't even have morning sickness yet. and mr. super-soldier-enhanced-hearing can hear the baby's heart as soon as it starts beating and he's like confused at first but when he realizes what it is he starts crying and hugging her waist and she's like "buck? you okay love?" and he says "you're pregnant honey, we're having a baby!" bucky's super emotional and thrilled and beyond happy he starts laughing through the tears. he gets super protective of her and her belly but like always pampering her making sure she's drinking enough water and eating and going out at three am to but something shes craving and he's like, super excited to shout to the world he got his girl pregnant with his baby. and he starts sleeping with his head on her belly just listening to the baby's heartbeat as a lullaby.

(he's gonna be the best dad i just know it <3)

hii angel!! love it!! I did change some things, hope that’s okay. thanks for requesting and hope you like it💌

>requests now open<

EXTRA GRILLED CHEESE.

bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count. 1066

summary. bucky has suspicions that you might be pregnant

For the last week, Bucky had an expression you struggled to place - his face often pulled together with intrigue, brows quizically furrowed when around your company. At first, it seemed normal to you - his infamous resting bitch face, but the more he wore it around you, the more you started to worry.

You often felt as though you were bothering him with your talking, the features on his face unusually hard and rigid as he listened to you. It was a silly thought, really - he's your husband. He'd tell you if he needed a minute of quiet.

But the harder you looked, the more you began to realise his face wasn't that of judgment, but instead inspection - like he was analysing you.

Elbows resting on the kitchen island, you lean over the countertop, getting closer to Bucky sitting on the other side.

"Another one?" you ask, reaching for his empty plate.

He wryly smiles. "Only if you are."

"One is never enough," you chuckle sweetly, pulling the ingredients back out of the fridge - collecting everything you need for grilled cheese. "Might do a few more— been really hungry lately. That cool with you?"

Bucky hums softly, head tilted to the side as he watches you - completely smitten. That confusing expression long gone.

"I got it," he stands, moving around the island to you on the other side. "I got the rest. You sit, honey."

You smile cutely, stepping aside and sitting on the countertop - allowing your husband's help. "What do you want to do tonight? Movie and snacks?"

He places the sandwiches in the pan and moves to stand between your legs - slotting his lower half between. Giving you a chaste kiss, he smiles, eyes soft as he looks over you. "Sounds good. Will have to go to the store though— don't have enough in."

"We can go after this?" you offer.

He hums, kissing you sweetly. He pulls back, eyes darting over you. "We'll stop past the pharmacy first. Gotta pick something up."

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Back within the comfort of home, you and Bucky begin to put away the items from the store - bags open on the worktop as you rummage through them, standing side by side.

Bucky stills and turns to face you, reaching into his pocket. "I uh..." he pauses and clears his throat. "I picked this up while you were looking at things in the pharmacy," he starts, pulling out a small rectangular box. "Feels stupid, I don't know," he shrugs, not confident with the direction of his proposal.

Your eyes flicker from the box in his hand and up to his face, looking over him inquisitively. "A pregnancy test?" you ask, taking it from his light hold.

"Feels like I'm insulting you," he chuckles bashfully, stepping closer to you. "It's just... I have this feeling," he says softly, extending his hands to rest on either side of your face. "You don't have to take it."

"No— no, I do— I think. I want to. It's just that..." you exhale faintly. "We haven't really spoken about this for a while. What if it's not the result we want? What if we don't like what we see on the test?" you ask anxiously, fiddling with the box.

Bucky pauses, a soft smile on his face as he tilts your face back up - making you look up at him again. "We have time," he says sweetly. "If we don't like what we see, there are changes— there's other options," he solidifies his reassurance with a kiss. "I'll be happy with either result."

"Should I do it now?" you ask, looking down at the box.

"You do it when you're ready, honey. Doesn't have to be now, doesn't have to be today."

Briefly reading over the writing, you feel a slight swell in your heart. It all felt so daunting. You knew this was something you'd both eventually want, but the idea of it beginning now was enough to make you feel queasy. Everything was going so well in your lives, and this was such a big step in your marriage - you were just scared of what the result would do to you both.

With a deep inhale, you shrug sweetly, feigning bravado. "Piece of cake."

"Piece of cake," he repeats, kissing your temple.

Stepping aside, you walk into the bathroom - box clutched in hand as you read through the directions. The heavy thumping in your ears distracting you from understanding it all.

After following the instructions, you place the stick aside on some toilet paper and call in your husband, moving to sit on the edge of the bath. Without missing a beat, Bucky steps into the small room, eyes focused on yours as he walks to sit beside you - slipping his hand into yours assuringly. His large hand enveloping yours.

You sit in uneasy quiet for what feels like an hour, each of your brains whirling with thoughts and ideas and questions - the noise far too loud in your minds.

Then, finally, after a while, your timer goes off, the obnoxious sound interrupting you both from your fazed-out states.

"You look."

"Are you sure?" he asks, holding your hand as you both stand.

You hum anxiously, nodding at him.

With one hand tightly in yours, the other reaches for the little stick - fingers loosely wrapping around it. Bucky stills, the features on his face slowly softening.

"What does it say?"

He nods faintly, his brows curving up in the middle. "Positive," he murmurs, the shock evident in the way his tone wavers. "It's positive."

"Positive?" you repeat, your expression widening.

He hums, enveloping you in a tight embrace - pressing kisses into your cheek.

"We're having a baby," you mutter, voice cracking slightly.

"Yeah," he nods, pulling back to look over your face - checking you were okay with it all as he is. "We're having a baby," he echos you, cupping your cheeks.

"You're okay with this?" you ask, focus blurring from a few stray tears.

He nods firmly. "Of course," he chuckles, his tearline slowly filling. "Are you?"

"Yeah," you laugh lightly, nodding - the gentle grip of his hands moving with the soft motion of your head.

"I'll give you everything you want. Everything you need— I'll get you it all."

You already had everything you wanted.

#request #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot

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cherryblossom-chopper · 6 months

Text

ღ Falling Asleep on His Shoulder ღ

Dozing off with Crocodile, Killer, and Zoro

————— ୨୧ —————

Crocodile slides a lazy glance over your way. What kind of secretary falls asleep on their boss? He hums to himself as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Crocodile leans back against the luxury couch, resting his documents on the table beside him. Glancing back down at you, Crocodile frowns. Maybe he’s been putting too much on your plate. Moving slowly, he taps out his cigar in an ash tray before resting his eyes. Your work load can be discussed in the morning.

・‥…━━━☆

You always hated the crows nest, so Killer was surprised when you joined him earlier that night. Now, with the moon slowly sinking into western sky, Killer isn’t surprised to hear your soft snoring. He chuckles, as you nuzzle further into him. You’ll complain tomorrow about how you’re sore, and he’ll scold you for falling asleep in that pose. In this moment, Killer doesn’t have the heart to wake you. Maybe he’ll let you sleep on him for just a bit longer.

・‥…━━━☆

Zoro peaks his eyes open at the weight leaning his against him. Seeing your frame softly snoring against him makes him sigh with contentment. A small smile finds its way onto his face. You work so hard and at the very least deserve a mid-day nap in the sun; right by his side, as it should be.

————— ୨୧ —————

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#cherryblossom chopper #one piece x reader #Crocodile #killer #zoro #roranoa zoro #zoro x reader #crocodile x reader #killer x reader #fluff #scenario #crocodile scenario #killer scenario #zoro scenario

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