#while also learning to be more hopeful through Frankie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months

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Maybe, Baby?

Summary: You and Frankie aren't trying for a baby just yet, but when your weird symptoms start to throw your body for a loop, you start to wonder if you actually might be pregnant

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap, silly gooses), creampie, praise kink, size kink (if u squint), unintentional breeding kink (lmaoooo, it's me, sorry not sorry), birth control/family planning, pregnancy (or maybe not? part 2 maybe? hehe) symptoms, Frankie and reader mention being closer to 30 than 16 (turns out when you're an adult, it's not a teen pregnancy anymore), reader has hair that can be played with, Frankie being the sweetest husband alive (all the gold stars for him), Frankie is so excited to be a dad that I just may pass away

A/N: I know y'all voted for me to finish chapter 20 but i lied (I'm so sorry), but I wrote this in a day and husband Frankie was really speaking to me on this one 😭 This one is brought to you by my raging baby fever and perhaps some real life inspiration WHOOPS, art imitating life on this one ig 💀 Poorly beta'd bc that's how I roll!!!

Ever since getting off birth control a few months ago, your body had felt… different.

While you were glad you had made the change for yourself, you still found yourself shocked every month when a new sort of symptom decided to appear at some point in your cycle that you had never dealt with before- acne in new places, weird cramps, and crazy mood swings that showed up out of nowhere before your period were just a few of the things you were learning to manage as you figured out your body post birth control.

Another symptom you hadn’t expected was that now, you were insatiably horny.

All the time.

While Frankie had been more supportive and caring in helping you deal with all of your not so pleasant symptoms than you could have hoped for, he was also more than happy to help you with your newly found positive one, too.

The only problem was, after so many years of not having to worry about the consequences of your sex life on birth control, you and Frankie were finding it very hard to adjust to be more… careful.

As you got hornier and hornier, the box of condoms that Frankie had bought after you stopped taking the pill had been seeing less and less use, and to be honest, hadn’t really seen the light of day from the back of his nightstand drawer in about a month an a half- and if you were being even more honest, on top of that, Frankie’s pull out game was almost nowhere to be found.

You both knew that you wanted a family in the future- That was a part of your reason for getting off birth control to begin with. The two of you had agreed to hold off at least for a little longer to try and get your life more in order before bringing a baby into it, but with with your new lack of protection when it came to sex, and constant horniness around the clock, you both were beginning to have a feeling that that your agreed upon timeline for having a baby might be harder for you to maintain that you thought.

Especially when you found yourself morphing into an unspeakably horny monster when you were ovulating.

So little did you realize, that as you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom as the two of you were getting ready for bed and you caught a glimpse in the mirror of Frankie, stripping out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers as he searched around in your dresser for pajamas, that was the reason you nearly spit out your entire mouthful of toothpaste to try and get a mouthful of something else.

You couldn’t help but ogle at your husband's broad body and freckled tan skin, muscles flexing as he shuffled through your drawers, pulling out an old, worn gray t-shirt and tugging it over his head, running his hand through his messy, curly hair before searching for his pajama bottoms.

At this point, you had honestly braced yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter to keep yourself from falling over at how mouth-watering he looked, already feeling the wetness beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear at the thought of wanting to rip his clothes off just as fast as he had put them on.

Letting out a yawn, Frankie raised his hands above his head so a sliver of his soft belly peaked out between his waistband and shirt hem before making his way into the bathroom, sleepily padding along the tile floor until his body was behind yours, chest flushed against your back and arms wrapped around your waist. Even more prevalent, his bulge pressed against your ass, making the wet spot in your underwear grow damper by the second.

“You ready for bed, querida?” Frankie cooed, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and smiling at your reflections in the mirror.

While you were absolutely ready to get into bed, sleeping was not going to be your activity of choice.

“I think that maybe…” You paused, turning around to face Frankie, his body caging yours against the counter, palms splayed flat on either side of your hips, looking down at you with his sweet, brown eyes, “I think that maybe we should do something else before we go to sleep.”

“Something else, huh?” Frankie smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as your hands began to run up and down his arms, slightly squeezing the muscles of his biceps as your fingers crept under the fabric of his shirt sleeves. “And what might that something else be, Hermosa?”

“You know exactly what it is, Fransisco. You expect me to watch you just roam around shirtless in our bedroom and not get all hot and bothered? God, you’re so fucking hot.” You moaned, letting your hands run up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in for a long, electric kiss.

“Damn, what’s gotten into you, babe?” Frankie chuckled, trying his best not to blush at your comment, sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I don’t- Fuck, I don’t know, I just know that if you don’t fuck me right this second, I think I’m gonna explode.”

While your statement may have had a flair for the dramatic, it was just about as close to the God’s honest truth as you could get- You were so worked up, you felt practically feral, the ache in your core so strong that you really did feel like you were on the verge of implosion.

Before you even gave Frankie time to respond, your lips were crashing into his with a ferocious intensity, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt as you stumbled back towards your bedroom, bodies bumping and bouncing against the walls and door frames, mouths never parting as the back of Frankie’s knees finally hit the mattress, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed.

Crawling overtop of him, you were already straddled over his hips, grinding your bottom half on the bulge growing in his pajamas as your hands crept under the hem of his t-shirt, running along the tanned, soft skin of his chest, making him let out a low groan that rumbled in his throat.

Frantically shuffling himself further onto the bed, Frankie’s hands dug into your hips and over your ass as your hands slid down from his chest to his waistband, fingers tugging at the elastic to shuffle his bottoms and boxers down his legs, quickly followed by your own, dropping to a crumpled pile on the floor.

Feeling your fingers wrap around his cock, already painfully hard, you swirled the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb before dragging your hand up and down his length, leaving Frankie sitting up in surprise while he watched you begin to hover over him, dragging his dick through your folds.

“Hermosa, are you sure you don’t need me to-” But before Frankie could finish the rest of his protest to make sure you were ready to take him, you were already sinking down onto him, whimpering at the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness, followed by the ragged moan escaping Frankie’s lips.

“Oh fuck… Nuh uh, Frankie. I need to feel you, baby. Needed to feel you inside me.” You whined, taking Frankie cock inch by inch until he had bottomed out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure.

Normally with Frankie’s size, you would have needed to warm you up first, but with how wet and worked up you already were, you were able to take him with ease, desperate to feel him buried deep inside you.

“Jesus fucking christ, queirda, you’re so fucking wet. Fuck, baby.” Frankie moaned, feeling you begin to slide up and down his length, coating him with your arousal with each swirl of your hips.

Arching your back, you jutted your hips forward, bracing your hands on Frankie’s strong thighs, circling your bottom half against his, whimpering at his fullness and the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your clit, selfishly already longing to chase your own high to ease the ache that had been burning in your core.

“Fuck, Frankie, you feel so good. Feel so fucking full with you in me.” You whimpered, bouncing even harder and faster on Frankie’s cock, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping his and wetness dripping from your heat coating the walls of your bedroom.

“Yeah? This what you wanted, pretty girl? Wanted me to stretch this pretty little pussy out and fill you up?” Frankie groaned, gritting his teeth as he began to jut his hips up into yours as you rode him, the added depth of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure.

And for as fucking good as it felt, the horny monster you had morphed into had you greedily craving more- to have Frankie stretch you open in a way that had you seeing stars, so much that you could still feel the next day, long after the two of you were finished.

“I-I want more, p-please, baby. Fuck- Fuck me harder, Fransisco.” You cried, your sweet voice whimpering his full name turning him almost as feral as you were, letting out a low growl as he grabbed you by your hips, flipping you so that your back hit the mattress and he was caging his broad body over yours.

Practically ripping the t-shirt still covering your upper half off your body, Frankie dove face first between your breasts, groping one while hungrily sucking at the other, flicking your pebbled nipple with his tongue, his free hand reaching down to line his cock back up with your entrance, sliding back in to your aching core with ease.

Frankie let himself sink all the way back in, filling you to the brim before hooking his arms around your knees, pressing your legs against your stomach, smirking to himself at the ragged moan you let out as the new angle opened you up even further.

“You want me to fuck you harder, Hermosa?” Frankie mewled, slowly dragging his length out of your heat, looking down to see your shiny slick soaking his cock before looking back at you and the wrecked expression plastered across your face, frantically nodding in desperation. “Tell me how badly you want it, sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I need you so bad, Fransisco, please.” You begged, damn near close to tears with how deeply you needed to feel Frankie ease the emptiness inside you. “Please, baby, I- oh fuck-”

Before you could even finish the rest of your plea, your breath was already hitched in the back of your throat as Frankie began to pound into you at a relentless pace, tightening his grip around your thighs while he pressed them closer to your chest, grunting with each rut of his hips into yours.

“This what you want, querida? Meirda- so fucking wet and tight, baby girl. You feel so fucking good, holy fuck.”

It didn’t take long for the all too familiar tingle at the base of your spine to start spreading through your body like a wildfire as Frankie continued to slam into your g-spot, making you chant his name like a prayer, your brain at a loss for any other words than “Fuck, Fransisco.”

And as if you already weren’t close enough, when Frankie reached down to thumb at your clit, rubbing in relentless circles against your sensitive nub, you knew you were a fucking goner.

“That’s it, Hermosa. Cum for me, baby. Want that- oh fuck- want that prefect pussy to fucking soak me.” Frankie groaned, feverishly pounding into you, desperate to feel you come undone for him giving him long enough to fight off his own high that was rapidly building in the pit of his stomach.

A few more thrusts were all it took to have the coil snapping in your belly, crying out Frankie’s name as you came, orgasm ripping through your body with a blinding intensity, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging open while pleasure and euphoria flowed through every ounce of you.

Still blissed out and wrecked out of your mind, your eyes shot open as Frankie’s mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans in a messy dance of tongues and teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Jesus fuck- fuck, I’m close too, baby. W-where do you want me, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, barley holding on long enough for you to answer, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his hips began to stutter, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow with every ounce of self control he had left.

Still barley coherent enough to form a sentence, your brain blurted out the only thing you could think of, and the only thing that you really wanted in the moment.

“Inside, Fransisco. Fuck, cum inside me, baby.”

That alone was almost enough to send Frankie over the edge, letting out a long, low groan, sloppily rutting into you as his brain went blank alongside yours, starting to babble incoherently.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- you want me to fill you up, queirda? Fuck, I’ll fucking fill you up so good you’ll be dripping out of me for days. Oh fuck, shit baby, fuck, oh I’m gonnaahhhhhh-“

Just like that, Frankie took one last thrust, spilling deep inside you, coating your walls with his spend as his body slumped into yours, the pair of your chests rising and falling in sync as you both came back down to earth.

“Jesus Christ… Holy fuck, Frankie.” You giggled quietly to yourself, blissfully filled with post orgasm ecstasy as your husband carefully pulled himself out before rolling over next to you on the bed, pulling you close against his chest.

“Fuck me, Hermosa, holy shit.” Frankie chuckled, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead, tracing small circles on your back as he held you, heat radiating off of each other's sweat-ridden bodies. “God, I love you. We should probably get you cleaned up. You wanna shower?” He asked, smirking as your face lit up at his nearly rhetorical question.

“Only if you’re up for round 2, Morales.”

“My eyes are up here, Fransisco.”

“Hmmm? What did you say?”

“Exactly my point. Can you stop looking with your man eyes and look with your normal, helpful people eyes to help me decide on a dress for Benny and Victoria’s wedding?” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you raised an eyebrow at Frankie, his gaze still fixed on your chest.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be helpful.” Frankie huffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes at you, playfully throwing his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the dressing room door, looking you up and down in one of the cute floral dresses you had picked to try on for your friends’ upcoming wedding. “It’s just that… Nevermind.”

“It’s just that what, Frank?” You asked tilting your head in confusion at your husband as his eyes traveled back to your breasts, furled look in his brow like he was really staring there to prove a point.

“It’s just that- Baby, I don’t know if it’s just the dress or what, but your boobs look huge. Like, they always look good, believe me, but like… Whew.” Frankie whistled, practically shaking his head in disbelief at how good you looked.

“Really?” You asked, turning around to face the mirror in the dressing room, gently cupping your breasts, grimacing as you held them in your hands. “Yeah, I guess they do… Honestly, I was gonna complain about how sore they’ve been all day. I wonder if maybe my period is just coming early?”

“Maybe? You did ride me pretty hard the last couple nights and put on a good show, so maybe they hurt from all that bouncing and-”

“Frankie! We are in public!” You playfully scolded, giving him a flimsy slap to the chest to cut off the rest of his thought, the two of you quietly giggling to yourselves and trying to “Shhhh” each other from drawing too much attention to your dressing room stall. “The dress, you goofball, yes or no? Sooner we pick, the sooner we can go get food, because your wife is starving.”

“I vote yes on the dress. You look beautiful in it, querida.” Frankie smiled, stepping behind you to press a kiss on the side of your head.

“You just like it because it makes my boobs look huge.”

“What? Can you blame me for wanting to stare at my gorgeous wife’s boobs all night?”

“God, you are ridiculous, Fransisco. Fine, boob dress wins. Now let’s get out of here and go get some food before you get stuck in a titty trance and I die of hunger.”

While the rest of your Saturday was spent enjoying the delicious Mexican food that you had picked up on the way home and a much needed night in on the couch with Frankie, there was a tiny part of your brain that couldn’t seem to shake his comment from earlier about how big your boobs looked.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him, because truth be told, they felt huge, too. They had been sore since you had woken up this morning, and while you had chalked it up to what you and Frankie had been up to the past few nights, or bad PMS symptoms, there was still just something about you that felt off.

Later that night, during your movie marathon, you had paused whatever new action movie Frankie had been begging to watch since it had popped up on Netflix a few days ago for a popcorn refill.

While Frankie meandered around the kitchen waiting for the next bag of popcorn to finish popping, you stayed curled up with your blanket in your corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, until a sharp twinge began to cramp in your lower stomach. The feeling took you by surprise, digging your fingers into your side to try and ease the dull and achy sensation as your face scrunched in confusion, wondering why in the world you had what felt like period cramps in your belly.

“Hey, you okay, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, returning with popcorn in hand, his face painted with concern to see the pained look scrunched between your brow as you curled deeper into the couch.

“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I just um, I just had a weird cramp I guess. Probably just ate all that popcorn too fast.” You replied, trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince Frankie that you were overthinking whatever mystery symptoms had just flashed through your lower half.

“Here, lemme just set this popcorn down and then I can rub your back while we finish the movie, okay?” Frankie smiled softly, setting down the bowl on the coffee table before crawling back under the sea of blankets on the couch with you, laying your head against his thigh like a pillow while his hand traced up and down along the small of your back.

“Thanks, Frankie.” You whispered quietly, taking a few deep breaths as the familiar warmth of your husband’s palm worked up and down the worn fabric of his shirt that you had put on earlier.

“Of course, baby. If you need anything else, just let me know, okay? Just promise me you’ll take it easy on the popcorn if you have any more there, Killer.”

The two of you laughed quietly as Frankie leaned down to press a soft kiss into your messy hair laid across his lap before picking up the remote to let the rest of the movie play as your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“What’s inside this box?”

“Open it up and find out! It’s a surprise for you!”

“Okay? Huh, why is it just a pregnancy test in there?”

“It’s yours! Congratulations! You’re having a baby!”

“Ahhhhh!” You shrieked, panting as you woke from a cold sweat, shooting up from the couch. “What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, coming to and realizing that you were now awake and had only been dreaming moments before this. Running your hands over your face, you blinked a few times to be greeted by the dim light of the TV still flickering in the background, Frankie sprawled out and snoring by your side where the two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch during the movie.

“What a weird fucking dream…” You sighed to yourself, shaking your head as you quietly pushed yourself off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, pulling your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to check what ungodly hour of the night it had to be since the two of you had crashed on the couch.

2:07 A.M.

You let out a low grumble, pushing your sweatpants down to your ankles as you sat down to pee, blinking your eyes open wider to look through the notifications piled on top of each other on your lockscreen. Mindlessly swiping through a few junk emails and text messages from group chats, one notification in particular caught your eye, rousing you from your half awake state.

“Feeling down? As you begin your Luteal Phase of your cycle, it’s normal to be less cheerful compared to last week when you were Ovulating! Click to track your cycle symptoms for today!”

Oh shit.

You could feel your heart beginning to race as you opened up the app, scrolling to the calendar tracker for the month. Swiping through the days, it didn’t take you long to realize that despite all of your weird symptoms you had been chalking up to PMS, you were almost two weeks away from starting your period. Frantically scrolling backwards, you began to try and rack your brain of all of the times in the past week that you had sex with Frankie while you would have been ovulating, and out of that number, how many times he hadn’t finished inside you, let alone even attempt to pull out.

And that number was a big, fat zero.

That’s when it hit you like a fucking freight train- You weren’t PMS-ing.

More than likely, you were pregnant.

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling and heart pounding as you buried your face in your trembling hands, your mind flooding with a million different thoughts all at once.

How could you not remember that you were ovulating? Would Frankie be upset? The two of you weren’t even trying for kids right now. Would you be a good Mom? What were you even going to need to do to prepare? Your house was starting to get small for just you and Frankie, let alone a baby. How were you going to find a new place to live in 9 months? And get a new car? How were you-

“Baby, you good in there?” Frankie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a yawn as he opened the door, bright light flooding into the hallway and revealing the sobbing mess you had become, still pants down, hunched over the toilet.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Baby, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me, Hermosa. Are you okay? What happened?” You could feel Frankie’s demeanor immediately switch as soon as he saw you in the bathroom, instantly dropping to his knees by your side, his hands gently grabbing your face to shift your gaze towards him, carefully swiping his thumb to dry the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks.

“Frankie, I- I- Fuck.” You stuttered, gulping hard as you tried to catch your breath, fighting back your nervous sobs as you locked eyes with Frankie, wondering how in the world you were ever about to brace him for the news you were about to tell him.

“Hermosa, what is it? Please, tell me baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie pleaded, softly squeezing your face in reassurance as he waited for your response.

You took a few more deep breaths, composing yourself enough to at least try to get a coherent thought out, swallowing hard as the words left your mouth.

“Frankie, I-, Frankie, I think- I think I’m pregnant.”

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his jaw practically hanging open as he tried to process what you had just told him, wondering if he hadn’t heard you right in his groggy state.

“W-what?”

“I think I might be pregnant, Frankie.”

Before you could even bear the thought of looking at his face again, filled with fear that it would be a look of shock and disappointment, you buried your face in your hands again, fighting with everything in you not to cry and keep your composure.

Frankie sat quietly for a moment, his hand covering up the gaping hole his jaw had made as it nearly hit the floor, shaking his head in disbelief before wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling your hands to look at him.

“R-really? You- fuck- You really think you’re pregnant?”

As your eyes met his, you couldn’t believe the look on your husbands face- Not only was Frankie practically grinning from ear to ear, the sweet brown of his puppy dog eyes were welling with happy tears of their own, waiting on your every word as if he still didn’t believe what he was hearing. Silently, you began to slowly nod your head, biting down on your tongue, your heart feeling like it was about to shoot out of your chest.

“You’re...y-you’re not upset?” You stammered, sitting up a little taller at Frankie’s reaction.

“Upset? Hermosa, why in the world would I ever be upset?” Frankie laughed quietly, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as his other hand cupped your jaw. “Querida… There’s nothing more I want on this earth than to have a family. And-fuck- The fact that it gets to be with you? That you might give me a family? How could I ever be upset about that?

“Well it’s not like we were really trying for a baby, Frank. We said another year or two. With the house and money -”

“Hey. We’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise, we’ll be more than okay.” Frankie smiled, his goofy grin still stretched wide between his cheeks, finally easing some of your worry.

“I don’t even feel like I’m old enough to have a kid. I feel like I need to call up MTV to tell them I’ll be on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.” The two of you snorted, shaking your heads in awestruck disbelief that a stupid joke about a reality TV show could soon become your reality.

“Well considering we’re married, have a house, and most importantly, are much closer to 30 than we are 16, I think they may have a hard time pitching the show “Married Couple Has a Baby”.” Frankie teased, giving you a playful nudge as the two of you laughed, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before trying to dig into details. “Did- Did you take a test? How long have you known?”

“No, I don’t know for sure yet, Frank. It’s… It’s just a feeling, I guess. But the huge, sore boobs, weird, period-like cramps and the fact that we really haven’t been the most careful are all pretty good clues.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, we’ve tried to be care-”

Before Frankie could even finish the rest of his thought, you were already giving him the sassiest look you could muster in your overwhelmed and sleepy state, making the two of you laugh again he let out a sigh of defeat.

“Okay, yeah, we really haven’t been that careful at all. Sweetie, listen, I- I know it’s not what we had planned, but… I mean, if you are pregnant…” Frankie paused, smiling at your stomach as he gently place a hand over your belly, tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, “Baby, I would be so excited. Nervous as hell, but so fucking excited.”

“Me too.” You sniffed, looking down at Frankie’s palm splayed across your stomach, heart swelling at the thought of Frankie being dad, thinking of how sweet and caring and perfect he’d be as you grew your little family together. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled Frankie in close, letting out a shaky sigh, whispering your words through happy tears.

“I love you so much, Frankie.”

“I love you so much too, Hermosa. More than anything.”

For the sake of Frankie’s shoulder, you pulled away to wipe your tears to keep from soaking your husband’s shirt, quietly laughing to yourself at the fact that this whole time you had been talking to Frankie, you had still been pantsless, hunched over the toilet.

“It probably would have been way more romantic to tell you all of this not at 2:30 in the morning, pantsless and hunched over the toilet like a little gremlin.” You snorted, Frankie following suit as he shook his head, running his hand through the sleepy curls of your hair.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, mi amor. C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.”

As the two of you sleepily trotted your way upstairs, curling together under the warmth of your comforter with Frankie’s chest pressed against your back, you couldn’t help but smile as his arm draped over your stomach, hand resting on your belly while his thumb traced soft circles on your skin, imagining what it would be like if a few months from now if you really were getting ready to add another member to your family.

The next morning, as the sunrise began to spill through your curtains, casting bright orange and pink shadows on your bedroom walls, you couldn’t help but stir as the familiar scent and warmth of Frankie’s body was missing from his side of the bed.

As you sat up in the sea of blankets and comforters, softly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you saw Frankie’s frame quietly sneaking through the bedroom door, fresh mug of coffee and bag of breakfast in hand with a stupid smile plastered across his face as he was greeted with your barely awake grin.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Frankie cooed, setting down the coffee and breakfast down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, pressing a tender kiss into the sleep-ridden ends of your hair before wrapping his arms around you in a long embrace.

“Good morning, handsome.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a little grunt and laying your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s all this for?” You asked, gesturing towards the coffee and oversized McDonald’s bag, assuming it was the reason for Frankie’s absence when you woke up.

“I- I don’t know, I uh- I was just really excited when I got up this morning. It was early, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I made a trip to CVS to buy some pregnancy tests for you and figured I’d pick up breakfast on the way home.” Frankie smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, brushing past his untamed morning curls. “I know- I know you can’t really take the tests yet- I spent a lot of time reading the boxes in the store and wasn’t really sure what the best one was to take, so I got like, 4 different ones for when it's time.”

“God, you’re so sweet. You’re the best, you know that? It’s about to be a long week of waiting before I can take one of those. Do you- fuck, Frankie, do you think it could really be positive?” You asked, tears beginning to well in your eyes again as you smiled up at your husband, already beaming back at you, picturing the two pink lines showing up on all of the tests he had bought for you.

“Maybe, if we’re lucky.” He smirked, gently cupping your face, swiping his thumb across your face. “But if it’s not, then maybe… Maybe we start trying for a positive one on purpose.”

“R-really?” You grinned, biting down on your lip in excitement.

“Really, really.” Frankie replied, bringing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss, soaking in the sweet taste of you on his tongue. “And maybe…”

“Maybe, what, Fransisco?” You giggled, bringing your mouth back to his in a sweet and sloppy kiss.

“Maybe…. We start trying right now, ya know, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want all those pregnancy tests to go to waste.”

Taglist:

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endlessthxxghts · 4 months

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Hungry

Frankie Morales x afab!reader | W/C: 1.7k

Summary: You decide to go home on your lunch break. You call to see if your boyfriend can join you.

Content/Warnings: No physical descriptions of reader. No “y/n”. Implied that Frankie and you live together. Porn with a sprinkle of plot. 18+ MDNI!! Oral sex (both receiving). Face riding turned 69…Cumming untouched (kind of?). Cum eating. Please do let me know if I missed anything!!!

A/N: HI GUYS I’VE MISSED YOU. I’m on my university campus from 9-5, and I had a particularly rough day, so I went home on my lunch break (which I normally don’t do), and instead of lunch, I did something else. This was that something else. I hope you enjoy.👹

MASTERLIST || NOTIFS BLOG

He picks up after one ring. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

You don’t usually call him during your work day—the lab being too hectic even on your lunch break to enjoy anything other than the lunch you packed yourself.

“Nothing, I just- I miss you,” you tell him softly.

Today, though…Today is different. You’re exhausted and your other team members are also having a slow day, so you decide to call your boyfriend. You also decide that you deserve lunch off-site: in the comfort of your own home.

“I miss you, querida,” Frankie says, returning your warmth and gentleness tenfold.

Gods, his voice. The deep, softness of his voice never fails to make the butterflies flutter in your belly. And also… further below. You can’t help the next words that fall from your mouth.

“I want you.”

Only then does he realize—you’re not at the lab. He doesn’t hear the hustle and bustle of research going on in the background, he doesn’t even hear the air conditioning that’s always blasting in the break room. He’s called you once while you were on site, and he learned his lesson then. So, seeing you call today prompted him to think there was an emergency. And in his realization—yes, this is very much an emergency, but not the one he was expecting.

“You’re home, aren’t you?” He asks, really not needing the confirmation but obliges anyway.

“Yeah,” you say breathily.

“Do not go anywhere. Be there in ten, baby.”

“Make it five,” you whimper, ending the call, not wanting the formalities of a goodbye, too hung up on your dire need for him to handle hearing his voice without being able to touch him.

Frankie does make it home in five—taking my forty-five! he calls out to his boss as he walks out with no time for extra conversation. Professionally, that really wouldn’t do, but luckily, he’s always been on the good side of his superior.

“Querida!” He calls out as he enters the front door.

As soon as he’s through the door, you’re on him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he drops the keys in his hands to fully engulf you. The kiss is needy, desperate. You can’t help the moans already falling from your lips, and he’s just as eager to swallow them up. You do a mini jump, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he walks you two to your shared bedroom.

As he nears the edge of the bed, you untangle your legs from around him so he can sit down. But as soon as he’s hitting the bed, you’re straddling him once again, licking into his mouth as you grasp at the nape of his neck, your needy center grinding into his hard length.

Frankie’s lips break from yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, passing your chin, and settling on your neck, nipping and sucking the sweet spots that always have your hips bucking wildly into him, begging for more. He can feel the heat radiating from your center, his cock leaking at the sensation.

However, neither of you really have much time before you need to return to your respective jobs, and Frankie simply needs to eat.

His fingers meet the hem of your bottoms, pulling them down as you move your body around, allowing them to come down with ease.

Frankie starts leaning back, his hands trailing back to the meat of your thighs, grabbing them tightly and nudging you up his torso.

“F-Frankie, what-” you stutter, breathless and mind hazy from your makeout session.

You’re on your knees now, situated above his shoulders, your gaze looking down into his. “Sit,” is all he tells you.

“Frankie… we’re both on a clock here,” your voice waivers. Hesitant. When Frankie eats you out, he eats, and most of the time, he’ll continue out of his own pleasure well after however many orgasms he pulls out of you in this way.

“Just gonna make you cum, querida, promise,” he smirks, mischief written all over his face.

Without another word, he grabs your thighs, and forces your entire weight onto him, your thighs immediately clenching in the feeling as his tongue glides through your soaked folds. “Oh- Fuck,” you gasp, the pleasure hitting you all at once.

You can feel his smirk as your breathing grows heavier and your hips start to move on their own. Realizing what your body’s asking for, Frankie lifts you off of him and urges you to turn around. You don’t understand what for until his hands are guiding yours to grip onto his waist—your torso leaning forward at the movement.

Oh.

Oh, you like this. A lot.

In this angle, your pelvis opens up more for him, and you have more support to be able to freely grind against his face. This was Frankie’s main reason for repositioning you, but he didn’t realize what he just did. You now have complete access to the part of him that’s been throbbing for your attention.

Slowly, you let one of your hands glide upwards to his belt, the twang of his belt buckle making your mouth drool in response. Frankie pulls away momentarily. “What- what are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse and utterly aroused at what you’re about to do.

You smile to yourself at his question. “Just keep eating, baby,” you say, pushing your sex back into his face, his nose nudging a particularly sensitive spot making you moan at the contact. You can feel the way he groans into you, the vibrations sending more slick for him to greedily drink up.

You finally get his cock free from the restraining khakis, and your pussy flutters at the view. He’s painfully hard, his tip red and precum all over. You put him into your mouth, swirling the head with your tongue to collect everything he’s giving you. You lift off him with a pop, a moan and a so fucking good leaving your mouth before you spit on him—watching his cock twitch as your drool drips down his length.

You pump his cock a few times to spread the mixture of your spit and his precum down his length. Satisfied, you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue, pushing him as far back as you possibly can. Your gag reflex triggers then, your throat constricting around where he’s most sensitive, and he whimpers at the feeling, momentarily pausing his attention on you.

Using your gag to your advantage, you don’t stop bobbing up and down on his length, the sloppiness of it all sending him into a horny spiral. He loves having his mouth on you, but the feel of your mouth on him has his eyes rolling back to his head, his tongue slowing in his strokes as his body buzzes in the pleasure you’re giving him. His hips start fucking up into your mouth, and you moan around him, getting spurred on at his desperation.

“F-fuck-” he grunts. “Taking me- fuck- taking me so fucking good,” Frankie sighs, head falling back into the mattress. You almost made him forget his task at hand—which you genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’s always putting your pleasure first—but as soon as the fact hits him, oh, he’s going in.

Frankie grabs onto your waist, forcing your entire center flush against his face as he brings your clit to his mouth, sucking and nipping at it with a calculated intensity—the feeling radiating up your spine and down into your toes—hurtling you towards your orgasm within seconds. His cock slips from your mouth at his action, but right now, you really can’t think about anything else.

“Oh, yes, Frankie-” you gasp, “fuck, I’m gon- I’m gonna cum, please,” you whine, your cunt grinding wildly into his face.

“Mmmm,” he grunts. Cum for me, querida, you know he’s telling you.

Your orgasm is blinding, eyes clamped shut as your mouth mindlessly babbles praises to the man underneath you. “Oh my- oh fuck, you’re so-” you pant, unable to catch your breath at the intensity. “Good God, Frankie,” you whine.

Although you stopped paying attention to his thick member, the way your body convulses above him sends him to his own edge, cum shooting out and landing across his lower tummy, nearly half a centimeter away from splashing your face. You don’t realize this until after your breathing has slowed, your eyes finally peeling open and peering at the pooling milky liquid near his belly button.

As much as you can in your exhausted state, you pull your head up and dart your tongue out, coating every part of your tongue with his cum, a squeaky little sigh escaping you at the taste of his salty musk.

“Christ, baby,” you hear him mutter when he feels your tongue tickling across his surface.

You untangle yourself from his body, repositioning so your head is in alignment with his. “That was fun,” you say casually before pressing a lengthy kiss to his lips, tongue sneaking into his mouth, exchanging each other’s flavor.

“Yeah? Wanna go for round two?” Frankie asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Frankie!” You scold, slapping his chest. “We’re on a lunch break—no, we can’t go for round two!”

He pouts at you, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into one more kiss before you both have to leave again. As if your colleagues are watching you, both yours and his phone ring right as your lips begin to touch.

Jumping off the bed, you ignore your bottoms on the floor and run straight to your phone, answering it with your last name.

“Hey. No rush, but when do you think you’ll be back? Dr. Mowak is ready for your report if you are,” your lab assistant tells you.

Oh, fuck.

“Hey, yeah, I’m on my way back now, I accidentally caught up with a last minute… emergency,” you say, a little awkwardly.

You hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn around to see Frankie with a boyish grin, winking at you.

You roll your eyes at him, but the butterflies flutter all the same.

Or maybe it’s your stomach growling.

Shit, you’re hungry.

If you’d like to see more, check out my masterlist or follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to be updated on my new stories!! Much love to you all, thank you so much for reading and interacting with my silly little delusional self. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

@pedrostories

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frozenartscapes · 4 months

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I think the thing I’m most excited for (and what I hope actually gets explored) in Spy x Family isn’t so much the drama of the secrets being revealed - I’m excited for what comes after.

Imagine that sort of awkward transition stage where everyone is getting used to this new normal. Loid and Yor are tiptoeing around each other, not really sure what to make of their partner who has been lying their ass off the whole time. They’re both kinda mad about it, but also can’t really find too much fault because they’ve been doing the same thing themselves. Imagine a montage of all the Not Normal things both of them are guilty of and the both of them having a “ooooohhh that makes more sense now” moment.

But then treading into angsty territory: say their missions align or something and they have to work through the fact that their partner is not a civilian. Loid constantly ordering Yor to get back and take cover, throwing his arm up to shield her, but then Yor ducks around him and takes down, like, ten armed guys before he can even blink. Yor having a mini war in her head between Yor Forger and the Thorn Princess, because the Thorn Princess has a damn job to do but Yor Forger is constantly fretting about Loid and what he must think of her and if she’s still a good mom for Anya when she just skewered a grunt’s head so hard his skull exploded. It results in neither of them being on top of their game and eventually having to work through their issues before succeeding (maybe whilst tied up back to back in a holding cell or something).

But then there’s this sort of relief? For Loid especially, because suddenly it’s not just him protecting this family. He knew Yor was good at keeping Anya safe, but before it was as an insanely lucky civilian who’s very good at “yoga”. Now… He knows that it would take something monumental to take Yor down. Anything less than that and she’s walking away covered in blood that’s not hers. There’s this sense of safety that starts to bubble up, which is strange, because it should be the opposite. Yor’s one of the most dangerous assassins in the country - hell in both countries - and yet Agent “I don’t trust anyone” Twilight has complete faith in her.

Meanwhile, Yor’s feeling more validated in months because even after learning Loid/Twilight’s biggest secret…he’s still here. He didn’t just pack up and leave in the middle of the night the way spies do whenever they are compromised. And he learned about her and yet he stayed. He included her in on his schemes. And suddenly living together is just…so much easier. She doesn’t have to sneak out in the middle of the night or hide her injuries. She doesn’t feel ashamed any time her incredible strength slips through. She doesn’t feel like she has to lie to everyone - she has Loid to talk to now. She’s never had someone who knows but who also isn’t a Garden agent themselves. And with him being a spy there’s a level of understanding of the job that makes it really easy to be open about it. Probably to a worrying degree, but Yor trusts Loid with her life despite him being a foreign spy.

And then there’s the question of the degree at which the secret’s out. Do they know about Anya? Does Anya know? (Or more specifically, do they know that Anya knows?) (Anya comes home one day and overhears them talking about spy/assassin stuff and after months of being exhausted trying to help them keep both secrets she just sighs really loudly, “FINALLY!” Only to then be questioned on how she knew.) Would Yuri or Franky find out? Garden or WISE? But it would be fun in there’s a little while where the family knows about each other, the three (four including Bond) having a wonderful little stretch of time where the first true test of their trust for each other is passed with flying colours. (Enough for a Stella Star, even!)

#ok but imagine yor and loid finding out about the reason anya matched them up together #spy x family #future plot ideas #dammit i already have too many fic ideas from one fandom and now I'm starting another?#loid forger #yor forger #anya forger

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beep-beep-sunny · 1 month

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I added two new chapters to My Daddy Likes Boys a fic about Eddie Kaspbrak's son trying to get him together with his teacher, Mr. Tozier.

Read on ao3 or below!

Chapter 1: Two daddies?? Cool!

My daddy likes boys. I don't know why that's such a big deal. I'm not a dummy. I understand that they don't mean he likes boys just as friends like me and Hank from my class. Otherwise, mommy and daddy wouldn't have broked up. I get it. It's about in love. Like Aladdin and Jasmine. They aren't both boys, but that's okay. I'm sure there are other examples of boys I'm just not thinking of.

Mommy already sees other boys. Daddy comes to watch me when she goes on her "dates" and we watch Bluey on TV or play hungry hungry hippos. Daddy is great at games, but I'm better because I always win. Still, daddy deserves to play games with someone he can beat. Someone he can go on "dates" with. Maybe on a magic carpet. Daddy likes cars, and that's a very cool and special kinda car. I wanna ride on one. Maybe if daddy's boyfriend has a magic carpet I can ride in the backseat and fly up high. That would be cool. That would be super cool.

I started kindergarten in the Fall. I'm in Mr. Tozier's class. He wears funny, colorful shirts and does voices that make me laugh a lot. When we learned about animals he made all the sounds. My favorite was when he made the goose sound. Mr. Tozier is the coolest.

And a boy.

And daddy likes boys.

Then I had an idea. My daddy and Mr. Tozier could be in love! That's a great perfect idea. I just needed to find a way to get daddy and Mr. Tozier to talk. When they talked they would obviously instantly fall in love because they are both awesome and fun and they both love me. It would be the greatest thing to have two daddies!!

I started small. Daddy tells me every day that I'm brave and I decided to prove it. I made sure Mr. Tozier was close and I climbed up higher in the jungle gym than I had ever climbed. The other kids watched and some waved and giggled. By the time Mr. Tozier noticed how high I climbed and started running towards me, it was too late. I bent my knees like a frog. Mr. Tozier saying ribbit ribbit popping into my head as I hopped off the roof (where I definitely wasn't supposed to be) and fell hard onto the ground.

Plop

I yelled and yelled and yelled some more. How was I supposed to know it would hurt THAT much. Mr. Tozier reached me quickly with his kind blue eyes twisted up in worry. "Frankie!" He yelped. "How'd you even get up there?" He was concerned, but I couldn't help but notice he also sounded impressed. This was going perfectly according to plan even though my arm hurt a whole lot.

Mr. Tozier carried me to the nurse's office. "I'm gonna call your parents, okay? Just sit tight buddy." I made a froggy sound and his worry melted away just long enough to do an, admittedly much better, froggy sound.

He rushed out the door. Oh no. "Call my daddy!" I shouted after him, hoping it was loud enough. My voice was usually louder, but my arm hurt too much! I waited to let my tears fall down my cheeks for after Mr. Tozier left. He probably thought I was very brave. Mr. Tozier and daddy will talk about how brave I am all day long until they fall in love.

Daddy didn't come. Mr. Tozier must not have heard me. When I saw mommy come through the door with her arms stretched out like she was ready to clean my dirty cheek with her spit, I cringed a bit and then started crying. This time it wasn't from the pain. Well, it wasn't just from the pain. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Chapter 2: Frankie's Big Break

had a lot of time to plan my next move while I was at the doctor then at home. My arm was broken and got put in a huge cast. It's so hard and heavy. I drummed on the wall with it when mommy wasn't looking, she always told me to stop even though it made the best sound.

That made me think of my next idea. I couldn't keep getting hurt and going right to the hospital. I'd be off too much school and all my bones would be in casts until I couldn't move. I can't make Mr. Tozier and my daddy fall in love like that! I need at least one limb free!

When I got back to school, all the kids wanted to talk to me and sign my cast. I noted that I'd let Hank sign it first, after I talked to Mr. Tozier. Unless Mr. Tozier wanted to sign it first. Then he could. Sorry Hank.

Mr. Tozier sat at a big desk with papers all over the top. I could just see over it. He looked down at me, looking over his big thick glasses. He must have a really hard time seeing with glasses that big. My eyes are perfect, everyone says so, but daddy probably doesn't care about perfect eyes. I tried to focus.

“Frankie?” Mr. Tozier said. “What is it?”

“Next time I get in trouble, can you call my daddy instead of my mommy?” I said. I thought if I was as obvious as possible that he would definitely get it right next time.

Mr. Tozier's brow furrowed. “Well, you weren't in trouble, Frankie, but why do you want me to call your daddy? Is something going on at home?”

I really thought about it. No, not really. Home has been kinda boring. Daddy always looks sad when I'm with him, but mommy always has boys around all the time. I just want my daddy to be happy too. Not with lots of boys though, just Mr. Tozier. I didn't like getting used to lots and lots of new boys because some of them smell funny and have weird mustaches.

“Frankie?” Mr. Tozier asked. Oops, I'd been thinking too much.

“No.” I said quickly and walked away. I didn't even remember to ask him to sign my cast. I guess Hank could do it first after all.

After all the kids got done signing my cast with lots of cool things, Hank drew a dinosaur, I went to work. I knew daddy would definitely come if I was in danger, but it didn't work the first time. I decided I had to do something different. I had to get in trouble.

It happened at recess. Mr. Tozier was watching everybody, but I wanted to make sure he was watching me. I took a big breath in and let out a loud scream. Mr. Tozier looked up but so did everybody else. I'd have to explain why I was doing it to all my lots of friends later. They'd understand. With all my might, I pushed over the big wood play kitchen and all the kids playing house ran away. The play plates hit the ground over and over one at a time. It sounded like rain.

Mr. Tozier rushed over. Yay! “Is everyone okay?” The other kids nodded. When he looked at me, he didn't look mad. He looked worried. That made me worried too.

He took me to the place I go to when I get off my bus and had me sit in the big plush chair. Once he was in the other room, I got up and pressed my ear to the door. He was talking to somebody. I think on the phone.

“I think something might be going on at home.” Mr Tozier said. I sighed. Not really. Just call my daddy. Say I'm in big trouble. “Oh, a divorce? That's gotta be tough on him.” It wasn't tough at all! What was tough was getting my daddy and Mr. Tozier in one room. Ugh!

Chapter 3: Why Does Everybody Ask if I'm Okay??

How was I supposed to know they'd just make me talk to some lady? That is not what I wanted at all.

“Frankie,” She said gently like she was talking to a puppy. I'm not a puppy. “Can you please tell me how things have been at home?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that!” I knew it wasn't polite to shout, but I was getting so frustrated! “Sorry, things are just fine. I'm happy.”

Even though I told her I'm happy she still looked sad. What was going on? “Are you happy when you're with your mommy?”

I felt a big frown on my face. “Yeah, I guess!” I folded my arms. Things were fine. Mommy was just kind of boring sometimes. She just wanted me to dress up nice and be polite. I was so sick of always being so polite.

“What about your daddy?” She asked.

I smiled. “Well, daddy is the best. We play games and watch TV but he's lonely and needs a boyfriend like my mommy has.”

The lady's eyebrows raised up like they were gonna bump into her hair. “A boyfriend?” She asked. “Maybe you mean a girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “No! My daddy likes boys!’’

Talking to that lady was so pointless. She didn't even help me with how to get Mr. Tozier and my daddy together. I hoped I never had to see that lady ever again.

My mommy drove me home and fussed with my hair when she buckled me in. “What did you say to the nice lady?” She asked me.

“I told her daddy likes boys.” I explained, getting a little tired of always having to explain myself.

Mommy's eyebrows did the same thing as the lady. It's a little silly for her to be surprised. I knew she knew that already. She didn't say much else. She just got in the front seat and drove us home.

When Daddy came to pick me up the next day, I was so excited. It was the weekend and Daddy always planned a fun activity. I wanted to see the new Sonic movie and get lots of popcorn.

It was taking mommy and daddy a really long time to come get me in my room, so I hopped off my bed and sat on the top of the stairs looking down at them through the bars. They looked upset. They had angry eyebrows and folded up arms.

“You told him about your little perversion?” Mommy said. I didn't know what that meant, but what did daddy tell me about? Maybe about the big black cats at the zoo.

Daddy held up his hands. “No, I didn't tell him anything about that. I don't know how he found out.” Maybe not about the big cats after all.

“Well, tell him you don't. Tell him you like women like you're supposed to.” I opened my eyes really wide. Was this about daddy liking boys? What's the big deal! Mommy likes boys too!

“Daddy can like boys if he wants to!” I ran down the stairs to stand up tall next to daddy.

They both looked down at me with their mouths hanging open. Close your mouths, gosh! “It's not normal.” Mommy said in a calm voice. I was so sick of people talking to me like a puppy or a baby or something.

I held out my hand. “Daddy, I wanna go.” I didn't feel like talking about this. I had important things to do.

Daddy looked down at me, surprised. Mommy looked mad. They looked at each other for a few seconds before daddy grabbed my hand and we started walking out. I smiled wide.

“Wait!” Mommy called after us, but we didn't stop or look back.

We were gonna have a wonderful, awesome time watching Sonic and eating popcorn and then after that I would think about my next plan. Daddy and Mr. Tozier were gonna be happy if it was the last thing I did!

#richie and eddie #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fanfiction #alternate universe #richie is a teacher #eddie has a kid #eddie is divorced

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anystalker707 · 1 year

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Maybe unrequited feelings

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Words: ~ 2 800 Summary: The way he treated you made you wonder if he didn't like you, but it seems to be quite the opposite. Tags: Sanji is just a babygirl / Shy Sanji A/N: I'm still learning how to write for op

MASTERLIST

It felt off, really. Were you ugly or something? Maybe annoying. Or just not his type. It all always bugged you a little, an insistent thought in the back of your mind that always resurfaced whenever you saw Sanji with heart eyes pampering whoever he found attractive. Something shifted in your chest whenever you watched it happen, so it wasn’t much different now, watching him talk to whatever person that sat two tables away from you.

That was supposed to be a nice day, shaped for relaxing and clearing your minds on this new island. The crew had divided itself in two parts at some point, with Luffy, Franky, Usopp, Brook and Zoro wandering off at the moment they saw the local commerce, an activity you and the others weren’t really up to, given the intense heat. In the light of this, at the moment, you sat at a small table outside a little restaurant with Nami, Robin, Chopper, and, previously, Sanji. His drink sat unattended at the table; its cold temperature clashed with the hot weather and resulted in a puddle of condensation at the base of the fancy glass.

“You seem a little off, (y/n). Are you sure you are alright?” Chopper asked. His eyes barely made it over the table and his straw made a comically long turn to go above the glass then down to reach his lips.

Your eyes averted to Chopper, but you just pursed your lips in a little funny pout that made him chuckle, so you couldn’t help and smile a little. “I’m fine, Chopper, don’t worry! Just thinking a little, ‘s all!” Why would you talk about it, in the first place? You were sure Robin was tired of your venting.

Nami raised an eyebrow at you, however, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the chair. “Are you sure? I mean, I’ve been noticing something...” She trailed off, averting her eyes away in a badly played clueless manner; you looked at Robin out of instinct, and the chuckle she gave you in response had your cheeks warming up while you sat back on the chair, covering your face with your hands.

“Waaa, don’t leave me in the dark!” Chopper cried out, tugging at you and then at Nami. “What’s it? What’s it?” He almost walked over the table to do the same to Robin.

“Well, let’s say that Mx. (y/n) would enjoy a little more attention from our cook.” Robin smiled. You wondered how amusing the situation was for her. Even Nami herself seemed to have fun, giggling into her hand.

“Yeah, maybe...” You trailed off, letting your hands run through your hair, and decided to take a large sip of the drink to end it already and perhaps clean your mind a little.

“Eh?” Chopper looked at you for a long moment. “Then you can just—”

“(Y/n) has a crush on Sanji, Chopper!” The volume of Nami’s voice not only had your cheeks burning bright red, but also looking at Sanji to make sure he didn’t hear anything while Chopper made a scandal, as if he had heard the biggest gossip of his whole life—part of you hoped Sanji did catch on it and came over, even if it wouldn’t have the best outcome.

“B—But him, (y/n)?” Chopper’s jaw dropped. “H—He’s nice and all, but—”

“Look at the way you put it!” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head at Nami. “It’s not a crush... I’m just... interested. I would at least like to be friends with him, closer and all, but he just, um, treats me as if I were still new to the crew and all.” A sigh escaped your nose and your eyes drifted away from everyone else—you didn’t need their pitiful looks. What if it sounded a little too attention seeking? It wasn’t really your priority. Everything was fine as long as you and Sanji worked together just right during the fights and didn’t get in the way of each other’s objectives.

Nami hummed as she tilted her head. She didn’t remember Sanji ever directly asking you for your favorite dish so he could prepare it nor at least once urging to be paired up with you when you split up on any plan or adventure. “Now that you’ve mentioned it...” She raised her eyebrows and looked over at Sanji, scratching her chin. “Maybe there’s actually something up with this.”

“Would you like any of us to find out what is happening, (y/n)?” Robin asked you. “I suppose it could be of certain help since you want to be friends with him, at minimum.”

Worrying them wasn’t good—it made a weight set itself in the back of your mind—, but at the same time, something in your chest insisted that you accept it. Maybe there would be improvements you weren’t aware of at the moment. Silence your mind, even. That would be a great improvement, actually, not having you worry about something so constantly, as silly as it was.

“Well, I am not opposed to that,” you mumbled, absentmindedly playing with the straw inside the empty glass. “Just don’t tell him that I, um, am interested. I trust you.” Those words had Nami immediately grinning, rubbing her palms together; you glared at her along with Chopper, though he had more of curious eyes. “Correction, I trust Robin!”

You left after a quick exchange of words, once again telling how you trusted them and reminding them of your condition, this time deciding to go after Luffy and the others to find out what they were up to.

Walking with the others was fun. It was no surprise that Zoro was not with them, but you managed to find him after some point. At first, you were just making sure not to let him get lost, although you eventually got to a point in which you didn’t recognize your surroundings and didn’t see the others as well. As much as you insisted, Zoro just said you two would eventually find them again because you weren’t even lost. Technically you did find them, but it was just when the sun had already disappeared in the horizon, and dinner was already being served at Sunny.

“Hi!” You called as you took a seat next to Nami, happy to be at the ship again, and eyed her bowl with a hum of appreciation. “Sorry, we got lost!”

“We did not!” Zoro retorted; you chuckled with a roll of eyes, but wouldn’t argue, not this time.

“We—”

“Here, Mx. (y/n).” Sanji stood there bowing down, with a cloth over the arm he didn’t use to hand out the bowl with food that he had served for you. He was there, noticing you. Wow, you existed to Sanji as something aside from a fighting partner. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you.” Your voice was weaker than you’d like it to be. The bowl was warm, heating up your hands after a long day of holding glasses and cups of cold drinks, and the taste was better than ever. Nami’s eyes on you were difficult not to notice, however, you decided to ignore it for now, continuing to eat. What did they tell Sanji?

The empty dishes were set aside, being collected by Sanji and Chopper, while you talked with Nami and Robin, leaned against the railing while observing the waves crash against the side of Sunny. Once loud and crowded, now the island sat quiet since the people at the streets near the shore were in their homes already, plus that Zoro and Luffy already snored away wherever they were; the rest were probably off to their quarters or messing with anything else in the peace of the night.

Your talk with the girls had already faded away, leaving you busy with your thoughts instead, or at least until Nami spoke up again. “I’m going to be right back,” she said, leaving with no further explanation, disappearing inside the kitchen.

“Maybe I should go to sleep as well.” You yawned. Your muscles complained a bit with the way you rolled your shoulders in a futile attempt to get rid of the weight that clung to them. Lying down on your soft mattress would feel simply perfect after a long day like that.

Robin placed a hand over your forearm before you could move. “Can you just wait for Nami to return, with me?”

“Well, sure.” Just a little longer wouldn’t hurt. The thing is, it wasn’t just a little longer. You couldn’t keep your feet in the same place for long enough. You had spent the whole day walking around the city, so lying down wasn’t a bad idea at all. "Robin—"

"I think she is not coming back." Robin chuckled. "Come on." She nodded back to the kitchen—aw damn, she dragged you to the kitchen instead of the quarters' direction.

The kitchen was all quiet. Only Chopper was there, asleep in the corner, and the other two were nowhere to be seen. Robin moved to get a glass of water for herself and you did the same, hoping it would help you fight the tiredness a little. It did, thankfully, because Robin was taking you downstairs next. Why would she go to the bar, anyways?

Getting closer, you could hear Nami’s voice. She sounded stern. "...and you'll open that damn mouth of yours and speak, you hear me?" A hand rested on her hip while she held her index finger out at Sanji's face, looking like a mother scolding her kid, when you walked in.

"Yes, Nami-swam!" Sanji bit on his handkerchief that he held, sniffling and crying dramatically as he nodded frantically, with red cheeks. His wide eyes observed Nami proudly move back and cross her arms, with a smile lingering over her lips when she finally acknowledged your and Robin's presence. Oh. The idea of what could happen already had your cheeks heating up.

"We did have a talk earlier today, as you had asked, (y/n)." Nami’s humor took a turn again, turning light and sweet as it always was most of the time when it came to you.

A soft sigh escaped your nose; you nodded, not knowing where to look. Thankfully, it was happening, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea if it were over soon. You gulped, returning your attention to Nami in a silent request for her to continue. It was awkward, of course, because you were dragging Robin and Nami into a situation that wasn’t theirs, even if they were the ones to offer to help, in the first place. Sanji could be being bothered in unimaginable ways and then start hating you, you never knew.

“Well, I’m heading to bed. I don’t think it’s my business to interfere!” Nami said simply, waving a hand as she walked past you to leave the place, followed by Robin, who wished you a good night before she could leave.

A shiver ran down your spine and you felt reality finally crash over you at the moment their footsteps faded in the distance and Sanji sniffled again. You shook your head, scratching the back of your neck. “Um, look, I—”

“I’m so sorry, (y/n)-san!” Suddenly, he was on his knees right in front of you, frantically bowing. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t ever mean to make you feel this way! Truth is I actually like you a lot! I’m so sorry, (y/n)-san!” He cried out with that traditional drama of his that you’d always seen, but never directed towards you.

“You... like me?” You furrowed your eyebrows, confusion only growing when Sanji froze on his tracks and moved to sit back on his legs, with his hands clasped together over his chest.

“I—I, um, yes!” Sanji had his cheeks red; hell, that was something new since he wasn’t even drunk. How much did Nami scold him for him to be reduced to pieces like this? It was even funny. “I just don’t know what to... I felt like flirting with you all the same as the others wouldn’t work, it needed to be special, but I also didn’t know how else to approach you, I was just waiting for the right moment—” The whole blabbering had you questioning if he would die talking so much without taking a single breath, but then something clicked in your mind. Approaching you had to be...

“Special?” You questioned as you crouched down in front of him, and the new proximity had Sanji covering his face with his hands.

“Sorry for not being good enough and for my unrequited feelings! I never wanted to bother you, (y/n)-san!”

Unrequited feelings. You wanted to laugh, though you held it back because of the uncertainty regarding how he would react to it, so you instead just pressed your lips together into a smile as you looked at him. Sanji was about to bow again when you held onto his shoulder.

“I...” You sighed, gaze falling to the ground. “I wouldn’t call it unrequired.” An awkward chuckle escaped your lips, fading away into silence. Did you do something wrong? Aw, fuck. When you looked at Sanji again, his face burned bright red as blood flowed from his nose again. “Sanjiii!” You cried, shaking his shoulders to knock life back into him, and finally stopped when his hands wrapped around your wrists.

“You like me back, (y/n)-san?” And Sanji started blabbering again, this time soon falling silent with a soft cry muffled into the palms of his hands. Even though you couldn’t see his face, his ears were bright red. Who knew? Sanji actually liked you, and instead of being bold and flirty like he usually was with the people he was infatuated with, he got all shy instead.

Holding back another chuckle was impossible, letting your lips curl into a smirk as you poked his hand. “Ohh, so that’s why you get all shy around me? That’s why you avoid me? Because you don’t know what to do, afraid I won’t like you?” Whatever he said in response fell incoherent against his hands. “Hell, and me here thinking that you didn’t like me! Who knew I could’ve gotten the boy I wanted much earlier?” The words you chose had the exact effect you expected, flustering Sanji even more, though you didn’t imagine him to be quiet with it, whining about something you didn’t understand, once more. “Aw, Sanji!” Something in your chest shifted with the way he knelt there all small.

Sanji’s shoulders shrunk a little with the way you reached out to run your fingers through his hair, almost curling up into a ball right there when you pressed a kiss to his head.

“C’mon, can I see your face?” Your finger ran up and down the back of his hand, tracing a protruding vein before circling his knuckle. Gulping, Sanji shook his head. “Aw!” You pouted. “How am I supposed to kiss you, then? Not that I will be mad if you don’t want it to happen now, but it would be nice.”

His fingers twitched a little, and Sanji parted his fingers a little to look at you—you tilted your head with a smile in response. It was slow, but he did uncover his face, still never looking you in the eyes. Damn, and think that, among so many people, you were the one who could reduce him to such a state. His hands rested over his thighs, clenched into fists.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” you mumbled and cupped his cheek, leaning in. At first, it was only a brush of your nose against Sanji’s, experimentally—as light as the touch was, he still flinched and leaned back. Okay, maybe you were rushing... or not. He immediately leaned into your hand again, although closing his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No, no, it’s fine.” You let your thumb run over his cheekbone. “I can just—” He shook his head again, so you interrupted yourself.

“Please...?” Sanji opened his eyes a little, letting his hand rest over yours.

Before you could start to overthink things, you just leaned in to finally press your lips to his. It was awkward at first, out of synchrony, slowly growing into something softer. His lips were a little cracked, letting you control the kiss then seeking yours when you threatened to pull away, so you deepened the kiss; he sighed softly. You only pulled away when the air wasn’t enough and let Sanji rest his head against your shoulder.

Only the sound of your breathing along with the water’s broke through the silence. A feeling tingled in your chest, making you feel nice all over; you couldn’t help but hug Sanji close, nuzzling his shoulder softly. A long sigh escaped your nose when you fell to reality again, noticing how your knees started to ache against the wooden floor.

“Hey, it’s late.” You patted his back. “How about we go to bed? Make sure to sleep well so we can enjoy the day tomorrow, okay?”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #sanji vinsmoke #sanji #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #fan fic #fan fiction #oneshot #imagine #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #tony tony chopper #sanji x reader

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undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

hello, hi, hola ✨

JO'S PSA ANNOUNCEMENT

and a little explanation. so I hope you’ll forgive me for taking up your time (especially after celebrating non stop). and I know only a bit ago I moved hope they caught us to a two-weekly upload, but I’m actually going to put it on a hiatus.

this wasn't something i found easy, but i'm trying to learn from 2023 jo and if any of you were here then, you know i slowly burnt out forcing myself to do something.

[more info under the cut 💁‍♀️ (if interested)]

I still like the story, and I still love my plan—but I’m struggling to execute it. it's making me feel stressed, and I don’t want to force myself to put something out I’m not happy with, or come to regret either.

and there has always been something about the story that made me nervous? at first, I thought it was because it was new, and it would go away, but honestly, it kinda didn’t? and so i pushed on because I've loved what I had already put out.

so then, I thought maybe that’s just me? maybe I’m running out of ideas or thinking too deeply?

and then I wrote in my room (the javi one shot) and began to write 'do me yourself' (which was meant to be a one shot) and realised that isn't the case at all. if anything, it kinda showed me that I’m trying to force a square into a rectangle hole — and while it does fit, it’s not fitting as well as it could.

I thought the break between chapters (because of DMY) would help, but if anything, it’s made that feeling I have stand out even more.

so, I am not abandoning it, but more, taking longer to work on it when I want to — and without the pressure.

i can now spend time working through knots and oddities without feeling like i'm letting you all down. so when I do begin posting (whenever that will be) I can be consistent for both you and myself.

for now, I’m going to take this week off from a consistent upload (I’ll likely still drabble, and probably end up doing more than I even should) and Tuesday 20th will be do me yourself — with that becoming the weekly series for a while (the frankie fans rejoice).

if you know me, you know this wasn’t an easy thing to decide, and I know i don't even need to even justify this with a long arse post - like it's on hiatus, big deal? but, i'm anxious. I care a lot, and I care about being consistent and showing up. and so, while I do feel a bit bad, guilty, sad that I’m doing this, i know it's also the right thing.

I hope you can understand, and I hope that you’ll stick around for sunny ✨

#jo: psa #jo: htcu

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qveerthe0ry · 4 months

Text

Lions Ain't the Kind - Part One

Summary: Frankie hasn't dated in years, but now he knows what he's looking for. He's just not so good at asking for what he wants, and you're willing to help him work on it. Word Count: 8,156 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom! reader, talks about gender non-conformity, sickening fluff, Frankie is way too cute and sweet for his own good, kissing, making out, handjob (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader Beta: @perotovar (my angel ilysm) A/N: Sorry for talking about this for a month straight without posting it lol! The title is from the song (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley which I admittedly haven't listened to but I saw the lyrics and knew immediately it was my Frankie. I hope you enjoy, and I'm always open to criticism and thoughts and thots!

Frankie hasn’t dated in years. He hasn’t really had the time, between his first child being born and navigating co-parenting with his ex, along with healing some very deep trauma and getting and staying clean.

It just hasn’t been on his mind, if he’s honest. He’s been busy finding himself, as Pope calls it. And he’s not wrong. It’s taken a long while for him to be comfortable in his own skin, to come to terms with the things he’s done and the baggage he can now store in an overhead bin, rather than carry it around with him at all times.

But now, he’s ready. He knows himself, and as a result, he knows what he’s looking for.

Someone kind-hearted and down to earth. Someone who’s independent and established, but not just looking for a hookup. Someone with a sweet smile and a desire for enjoying the little things in life.

Someone like you.

He’d swiped right and left dozens of times on men and women alike, but as soon as he saw your profile on whatever dating app he’d downloaded, he was hooked.

You were gorgeous. He felt the heat from your smile through his phone screen, so happy and genuine and sweet.

You were funny, the answers to those weird icebreaker questions full of witty remarks.

You were smart, clearly, from your shoutout to your alma matter and the ‘boring’ job you mentioned in your profile.

He honestly figured he had no chance at all. His face is only getting more wrinkly, and his hair more gray, and he’s never been the sharpest or funniest guy in the room.

So when he swiped left and you matched, he was stunned. He was even more shocked when you messaged him before he could even think of what to say to you.

Hi cutie 🥰

Despite the fact that he was home alone on his couch, he had the sudden urge to look behind him, as if you’d be talking to someone else. The back of his neck got so warm, and your boldness only made him more into you.

So he messaged you back

Hi :) how are you?

I’m surprised we matched, honestly. Pleasantly surprised 😊

Same here :) Why the surprise though? I’m sure you match with everyone

Not at all, it’s hard to find people whose type I am on here. I usually use the queer dating apps but I opened this one out of boredom. What are the chances?

What are the chances, indeed, Frankie thinks, as he gives your profile another look over. Frankie doesn’t understand how you aren’t everyone’s type. He feels a little bit like he’s talking to a celebrity, looking at your pictures and just a snippet of who you are on this reductive dating app.

I like the odds :)

——

As your conversation continues normally over the next few days, Frankie learns a lot about you. He also learns a lot about himself.

It’s been so long since he’s played the field, so to speak, that he’s rusty as all hell and a bit awkward. He’s afraid to flirt too much, every message deleted and re-written at the risk of sounding too cheesy or too forward or too much.

You aren’t afraid to flirt. You send ‘good morning, handsome’ and ‘sweet dreams, pretty boy’ texts every day and night. You tell him your day would be better if you could cuddle someone, you tell him when you’re taking a relaxing bath that you wished he were there to join you.

And to say that Frankie likes it is a massive fucking understatement.

He adores it, he thinks about you constantly, all day long while he works without access to his phone, all evening long while he waits on your replies, all night long, when you’ve bid each other goodnight out of nothing but courtesy for each other’s sleep schedules.

You lead him along like a timid puppy on a leash, showing him new things with patience and care and it drives him insane. He wants to meet up with you so bad, or even just call you on the phone to hear your voice. He thinks about it, late at night, if it’s higher or lower in register, if it’s smooth or raspy. He wants to learn everything about you.

That being said, he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone who’s ‘non-binary/gender-fluid’ before. He doesn’t get out much, he hardly talks to anyone who he hasn’t known for years.

So he googles. It doesn’t really help. He understands what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means to you. He wants to ask you a million questions, but is afraid to bring up even one, and ruin the moment, or sound like an idiot.

You’re so kind though. So he bites the bullet.

Can I ask you a question?

Your response comes almost immediately, now that it’s evening time, both finished with dinner— his takeout vs. your leftover spaghetti.

Of course, pretty boy ❤️

He still flushes deep when you call him that, heat spreading all throughout his face and neck and chest.

How did you know you were non-binary/ gender-fluid?

He frets over the text a bunch before he sends it, making sure he worded it the same way you did in your profile. His heart pounds as he waits for your response.

I’ve always just kind of known I didn’t feel like a man or a woman. I used to think everyone felt somewhere in between, and it was just normal to not feel like I checked either box, but then I realized no one else around me felt the way I did. And then I learned all the terms and whatnot, later on, and knew that’s what I am. Just kinda in between, neither and both, sometimes one and sometimes the other. If that makes sense?

His smile splits his cheeks as he reads your in-depth response, eating up every bit of information you’re willing to give him.

That makes perfect sense to me. Thank you for sharing :)

It doesn’t scare you off?

Frankie scoffs, as if anything about you could scare him off. At this point, you could show up on his doorstep with a dead body in a bag, and he’d throw it in his trunk, dispose of it, and then ask if he could maybe kiss you.

Not at all. Nothing about you scares me :)

——

It’s a few more days before Frankie works up the courage to ask for your phone number. You tell him you were wondering when he was going to finally ask for it. It makes him itchy to think about you waiting for him to ask, making him be the one to do it. In a good way. In a way that kind of makes him stiffen up in his briefs if he thinks about it for too long.

But now, as he settles in from a long day at work, his grin splits his face from ear to ear as he reads your text.

Can I take you out tomorrow night?

He likes it… a lot. He feels so fucking new to all this, like a fumbling newborn calf taking its first steps, and how forward you are eases him so thoroughly.

I’d love that :)

Meet me here at 5 for dinner. Casual dress, but I’m sure you’ll be handsome in anything 😘

It’s the longest 22 hours of his life, and it’s the shortest, all at the same time. Texting you, making funny jokes like his bones aren’t about to creep right out from under his skin with all the nerves buzzing his body. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, one right after the other. When he wakes in the morning it’s like he didn’t get a wink of sleep, his anxiety drumming up a million different scenarios of how it could go right and wrong.

Calling Santi mid-morning on a Saturday when he knows he’s spending time with his family, because if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he may just float off into the ether.

“I’m so fucking nervous, Pope, what do I do? How do I act? Can you just stake out at the bar and feed me lines through an earpiece?”

“Pendejo, fucking— grow a pair man. You’re cute and funny, you’ve got this.”

Reading your texts with pupils shaped like hearts:

I can’t wait to see you tonight, cutie ❤️

and

I finally settled on an outfit

and

Is it weird that I’m not even nervous? I’m just excited to finally meet you

It is weird, Frankie thinks, but doesn’t dare tell you. It’s weird how he can’t even eat the plain toast he made for lunch without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat, and you’re just excited. It’s weird how he’s never, ever felt so gone over someone, and you haven’t even met yet.

It’s not weird, it’s sweet :) I’m excited too <3

It’s not a lie, but he’s omitting the truth a bit. He’s excited but he’s nervous, picking meticulously through his closet to find something casual but not too casual, something he likes the look of himself in, something he thinks you’ll like the look of.

It only gets worse as he stares at google maps. The restaurant is 2.6 miles away, 11 minutes from his house. It’s 4:30, and he wants to leave already, but thinks maybe it’s better to deal with the anxiety in the comfort of his home rather than the parking lot, in case you’re there early too, and you can see how much of a fucking wreck he is.

He watches the minutes tick up in the corner of his phone screen. At 4:36, he gets up, fusses in the mirror one last time, and leaves.

When he parks in the lot in front of the bar & grill, you’ve already texted him.

I’m here a little early, got all green lights. Saved us a table near the back. See you soon!

It’s 4:52.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes as he lets it out gently, counting just like his therapist taught him. And again. And one more time, and finally that anxious tingling in his fingertips is muted a bit and his heart rate is only slightly above normal.

4:54.

He pulls the key from the ignition, gets out of the car, and makes his way to the door.

He finds you instantly.

You’re looking at him, and you’re smiling, and getting up from your chair as he approaches you. He barely even hears you greet him with all his blood rushing in his ears.

“Hi, Frankie,” you say, and your arms stretch out to invite him in for a hug.

He melts into your arms, his strained “hi” muffled in the crook of your neck. You squeeze him tight to you, and he hears you chuckle next to his ear.

“Knew you’d be even cuter in person.”

He huffs out a laugh as you release him, and the tips of his ears burn. But you’re smiling so sweetly at him that it eases his nervous bones.

“You look— can I call you handsome?”

Fuck, he thinks, so fucking awkward.

But your grin gets even wider.

“Only if you mean it.”

“I do,” he sighs, “like straight out of the cologne ads I’d rip out of my older sister’s magazines.”

He holds his breath as you react, the flutter of your eyelashes and the quivering of your lips and your laugh, bubbly and bright and soothing.

And he isn’t lying, not even a little. You’re rugged but soft, romantic and alluring, and he can’t take his eyes off you.

Even as you take your seats across from each other, and the waiter comes to take your drink orders, and as your gorgeous eyes flit across the pages of the menu. He can’t stop looking, watching your mouth curve into a smile as you talk about your week and ask him about his.

It’s pathetic, really, when the waiter asks if you’re ready to order, and you ask if he knows what he wants, because he hasn’t taken a single glance at the menu himself. He just hopes to god the dim lighting of the bar hides his flushed face and tells you to order first while he skims the menu.

He ends up ordering exactly what you got, and floundering when your hand finds his on the tabletop. He watches your fingers trace his own from his nails to his knuckles, and flips his palm up for you to rest your hand in his.

“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” you tell him.

His eyes flicker up from your joined hands to your smiling face, and his nerves completely melt away from the heat of your gaze.

“Thank you for asking me,” he says.

“Would you have asked me, if I hadn’t asked you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, and there’s a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Eventually,” he nods, “I mean… probably.”

Your eyebrows turn up in question, and he realizes how that sounds, jumping to backtrack.

“Not like that! I just mean— You know… You’re uh… well, I feel like you’re way out of my league. And so maybe I’m a little… intimidated.”

You smile, then, and sigh, and squeeze his hand as you call him a sweet boy. It makes the room feel like it’s a hundred degrees warmer, like Frankie’s clothes are suddenly two sizes too small.

“You aren’t so good at asking for what you want, are you?”

He laughs then, and shakes his head.

“Not really, no.”

“We’ll have to work on that, then.”

He clears his throat, and tugs at his collar with his free hand, breaking his gaze away from your face as you chuckle. He looks to find a waiter, or maybe an HVAC guy that could crank the AC to sub-zero temps for the remainder of the date.

No luck.

The rest of the date goes well. Surprisingly well. Frankie was worried that he’d be so out of practice that he’d freeze up, or say something stupid, or do something stupid, like knock over a drink or get food stuck in his teeth.

But you’re just so easy to talk to, to click with. Of course, you’re the one who facilitates the conversation, asking him about his favorites— movies, TV shows, music, time of year.

But he likes to think that he keeps the ball rolling well enough, is aware enough to remember to ask for some of your favorites— holiday, food, cocktails.

By the time the check comes, he hardly realizes you’ve both had empty plates in front of you for a while, talking and laughing through your meals like you’re just catching up with an old friend.

He protests when you grab the check, because of course he does. You’ve given him this incredible night, your comfortable company, your sweet smiles, and he feels like his offerings pale in comparison.

“I asked you out, Francisco,” you tease him, having just learned his full name a mere 20 minutes ago.

And he can’t really protest anymore, what with the shiver that’s tingling his spine and the goosebumps he tries to hide by gripping the chair underneath him. So he lets you pay, and thanks the waiter, and feels a rush of sadness when they come back with the check to sign. He really doesn’t want this evening to end.

The apprehension falls second to the sensation of your hand on the small of his back, leading him out to the parking lot.

“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there,” you say, your thumb pressing a soothing circle into the base of his spine.

So he walks to his truck, a little self-conscious about the out-of-dateness of it, and how he didn’t think to run it through a car wash before this. But mostly he’s just nervous about ending this date on a good note.

“This is me,” he says, barely above a whisper, stopping at his driver’s side door.

You smile at him when he turns to you.

“Thanks again for coming out with me. I really did have a great time.”

This makes him smile through the unease, even as your hand drops from the small of his back.

“I did too. Would you uh… wanna hang out again soon?”

Your face lights up, and Frankie wants to capture it in a bottle and take it home with him. Keep it at his bedside to use as a nightlight.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

He chuckles and looks down to his feet like maybe it’ll redirect the flush in his face. You grab his hand, hanging by his side, and luckily you don’t make him speak again because he doesn’t know if he’s even able.

“I’d love to. Really.”

He smiles when he looks back up at you, only briefly, because you drop his hand and take a half step back.

“Call me about it.”

“Wait!”

Your brow arches at him, because you weren’t really going anywhere, but Frankie’s mind is running a thousand miles a second. He thinks back to all the times you’ve goaded him into asking for what he wants, so far, and how it hasn’t bit him in the rear yet.

“Can we— I… Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Your smile softens, and you take that little half-step back closer to him, and he feels all the tension leak from his shoulders.

“Yes, you can. Thank you for asking.”

He huffs, and smiles at you, and you’re reaching out to cup his jaw and grab his hip, and Frankie closes his eyes far too early, but it’s okay, because he feels your body heat and then your lips.

He can’t hold back the hum that rumbles from deep in his chest, or the way that he goes a little boneless in your grasp. He finds your forearm and squeezes it, and your bicep too, anything to ground himself as your lips part and your tongue teases the seam of his lips.

But then you’re pulling back, and it’s over far too quickly, and Frankie is also acutely aware of how tight his jeans feel. His face feels like it could melt right off of his skull.

“Call me soon, Pretty Boy.”

He nods, speechless, and watches you disappear between the cars of the parking lot. On his way home, he’s already fretting over whether or not he should text you tonight, and what kind of date he should plan, and if his breath was okay when you let him kiss you.

——

Frankie is perfect.

You’re still not sure how you found this diamond in the rough that is Tinder. You thank every god you know the name of that you got bored and opened the app on auto-pilot that night.

First of all, he’s so cute. He’s handsome in such a boyish way, with his dimples and unruly curls and patchy beard.

But he’s also so kind, the way he talks to you like it’s a privilege, the way he asks careful and curious questions about you like he truly wants to know the parts of you that are deeper than what’s on the surface.

Every simple text from him makes you smile, the way he always tries to make you laugh or cheer you up when you’re overwhelmed with the demands of life, as you often are.

And meeting him in person solidified everything you thought about him.

He seems like the textbook definition of a golden retriever boyfriend, if you ever get to call him that much. You hope you do.

In fact, it seems like it’s moving quite quickly in that direction when Frankie asks if you’d be down for a movie night. Some blockbuster he missed in theaters is finally streaming, and he thinks you’ll like it.

You don’t tell him that you didn’t miss it in theaters, or that you thought it was just okay.

You do tell him you’d be down to watch it, only if he came to your place, where the walls are thin and your surrounding neighbors all know you and watch out for you. Just in case he’s really good at acting like a sweet, safe guy.

You find yourself giddy as the weekend approaches, daydreaming at work about how the night will turn out. You tell him to come in comfy clothes, because you’ll be damned if you wear jeans in your own home, even for this sweet man. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, that’s my favorite kind of outfit :) is his cute response.

You get everything ready the day of; your coziest blankets hang off the arms of your sofa, your fridge is stocked with fresh fruits and your pantry with candy and microwave popcorn and chips (I’ll eat whatever you get :) his answer to your questioning of his favorite movie snacks, of course.)

And then you sit around and wait, excited nerves coaxing your body to straighten things up that have been straightened up a million times already. When Frankie texts you his ETA, you park yourself on the couch by the door and stare at it until there’s a knock on it.

You may count to ten before you get up to open it, just to hide how eager you’ve been to see him again.

Your throat does get a little dry when you answer it to find him in a dark blue t-shirt that hugs his arms and light gray joggers that hug… Other things.

“Hi handsome,” you smile, pushing down all the nerves and the less-than-PG thoughts.

“Hi. I um… I brought these. I noticed you ordered them on our uh– well, at the restaurant, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

You watch a flush break out on his face, and his neck, and wonder how far under his collar it actually spreads.

He’s holding up a six pack of your favorite beers, and he’s smiling so shyly, and you have to crowd in closer to him to press a kiss to his heated cheek.

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you.”

He giggles— giggles, Jesus Christ— and you take them from his hand to let him come through the door.

You set the beers in your fridge to let them chill as he kicks off his shoes. You watch him from the kitchen as he takes in your place with his pretty brown eyes.

“It’s really cozy in here,” he tells you as he fiddles with his own hands.

“Snuggle up, get comfy, I’ll bring us some snacks.”

He nods, so obedient, and hovers by the couch before settling on the seat in the middle.

Sly move, you think, and you can’t hide your stupid grin as you gather some snacks.

When you turn off all but one lamp and deposit the junk food on the coffee table, you notice he’s inched himself closer to the arm of the couch, like he was second-guessing himself. That just won’t do, you think, as you settle in right next to him, so close that the length of your body is pressed against his.

He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the Roku City scrolling across your flat screen. For a second you think he might be uncomfortable, but the way his breathing is uneven clues you in on his nerves.

You reach over him to grab the blanket in the arm of the couch, and you feel his muscles tense up when you press against him.

“Frankie?”

“Huh? Sorry, yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head and sighs, heavy and long, before looking at you.

“I’m so nervous.”

He smiles in spite of it, lopsided, dimples so cute that your lips quiver with the urge to kiss them.

You smile back, and drape the blanket over both of you, patting his leg through it.

“Nothing to be nervous about, Francisco.”

It gets a laugh out of him, a huff through his nose, and his shoulders lower the tiniest bit. You slowly reach up to cradle his jaw in your palm, careful not to spook this little baby deer of a man, but his face leans into your touch.

“If it helps, I think it’s really sweet that you’re nervous.”

“Thank you… I think?”

You laugh at him, and watch as your reaction makes his eyes brighten. You want to kiss him. You want to smooch the absolute daylights out of him, but there’s still 3 hours of a pretentious movie to watch, and there will be plenty of time, if he’s amenable.

So you just pinch his cheek before you let go, and try not to look so smug at the heat that consumes his face as you get the movie up and running.

Fifteen or so minutes into the film, Frankie has relaxed into the couch, though he’s stock-still beside you with his arms glued to his own sides. You just want to cuddle, at least. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks— getting his warm, solid but soft body against your own.

You’re certain he won’t be the one to initiate it, but that’s all fine and dandy. You rearrange yourself a bit, and sling an arm over his shoulders. He looks away from the movie towards you, and you give him a smile that must be comforting.

He sinks lower on the couch, and leans against you, his messy curls pressed against your shoulder while his arm drapes over your lap. You think you hear his satisfied hum under the dialogue of the characters, and you let your head rest against his.

This is nice. Frankie’s so warm against you, the most comforting weight all lax against your side. Your hand creeps up from his shoulder to his head, and his hair is so silky when you finally work up the gall to run your fingers through it.

You can feel the way it affects him when he shivers and presses even closer into you. You watch the movie like that for a while, snacks untouched, fingertips stroking his scalp as his soft curls slip through your digits. Every once in a while his head tilts to look up at you, piercing brown, and each time you smile back down and ruffle his hair.

It’s just after the first big conflict of the film when you feel Frankie shift against you. His arm moves in your lap, and you watch his thick fingers grab your thigh over the blanket.

It shocks you how such a simple gesture makes your temperature rise. You hum and let your nails scratch more firmly against his head. You can hear him gasp, and feel him move impossibly closer, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. You glance down at him, past the curls you’ve lost yourself in, and his eyes are closed. Further, the curve of his nose and pout of his lips, his chest that’s heaving with his excited breaths, you notice a suspicious tent in the blanket, and you don’t want to assume, but the context clues are all there.

Frankie is hard.

You can’t blame him. You’ve been aroused since you pressed his body against yours, a slow simmering underneath the surface that’s made you feel so comfortably warm and relaxed.

You shift, and you swear you hear a barely-there whine leave his lips. You move just enough so you can press your free hand to his chest. Under your palm, you can feel his heart beating, a pace that’s concerningly higher than appropriate for sitting and watching dialogue in a movie.

His head turns toward you, his hair slipping through the grasp of your knuckles. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes and his pupils are so dilated that it makes you take a deep breath. He turns his body toward you next and there it is the hard line of his cock pressed against the outside of your thigh. You see him shudder at the friction, watch his eyes grow droopy as they flicker down to glance at your lips.

“Can I kiss you again?”

And he asks so sweetly, voice a little hoarse from the silence, that you couldn’t dream of denying him.

“Yes, Frankie.”

His lips tremble until they meet yours, so soft and chaste, a stark contrast to his scruffy beard and mustache. His breath hitches; you can hear it and feel it. His chest shudders under your palm and pushes air out to gust against your cheeks. You feel his prick, too, twitching against your thigh as your tongue peeks out to tease his pouty bottom lip.

He pulls back so much quicker than you want him to, but it’s also such a reward to look at him this close. His lips shiny, his cheeks flushed, his irises completely usurped by his pupils. His mouth hangs open and you can’t help yourself as you slide your hand from his chest to his jaw and pull him into you once again.

A surprised little noise works its way out of his throat, and his hips jerk forward, and then he’s groaning as his cock throbs against the outside of your thigh. The noise makes that feeling in your gut draw deeper, lower, and you make one of your own in response.

His hand rests dutifully still on your thigh, but you can feel his fingers twitching as your taste buds rub against his– a friction that has no right to be as delicious as it is. You want him to feel you up, to touch you all over, to give in to the desire that’s blatantly pressed against you. You want to hear these noises he seems to be holding back, the whimpers that just barely make it past his vocal chords before he cuts them off.

You pull away this time. Pride swells in your chest as you look at what you’ve already done to him. His curls are even messier now that you’ve run your fingers through them over and over. His eyes are all glassy when he looks at you, pouty lips slick and red.

He sits so still, aside from his heaving breaths, like he’s waiting for your command.

“Tell me what you want, Frankie.”

His eyes widen and christ, if they get any wider they’re going to suck you in like a supermassive black hole.

“I– I’m okay, I like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods, trying to convince you, as he not-so-subtly pulls his erection free from its trap between his body and your thigh. His eyes cast downward, but you swiftly grab his chin in your hands to bring them back to you.

“Francisco,” you mumble, “ask for what you want.”

He gasps and bites his plush bottom lip, hard enough that there’s little indents when he opens his mouth. He shuts it again, and squirms against you, and finally opens it once more.

“I want you to touch me.”

His request comes out hardly above a whisper, all broken and breathy, and his gaze settles somewhere behind you.

“Is that all?”

He nods quickly, eyes snapping back to you.

“I swear– I just wanna feel your hands on me.”

Your smile widens as his face gets so serious, eyebrows knitting together.

“That’s good, that’s really good,” you mumble.

The shudder that visibly rolls through him is like a shockwave, sending every one of your nerve endings on-edge. You huff, an amazed little breath at this fucking guy in front of you, so responsive and timid and utterly fuckable.

“You like that? Like being good for me?”

He nods again, more apprehensive this time, but he can’t hold back his whine when his hips press against you. The possibilities of all the things you could do to this man stretch far and wide; it’s entirely overwhelming.

“Sweet boy,” you whisper, because he is, “c’mere.”

You pull the blanket off of you both, and Frankie reaches down to adjust himself so it isn’t so obvious, like you haven’t felt his cock twitching against you this entire time. It’s so endearing you think you could cry, but you’re much too turned on for sentiment at the moment. Instead, you guide him to straddle you, hands on his slender hips until his thighs cage your own.

For a moment you just watch as he sits patiently, obediently, waiting for your next words like his cock isn’t leaking a pretty little damp patch into his sweatpants. His chest heaves with every breath, and his tongue licks and bites at his swollen lips, and his eyes stay trained on your mouth in anticipation.

“So pretty,” you whisper.

His long eyelashes flutter at your compliment, and he turns his head to try and hide his reaction, but it doesn’t mask the way his prick twitches under gray fabric. Your hands find his waistband and tease the edge and you delight in the way he shivers.

You need to feel more, so you press your hands under his shirt and hum at what you find. A soft tummy and smooth skin that makes way for a small trail of wiry hairs. It’s all revealed to you a moment later when you hike his shirt higher, reach for pecs that are more solid than you imagined, and the smallest nipples you think you’ve ever had your hands on.

You look back up to his face for permission with a quirked brow, and he nods eagerly, grabbing the back of his collar to shed the material and bare himself and it’s so lovely. There’s so much tan skin, hardly any of it is obstructed by hair, just the errant freckle here or there. And you can’t help it, you have to lean forward and take one of his nipples into your mouth.

He gasps your name, but one of his hands finds the back of your head to keep you in place. You hum around the little nub, so small you have trouble getting your teeth to bite down on it, but you do and then he groans, his hips jerking in your hold on them.

“Is this how you wanted me to touch you?”

You lean your head back to look him in the eyes, to watch a pained expression flit over his face as he tries to come up with an answer he thinks you’ll like.

“I like this too,” he nods, “but I, um… fuck–”

He cuts himself off to hide his face in his hands. He is so cute and so sexy at the same time, it’s making your brain go haywire.

“Tell me, Frankie. Be good for me, Pretty Boy.”

He shifts on top of you as he looks up at your ceiling. You soothe your hands up and down his flanks and wait patiently for him to find the words.

He drops his hand from his face, fists clenching down by his sides, but he finally looks down at you and smiles, shy and sweet, just a hint of that dimple you adore rearing its head.

“Touch my cock? You got me so hard.”

You smile bright at his request, and nod, and press a kiss to his sternum.

“Anything you want,” you mumble, “just gotta ask. Just like that.”

He looks pretty proud of himself. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as you look up at him, and you take a playful bite of his skin and savor the gasp it coaxes out of him.

“Let’s get these off, yeah?”

Your fingers sneak under his waistband and his skin is so hot under there, searing. You only have a few moments to bask in the warmth before he stands up to remove his pants and briefs in one bashful move.

Jesus.

He’s so gorgeous, bare for you, vulnerable, excited. His foreskin is all pulled back, revealing a delicious looking string of pre-cum from his slit. You desperately want to lean forward and taste— but he didn’t ask for that, and you won’t give it to him unless he does.

Stunned a bit silent, you pat your lap, urging him to settle back over it. Much to your delight, he does, quick and obedient. An approving hum bubbles up out of your chest, and he preens as he sits on your thighs.

There’s a very wicked feeling in you as you stare at him, completely naked, while you haven’t shed a single layer of clothing. Control, and trust, and power. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your lungs feel too inflated for your rib cage, to know you could take advantage of it, and to know you never ever would.

“Good boy,” you whisper, finally, testing those waters.

Frankie’s dick twitches between you two, and you huff and smile and wonder how something so perfect and precious has literally landed right in your lap.

He’s been more than good, and so with one hand you grab his hip to steady him, and the other takes his cock as gentle as ever. A sharp inhale inflates his chest as you stroke the smooth skin, a teasing, feather-light touch that makes his legs tense up in your lap. You watch him disappear and reappear through the loose circle of your hand, watch another clear droplet bead from his slit when you squeeze him tighter.

“Does this feel good?”

He’s watching your hand work when you look back up to his face. He nods, a jerky movement that seems to shake his entire body, and he’s so on-edge. You feel it in the way he shifts his weight on top of you.

“Words, Frankie,” you urge, a soft smile on your face.

“So good.”

You hum, taking in the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his adam’s apple pokes out when he leans his head back.

You reward him by speeding up your strokes. You squeeze his hip with your free hand, kneading at the soft flesh there, while you lean forward to press kisses into his virtually hairless chest. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn you, flushed such a pretty color, just like you knew it would be.

He whines when you gather up more pre cum with your thumb and gently massage it into his frenulum. You look up to find him staring down at you with glassy eyes, bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth.

“Can we kiss more?”

His voice is breathy, and you nod, and a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your system when his lips eagerly meet yours.

It’s sloppier, this time. Noisier, too, as you tighten your grip on his cock and begin to properly work your hand up and down his length. You steal his breath and his noises straight from his lungs, feel every shudder he pushes out when you twist your wrist just right or squeeze tighter.

His hips start to meet your thrusts, rutting into your hand, such a desperate little thing on top of you, all for you. You want to encourage him to take his pleasure from you, and so you slip your hand back from his waist, find the perfectly pert globe of his ass with your palm.

“Haa— shit.”

His words muffle into your kiss as his hips stutter in rhythm and you lean forward to smirk into the bald patch of his beard.

“Yeah?”

A gasp wrecks through his heaving chest as he nods.

“Please, fuck— please.”

You hum into his jaw and squeeze his cock and his ass respectively.

“Please what, Pretty Boy?”

He leans back. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head from left to right.

“Tell me what you want, Frankie. Know you can.”

A big gulp of air, and then he opens his eyes to look at you, then blinks them shut again as his head lolls back in his shoulders.

“Touch me there. I— I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you take mercy on him, bringing your hand up from his backside to cradle his jaw in your palm. He tilts his head into your touch and opens his eyes.

“I got you, sweet boy,” you remind him.

He nods in understanding, shifting to kiss the heel of your palm. You let him rest his lips there as he catches his breath, feel them quivering every other upstroke of your hand on his prick.

But as he makes to move, you hold his jaw steady in your hand. His eyes flicker back to your face, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, if he can tell how beside yourself you really are.

Slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, you trace the pad of your middle finger along the seam of his lips. You’re awestruck at how they instantly fall open for you, greedy, something you’re definitely looking forward to exploring more later.

For now, you watch with hooded eyes as he takes it into his mouth, tongue curling and lapping at it. You briefly wonder if fingers are erogenous zones, beyond turned on at how warm and wet the inside of his mouth feels, how he suckles and releases, bobs his head over and over until you snap out of it.

“Good boy. Fucking perfect,” you sigh.

He gets a cocky little goofy grin on his face at the praise, but his prick twitches against your grasp. You squeeze it for good measure, and more of his pre-cum dribbles over your knuckles.

You lean into him again, and he leans into you, holding each other up. Your mouth finds his pebbled nipple once again as his prick drags across your shirt and saturates it. He hisses at the friction, then gasps when your hand grabs his ass cheek again.

You pull it as best as you can with one hand. It isn’t too difficult with how it fits so perfectly round in your palm. You squeeze it, massage it, note how the littlest hint of peach fuzz feels against your clammy hand. You wonder how it would feel under your tongue, too, how it would taste, how the fatty flesh would feel between your teeth.

His hips stutter forward when your finger, slick with his saliva, strokes the very top of his crack. And you don’t mean to tease too much, but his jerky movements and satisfied sounds when you do are like music to your ears.

Finally you find his hole, fluttering around nothing, so little and tight, all for you.

“Ohmygod.”

Frankie sounds pained, so much so that you look up from nuzzling his chest to watch his face. His brows are drawn tight with how his eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is hung open, slick with a little drool around the corners of his lips. Without context, maybe he would look pained, too, but the way his cock throbs and dribbles in your hand paints a completely different picture.

And what a pretty picture he is, gulping for air above you, thrusting his hips back into your finger and forward through your fist, like he’s so out of his mind that he can’t even make it up.

You apply more pressure to his impossibly tight pucker and sink your teeth into his skin at the way he whines for you. You do it again, and again, a patient little rhythm until it relaxes and the very tip of your finger slips into his warmth.

He groans, clenching tight around you.

“Okay, Frankie?”

He laughs, a little puff of air, and you feel it where you’re inside him.

“Gonna make me come,” he chokes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, don’t— fuck— please don’t stop.”

You hum into his chest, squeeze your hand tighter around his prick as you speed up your strokes. He’s groaning now, deep and low and constant, like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried.

You wiggle your finger against his rim, tugging him open for you, toying with the elastic muscle. He’s so pliable everywhere, opening up to you, happily taking what you give him.

In a stiff moment you think he isn’t into it, because he freezes up and goes silent. You make to slip out of him, but his warmth just drags you in.

And then his cock jumps in your grasp, and his hole clamps around your finger as he gasps your name, and he’s coming.

He shakes with it as he soaks your shirt and drips over your hand. You stroke him through it and marvel at the way he feels in your grasp and around you, violent waves of pleasure that you can sense where you touch him.

You look up to watch him tremble through it and he’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his messy curls at his temple and paints a glimmer down his neck, all pulled taught as his head hangs back. His chest tastes salty under your tongue where it heaves, you can’t get enough of the flavor, or the wicked beating of his heart under your lips.

And his noises, fucking delicious, wrung-out curses that just keep tumbling from his red lips. His stomach trembles with his shaky breaths, and he sounds so wrecked as the last bit of his orgasm tricked down the back of your hand.

His whispered chants of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” slow to a stop just as his joints unlock and his muscles relax. You take it as a sign to loosen your grip on his spent cock and carefully slip your finger back out of him. It earns you one last whimper before he sags into you, a boneless little heap in your lap.

You unhand him to hold him against you, wipe your hand on the discarded blanket beside you so you can stroke his back with one hand and his fuzzy little buttcheek with the other.

You tell him how good he was for you, how pretty he is when he comes, how much you loved getting to do that to him.

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, and his huffs tickle that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear.

“Holy shit,” he sighs.

You nod, because he’s correct. Holy shit, indeed.

His voice is a little hoarse, and you’re conflicted. You want to hold him as long as he’ll let you, but you know you should get him some water and at least a towel.

You shift under him and he whimpers, wraps his arms tighter around your shoulders.

There goes that idea.

You hold him closer, and smirk at the contented sigh that leaves him.

“I think… I think I just imprinted on you.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and he chuckles too, a tiny happy sound against your collar bone. You turn to kiss his heated cheek, and he lets you, before he turns his own head to fuse his lips to yours.

This kiss is lazy, unhurried, and the adrenaline from making him fall apart is slowly making way for more of that sticky-sweet arousal from earlier.

“I wanna make you come,” he mumbles against your lips.

You shake your head, but kiss him some more, as to not give him the wrong idea.

“Another night, Pretty Boy.”

He makes a disappointed sound, but continues to kiss you until you have to part for air. His brow is turned upward in question when you pull away.

“Did I do something wrong?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his question.

“Not a single thing, Frankie. Just wanted to take care of you tonight.”

His shoulders relax at that, but his face is still confused. It’s a cute look on him, with his pouty lips and big brown eyes.

“You’d tell me right? If I made you uncomfortable? You can tell me. I don’t wanna upset you.”

And christ, you feel your heart melting and oozing through your rib cage at how earnest his voice is.

“I promise, I’ll tell you.”

That seems to quell his nerves, as he sinks back into you again with his sweaty curls pressed against your shoulder.

You’re sticky in more ways than one, and Frankie’s only getting heavier in your lap the sleepier he gets, but a giggle bubbles up out of you when you realize you’ve never been more comfortable than you are right now.

Frankie huffs in response, and you press him even tighter against you.

You don’t know where one-and-a-half dates and one sickeningly hot orgasm places the two of you. And maybe it’s greedy to think about with a handsome, sweet man in your arms, but you can’t push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting more.

next part

#x reader #sub! frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #nb reader #gender-fluid reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction

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idolatrybarbie · 9 months

Text

odd couple

pairing: established francisco "frankie" morales x reader

word count: 2.5k

rating & summary: explicit, mdni! | frankie can't cook, to put it lightly.

tags: no trigger warnings needed for this one, porn with (little) plot, rated e like woah, frankie needs a win, very unedited as of initial posting, stubborn!frankie, premature ejaculation, handjobs, cumplay, overstimulation, sub!frankie moments, multiple orgasms, spit kink/drooling, #petnames4frankie, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, reader calls frankie "wet" in this idk that might not be your thing i guess. look man it's been a hard week.

notes: it's not wednesday and i am struggling a lil' bit (might make a personal life update soon idk ?) but i am being such a brave little toaster about it! writing this definitely made me feel better. when it comes to music, this weezer song is a little generic within their discography but whatever, i like it. hope you enjoy! also everyone go read @wannab-urs sub!max phillips fic because i say so and it's awesome.

You listen to Frankie move around the kitchen from your spot on the couch, trying your very best to ignore the occasional clang and clattering noise that flows out from the distant doorway. Tonight, he has taken on the task of making the two of you dinner. Or trying to, anyway. You don’t cook much either. Your job, like his, doesn’t lend much time to it. Takeout is more than often what’s on the menu—Burger King, of all things, is his favourite.

You know how to cook though. Every once in a while you have the spare time to whip together something truly delicious; slow-roasted pork belly, or maybe a nice pasta with garnish. Frankie doesn’t seem to know his ass from the oven.

The two of you have had this conversation hundreds of times. You stating that he can’t cook, and him pushing back, insisting that he can. Or he could, before the service stuck him with single meal MREs for a number of years and he lost most of the culinary knowledge given to him by various tías, his abuela, and of course Mrs. Morales herself.

His stubbornness spurs the occasional urge to throttle him. It’s fine you can’t cook, you always tell him. Not like he can’t still learn. Still, he insists, and insists on insisting on top of that.

Honestly, you couldn’t be more of opposites. Even excluding skills of domestic labour, he and you are a bit of an odd couple. Frankie’s an early mornings guy, always, while you enjoy a sleepy Sunday—or just about any day that ends in Y. He hates the horror movies you fawn over, while you can’t stand the nature documentaries and sappy celebrity biopics that he eats up year over year. Frankie is highly detail-oriented, the engineer instinct in him always angling towards rigid preparedness; you’re a bit more goal-focused, letting any plan morph and adjust according to the situation.

Another such cooking conversation had taken place on the drive home after declining Frankie’s offer of McDonald’s for the fourth night this week, and now here you are: listening to the man curse under his breath, muttering complaints from the kitchen as he tries his hand at homemade spaghetti.

The kitchen is silent for a moment. You go back to channel surfing, clicking past reruns of Golden Girls and M*A*S*H*. Stopping at a channel playing the cinematic masterpiece Grease 2, you focus your attention on the open doorway behind you again. It feels almost too quiet…

A string of hushed, panicked curses from Frankie confirms your suspicions. Getting off the couch, you use the soft overhead light to guide you through the dark apartment. Frankie is standing over the stove when you see him, quickly moving away and towards the sink. Water splashes into it, surely scalding as steam rises into the air. Or maybe that’s coming from his ears?

You clear your throat in the kitchen doorway, and Frankie turns to you. His face is slightly red, a silver pot held in his grip by the towel-covered handle.

“Is everything okay?” You already know the answer to that question—aggravation rolls off of him in waves, permeating the space between the two of you like a mirage in the Mojave Desert.

Frankie opens his mouth to respond, but the words never come. He does this a few times, wracking his brain for the proper way to put it as he parts and pleats his lips, living up to his call sign.

Eventually, he settles on, “No.”

He heaves a deep sigh, tossing the pot onto the counter. Getting a closer look at it, you see the charred spaghetti noodles stuck to the shiny bottom.

“Don’t, okay?” Frankie says before you look up again.

“What?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. I told you so, blah blah blah. I know. You’re right. I can’t fuckin’ cook.” The words are rushed, like he’s half-embarrassed to even say it.

You frown, reaching an open palm out to him as you shake your head. “That’s not what I was going to say.” You motion for him to come closer and he does, slipping into your arms as you hug at his tense shoulders. “It’s okay. You can take a class, or we can work on it together. I think that’d be kind of fun,” you say.

Picturing making something with Frankie—maybe bowties and broccoli, something simple—has you smiling into his shoulder. For his birthday last year you made red velvet cupcakes with sour cream frosting. The recipe is a little more complicated, but baking them with him this time is a pleasant idea. You already know he’s the type of person to lick the batter off the beater.

“I don’t want to do that to you,” he says.

You pull back from the hug to look at him, those big brown eyes of his crinkled at the far edges. “You’re not doing anything to me,” you say. “At least, not right now.”

A small smile comes to his face then, creeping and dopey before Frankie gives you a soft kiss at the tip of your nose.

“They should really give you a Netflix special or something,” he says.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” you muse.

Still in your arms, Frankie glances over at the pot of blackened, noodle-shaped mush. “What are we gonna do for dinner?”

Right now, he’s in the closest proximity to you that he’s been all week. At least, while you’ve both been conscious. Work has you staying later and later at the office these days, while his shifts handling flight operations have him drained, in bed and fast asleep well before you even get home. Tonight is special even if it hasn’t gone the way either of you planned.

You hum, dipping your head to nose at the patchy beard along his jaw. “I’m thinking we skip dinner.”

“Come on, seriously,” Frankie says.

“I am serious.” Leaving a wet kiss on his cheek, you whisper, “Don’t you want your dessert, Francisco?”

A hum rumbles low in his chest. “Of course, but—”

“But nothing.” You move your left hand to cradle the side of his face, his skin smooth under your touch. He leans into its warmth. “I’m hungry.”

You know that he is too. At your words, Frankie practically jumps you, a kiss pressed to your lips hard before your brain can catch up with what’s happening. He holds you in his arms tight, like if he loosens his grip even a bit, you’ll float away. The pair of you move out of the kitchen and back into the living room, the horrible 80’s movie still dancing across the pixels of the TV.

Frankie falls onto his back, bouncing against the couch cushions. The remote is underneath him, the mute button conveniently hit upon his landing. The cheesy show tunes cut out immediately. You move to straddle him as he lays horizontal. Frankie cranes his neck a bit to watch you as you settle over the crotch of his sweatpants. He’s half hard under the fabric already.

Frankie pulls you down into another bruising kiss. You hunch over to meet his lips, his hands circling around your waist. You’ve decided to take the Frankie approach to tonight’s activities; cool and calculated in your plans and decisions on how this is going to go. Grinding your hips down, you watch his face carefully. He huffs out a breath, soft and peppery like the cinnamon gum he keeps in his car.

You reach between your bodies to feel him in his pants. Frankie kisses at your face, quick and sporadic as you palm at him. He moves to lift your shirt off your body and you let him, raising your arms to help him. He tosses the thing to the floor and lets his hands rove over your skin. Continuing your ministrations, you slip your hand beneath the elastic waistband of the grey sweats. Frankie has no underwear on, a pleasant surprise.

“Fuck,” he groans, nosing at your neck.

“What’s wrong, honey bun? Doesn’t that feel good?” you ask, slowly pulling your hand away.

“Yes, please. Do it again?” His voice strains deliciously, the muscles in his arms held taut.

Frankie relaxes only slightly when you return your palm to where he’s hot and achy, cock wet at the tip. You run your thumb along the head of his dick as he pushes his hips up into your touch. You slide the pad of your finger along his shaft, spreading the dampness.

“Aw baby, you’re already a little wet. Isn’t that sweet?”

You start to stroke him in earnest, the tight circle of your hand moving up and down his cock. The movement is a little dry, your skin dragging against the sensitive velvet of him. You push his shirt up his belly, pulling his pants to his knees easily. Then you spit into your palm, jerking him off easier this time.

“Fuck baby. Just like that,” Frankie pants. He’s moving his hips with your hand now, fucking up into it on every down stroke. With your free hand, you prod at the small dip at his hip, feeling the muscle tense beneath the skin.

“Bet you feel so good, baby. Nice and easy for me,” you coo.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

You twist your hand at the end of every movement upwards, fingers rubbing over Frankie’s tip as he leaks steadily onto himself. The glide is easy now, lubed with your saliva and his precum. The squelch makes your mouth water as you watch his cock disappear and reappear in the shadow of your fingers.

He puts one of his hands over yours, urging you to go faster. Your hands move together over Frankie’s dick, picking up the pace as the sticky noise turns into a slap with every thrust of his hips.

Frankie breaks pace, stuttering on a caught breath before he spills over your hand and onto his belly. You pause to watch his chest tense and then loosen, his eyes shut tight as he comes down. Raising your hand to your lips, you lick a bit of his cum from the edge of your fingers. It’s the first thing Frankie sees when he opens his eyes again, making him groan. The noise sounds almost painful.

“That was—”

“Amazing?” you supply.

Frankie wheezes a laugh. “Something like that.”

“What about a second helping?”

He furrows his brow, then looks down at his dick. It lays limp and spent on his stomach. “I don’t—”

“Please,” you implore oh-so-sweetly. Frankie sees big eyes batting at him, a twinkle of adoration. The intent behind it is a little more Kubrick, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He can’t say no to you, doesn’t want to anyway. Frankie nods, mumbling a yes at you. His cock twitches with interest when you drag a finger through the pool of cum on his belly and pop it in your mouth. You smile at Frankie as you take him in your hand, strokes slow as he hardens again.

Leaning into his body, you flick your tongue against the shell of his ear. “So, so wet honey. This all for me?”

“Yeah, shit—I can’t,” he mumbles.

“But it feels so good,” you say. “Wish you could see your cute little face. I love seeing you like this.”

Frankie’s face waivers between tightly wound and relaxed in pleasure. You’re using his own cum as lube now, hand practically sloshing across his cock. He tries to keep his eyes open, watching your movements as you sit patiently in his lap, jerking him off.

Your underwear is ruined, the cotton soaked through as you discreetly rock yourself against the rough seam of your pants. You’ll take care of yourself later. Right now, all of your attention is on Frankie. This reward is his punishment. It’s the slightest bit petty, but you can’t let his stubborn behaviour go quite yet. You aren’t an I told you so type of person, but this? This is perfect.

You stroke at him on autopilot, watching the middle distance between the fine thatch of hair at Frankie’s pelvis and his skin coated milky white. He comes with a flinch before you even realize, still moving as he hisses. He’s still hard when he’s done, solid under your touch, so you continue.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you say softly.

“Oh god,” he whines, eyes rolling back.

“Does it hurt baby?”

Frankie doesn’t speak, can’t, nodding frantically up at you.

“You want me to stop? All you have to do is tell me.”

He doesn’t—not with words or the shake of his head. He likes this, and both of you know it. Frankie gets off on the pain, a pleasure so hot that it burns; water blazing to the point that the sensation runs cold, delicate skin held close over a candle flame.

Frankie starts to squirm. You hold him down by the shoulder with your free hand, fingers spread over his overheated skin with a firm press. His whole body is sweaty, soaking a runway down the front top half of his t-shirt.

“Please, please, please.”

He breathes your name, barely getting the syllables past his lips. You never find out what he’s begging for. He probably doesn’t quite know either.

His dick and his mind can’t seem to agree on what they want. You watch this war play out, a losing battle. Every few seconds he presses his hips to the couch, trying to stay out of your reach. Then he slots his hips forward again, seeking out your hand directly.

Finally, Frankie seems to find his words. “Fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t. I’ve got no more, baby, please.”

“One more, honey. You can do that, can’t you? Just one.”

“Mm, shit. It’s—it hurts. It hurts,” he says.

“I know, baby. You’re so sweet for me, so good. I know you can do it,” you assure him.

Leaning down, you position your mouth over him. You let the spit sitting in your mouth pour past your lips, drooling onto his throbbing cock. The saliva slides down his length slowly as Frankie moans at the sensation.

The added slick makes everything wetter, truly soaking as you jerk him off faster. Frankie starts to babble nonsense between short, tripping moans. A split-second decision, you breathe hot air over the head of his dick. The slightest change in contact pulls his third orgasm of the night from him. Frankie cries, groaning loud as fat, wet tears roll down his cheeks. You hunch over him to give his face a kitten lick, collecting them with your tongue.

You let him go when he finishes coming, letting his dick flop against the plush of his tummy. Dragging your own shirt off the floor, you wipe at his skin and clean up your hands before tossing it back down.

Frankie finds the strength to tuck himself back into his sweatpants. He pulls at your elbow, sending you crashing gently into his side on the couch. It isn’t really big enough for the both of you to lay down. You squish yourself against his chest and shoulder, feeling his arm rest over the length of your back.

“How was that?” you ask after a while.

“A five course meal and then some,” he says. Frankie scoffs at himself, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Jesus Christ.”

You kiss his chest through his shirt, his body warm and solid against your cheek. “Nope, just me.”

#frankie morales #pedrostories #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #*ww

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beefrobeefcal · 9 days

Note

my fellow Pedro Scout 🫡

Beefro, i must know. what is each Chubby P-Boy’s post-full belly ritual/routine? when they simple cannot stuff themselves anymore (impossible, i know)?

THIS WHOLE EXERCISE IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME, SCOUT STATY!

Alright... are we ready? There are 11 - yes, E L E V E N - P-boys in the Bistro and I'm not going to leave a single one out!

Thanks for the ask, @hellfire-state-of-mind - I hope this helps sate your insatiable need for knowledge!

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

Frankie [The Catfish & The Mouse]

He's only hit his absolute, stuffed-to-the-gills threshold a handful of times and at the end of each one, Frankie has found himself on the couch. Mouse is cuddled up with him, offering soothing belly rubs and maybe a lazy hand job to get his mind off of how full he truly is. He can't say he hates the feeling and he likes the fact that Mouse is all over him when he's in this state.

Joel [Joel Miler & his Darlin']

This man doesn't have the willpower to not hit that limit at least once a week. He's obsessed with Darlin's cooking, and he cannot hold himself back for very long. So the routine is this: Darlin' listens to Joel exclaim his regrets while also praising her cooking skills; they go home and Joel complains about how many steps there are to their home and then again to their bedroom; Darlin' gets him a glass of water and piles the pillows so he can lay back but not flat on the bed; Joel complains about how much harder it is to get his pants off and Darlin' helps him get undressed; Joel usually lets out a gunshot sneeze or two before falling into a food coma while Darlin' gives him a foot or belly rub. Joel does not learn his lesson.

Pena [Javier Pena & his Sweetheart]

Much like Joel, Pena doesn't like to admit he can't control himself when the food is just that banging. Unlike Joel though, Pena is completely in denial that his eating habits are the culprit of his over stuffed and uncomfortable belly. HIs lovely Sweetheart can just roll her eyes and and offer a soothing shoulder rub while he grumbles over paperwork while sucking on a hard candy. Until Pena admits this is all his doing, this is how he's gonna handle being too full.

Dave [Dave York & Kitten]

We saw what Dave's ritual is when he has one too many Little Debbie's snackcakes in Play Nice. The man literally just wants to be coddled but still call the shots. Luckily for Kitten, Dave is a creature of habit and that isn't about to change any time soon.

Dieter [Dieter Bravo & Cookie]

Sex. He just wants to bump uglies when he's overly full. He once mentioned to Cookie that the increased heart rate and body heat makes the food digest quicker... or something scientifically inaccurate, but she's not going to complain. If Cookie isn't around to get on all fours for him (or ride his face, dick, where ever...), he's completely fine with putting on a b-grade porno version of one of his own movies and beat off into a pocket pussy. Dieter enjoys this too much to ever take on anther role that has a weight limit.

Joel [the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller]

Why are you here? So what if he ate a whole box of Wal-Mart brand waffles and several pizza pockets? What do you want? Oh you want to... to help Joel? No. He's busy trying to keep his mind off how full he is by watching the garage sale across the street through his blinds. No matter what, this man is not going to admit he's too full and he's gonna double down on who ever asks - even Sarah - and say to GET OFF HIS LAWN.

Ezra [Ezra & Cricket]

Much like Dieter, Ezra is acutely aware of how much more sensitive he is when he's in a heightened state - like being overly full. He knows the inflated and loquacious string of words to coo at Cricket to signal he's ready to put his serpentine rocket to good use in her winking eye of Kevva. He's not going to change this method, even when he feels over exerted and almost nauseous - it's all part of the thrill for him.

Tim [HeftyThrowaway - And eat it, too]

Unlike the rest of the P-boys. Tim is an enigma. So far, we only know he really enjoys cake. I guess we'll have to see what he's like when he officially joins the Bistro in Some Like it Hot.

Frankie [HeftyThrowaway - Being Neighbourly]

This version of Frankie really enjoys the feeling of being overly full - he just loves food too dang much to not get his kicks from sitting back after a few plates of spaghetti and meatballs to not revel in it.

Marcus [Marcus Pike & Dex]

Marcus is a stats man and he's competitive. He can tell you almost down to the bite of food - before he eats, mind you - how much it'll take to get that full, and if he pushes that limit? all the better. His post stuffing rituals include cuddles and tummy rubs courtesy of Dex, with lots and lots of praise.

BigFish Morales [On the Waterfront]

The chokehold this man has on me... If he found his limit, he'd want to get the upper hand on someone else (considering the shepherd's pie got it on him), and a good old fashioned blow job would be in order. He wants relief without having to do a damn thing, so y'all better get on your knees.

#pedro scouts #asknado 2024 #pedro scout badges #pedro scouts of tumblr #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered #🥩

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gatitties · 1 year

Note

Hai hai!!! I hope your having a good day, lad.

Can I have a StrawHats x Teen! Reader who suffers from Anxiety? the reader is strong for their age though but under all that tough exterior they are still a child. I suffer from it myself and I wanna know how the crew handles a younger person with it. The reader has a habit of clutching their chest whenever they feel that overwhelming feeling coming through, and even has anxiety attacks now and then. It would be sweet seeing the crew comforting them.

Pleaaase and Thank you! Take your time I know people have other things going on in life besides Tumblr!

─Strawhats x teen!reader (platonic)

─Summary: you have an anxiety attack but luckily they are there to cover your back

─Warnings: none

(Related part)

Dealing with anxiety is quite a struggle, I hope everything goes well for you friend, a big hug to all of you who also fight against it 🫂

─ Being the youngest only means that you will have a little more attention in case something happens to you, this doesn't mean that everyone doesn't knows that you are strong enough to fight your own battles, otherwise you would not be on board.

─ That's probably why at first you hid your little moments of anxiety as best you could, despite being the youngest, you wanted to see yourself as one of them, you don't need so much attention or seek anyone's approval to make your own decisions.

─ You were a teenager despite everything, a stubborn and proud one who doesn't accept the help of others so easily, although you learned to toughen your exterior, your interior was as soft as plasticine.

─ But bad habits never die, whenever you had stronger anxiety attacks unconsciously your hands were positioned on your chest, squeezing to try to make the feeling in the pit of your stomach disappear.

─ Robin and Chopper were the first to notice this when you were in some stressful situations, and they immediately knew that you weren't well, however you will lie so they don't worry.

─ Unfortunately, after the two of them noticed how sometimes your breathing stops out of nowhere, the anxiety attacks increased.

─ They began to subtly help you so that you wouldn't feel like they were helping you, your pride wouldn't allow it, if they noticed that you were starting to get anxious they would distract you by talking to you about anything or moving you to a quieter place.

─ But when it started to get worse, everyone noticed your mania when you felt anxious, except Luffy, he just thought that the food had made you sick.

─ Although when they explained it to him, he hit you on the nape for being an idiot, this man doesn't have a bit of tact, he scolded you for not trusting them covering your back, it's okay that you want to solve your problems on your own, but sometimes it's okay to ask for help.

─ And you collapsed after he told you that, Sanji hit Luffy for being so hard with his words and took you to the kitchen while preparing the meal, he asked you for help letting you do the simplest things to calm down.

─ The cook spoke much more calmly with you, you were able to release some of that pressure that oppressed your chest thanks to him.

─ After that, none of them seemed to behave differently, that is, if they helped you in a much more noticeable way when you had your attacks, but they didn't comment on anything, they simply helped you without asking anything, they knew that sometimes you can't get to talking in the middle of an attack.

─ Luffy will fight it off with hugs, Usopp will offer his hand for you to grab and squeeze, Chopper knows a lot of types of breaths to calm you down, Robin will pat you on the back, Nami will pat your head, Zoro will probably drag you into another quieter place (you end up lost), Sanji will probably kick the reason for your anxiety if he can, Brook will play something on his violin to relax your body, Franky will distract you with any of his new inventions and Jinbe will make you focus only in him to calm you down.

─ In general everyone knows that you will be fine on your own most of the time, but if you start to hold your chest it will be the sign to take action to give you a little hand, they did not make you feel weaker, you learned to better cope with anxiety by their side and luckily the attacks subsided a bit after that.

#op #one piece #one piece x teen!reader #platonic reader #headcannons #strawhats x reader #strawhats #strawhats x teen!reader #x reader #one piece x reader #platonic #one piece x platonic reader #sfw #request #reader is not specified so...#fem!reader #male!reader #gn reader #gn!teen!reader

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ideas-4-stories · 4 months

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NOOOOOOOO I LOST THE AU I WROTE FOR YOU 😭😭😭 I LITERALLY SENT IT AND TUMBLR SAID "NETWORK ERROR". L FOR THE WIFI. L. Not cool I'm literally crying I thought that AU was genius. It was a Teacher!Buggy AU with Crocomom and Dadhawk. + Shanks co-parenting Luffy with Crocodile. That note was so long I literally spent like 45 mins writing it here on your ask and it was just. Gone. Or I think it did. Why does life hate me. I'm just gonna be brief with this cuz I still think it's golden lmao. Croco and Mihawk work long hours so their kids (Luffy, Zoro, Perona) have to wait for a few hours until they're picked up by their parents. The school doesn't have school buses bc I said so (no I am not cruel it's just out of my budget /j). So Buggy takes the responsibility to keep them comfortable and entertained while they wait. Croco and Mihawk meeting this charming (and clown looking) blue-haired guy and they start courting him. Shanks gets dragged in on the courting bc of Luffy. Also he was already courting Buggy. I didn't write their process of courting I basically skipped and went,, their wedding will take part in a Goth castle. And the design are all sunshine and rainbows (literally). Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Vivi, Zoro and Luffy being in a class along with other kids. Franky, Robin, Jinbei and Brook are in higher classes. Chopper is atom. Not here in the world yet. Perona is like, 2-3yrs older than her brothers so. Yeah *awkwardly shuffles* (I love perona I swear-). Implied Zosan. Some rando: but you didn't imply shi— Me: Shhh I did. *gaslighting*. Law is also there in the classroom with lower grade strawhats. He's suffering. He only attends 3 days a week tho, he's mostly homeschooled bc of his sickness. He's homeschooled by Cora. (You can pry Law and Cora from my cold dead hands. You can separate them when I dissolve into ashes). Don't worry as he gets older his sickness is cured. Ofc he's cured by Cora. He's saved by Cora in every universe. In every AU. Every Era. Every life they will ever live. I will die on that hill– *applies the nobody dies/everyone lives tag on this AU* let my babies be happy pls. Let my man Cora live and travel the world with this emo boy (Law). Doffy isn't real, he can't hurt anyone. Ace is there. Sabo is there. Every One Piece character is out there somewhere. They're like hidden stones and you have 0.02% of finding them. I thought I was just making a Teacher!Buggy AU but then it turns into a Modern!AU for everyone. Let's gooooo. Sora divorces with Judge and remarry with Zeff so now Sanji lives with all his brothers and his sister. They get separate classrooms tho, and reiju is perona's age so she's besties with her. (I do not play by canon's rules with ages bc i live in my own world) They both tease their brothers (Sanji and Zoro) about their crushes on each other. The heart crew is there. Bepo is a dog, a very fluffy one. Kuina is alive. Kaya is there, same classroom with Usopp. I have no idea how to continue this lmao, but I do hope you find this interesting bc Buggy is 100% great with kids and probably teaches well bc he is a big nerd and makes lessons interesting. (Also, the whole reason why I wrote this instead of letting the idea slip through my mind like the others is bc the image of two goth men courting a clown looking mf was funny to me. So here we are lmao. The way I wrote this makes Shanks look like he's the person they let into their open relationship twice lol I'm so sorry 😭😭)

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

That's really sad, I really like this idea (though I see Shanks and Buggy more as siblings, but I understand the idea of Shuggy) It's fine that this became about so many people, I really like this.

Teacher!Buggy sounds so cool, you know that he's the flashiest and maybe one of the craziness of the things he'll do to get his students good things that will boost their learning. He knows that every kid might not have the same learning paths as others.

How many classes does this man teach? Who knows, too many for how much he gets paid. All teachers needs to get paid more.

I would think Jinbei and Brook being other fun teachers in the school, like Tom could be as well!

I really like this idea, and the imagine of two gothic men trying to court a clown-looking mf is really funny to me as well.

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pippin-pippout · 4 days

Text

It’s not just the opening, they’re showing all the straw hats choosing to become stronger and remembering why they joined Luffy.

Nami’s story still makes me cry.

Meanwhile Chopper is shockingly the only one who managed to get off his island thanks to a lift from his friend’s dad, but then had to awkwardly ask him to turn around.

Franky needs to put on a face again. I hate his flashback because we keep having to see his bare ass butt. Also how many incidents knows as the Baldimore xyz is he gonna cause?

I feel worse for Iva having to deal with Sanji than Sanji having to deal with Iva. I hope Sanji learns how to not be pathetic around girls and stops being pervy.

Just relieved Brook’s goal of getting stronger has nothing to do with panties. Not great that the best he could come up with was trying to hold himself at a more extreme 45 degree angle. Can he not at least stop to see Laboon?

Robin’s still hits so hard. Get you a captain who will burn down the world government for you, just to renew your will to live.

Oh for Usopp it’s the moment he took off the mask to get Luffy back up and fighting. Also Usopp reading Luffy so well through that simply message: “he keeps pushing himself and he’s crying out for help.”

And Zoro swallowing all his pride to ask his enemy for training.

I can’t believe Rayleigh was like “no women can be on the island while we’re training.” I assume it’s because only women knew where he was but the implication that Luffy would somehow be distracted because *girls* makes me feel like Rayleigh needs to work on his observation haki.

I’m also wondering who Rayleigh thought was the dumb looking straw hat that might not get the message. Sanji because of the crappy drawing?

#Luffy is so aroace #monkey d. luffy #one piece #straw hat pirates #silvers rayleigh #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #usopp one piece #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #cyborg franky #soul king brook

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beep-beep-sunny · 1 month

Text

It's done! I've finished My Daddy Likes Boys! I hope you like it! If people like it, I'm going to write a couple sequels in the same universe. Read here or on AO3.

Chapter 1: Two daddies?? Cool!

And a boy.

And daddy likes boys.

Plop

Chapter 2: Frankie's Big Break

I had a lot of time to plan my next move while I was at the doctor then at home. My arm was broken and got put in a huge cast. It's so hard and heavy. I drummed on the wall with it when mommy wasn't looking, she always told me to stop even though it made the best sound.