#apple pie dip

[zanyanticsguy]

Apple Pie Dip This apple pie dip is made with reduced-fat cream cheese, brown sugar, apple pie spice, apple chunks, and pecans.

[kuropanbunko]

Apple Pie Dip Reduced-fat cream cheese, sweetened with brown sugar and spiked with apple pie spice, apple pieces, and pecans make up this apple pie dip. 2 tablespoons brown sugar, 1 red apple chopped, 1/4 cup chopped pecans, 1/2 teaspoon apple pie spice, 1 package reduced-fat cream cheese softened, 1 tablespoon apple juice

[einsatzzz]

H.K. & H.K. 🥹💖✨ khr x sanrio collab will always live rent-free inside my brain

[locowolf]

thanksgiving ingredients have been acquired

[hockeymusicmore]

https://www.thekitchn.com/peanut-butter-chocolate-mousse-recipe-23680220

[cherry-burst]

🔞MDNI - LADS Rafayel speaking Lemurian during the act. HC

I feel like when Rafayel is in bed with you, being all vocal and whimpery, that he default to Lemurian when he's lost in the passion. He doesn't even think about it, it just happens.

You have no idea what he's even saying, but it sounds so desperate and hot. He repeats a single word sometimes, and you figured out it's meaning after a few nights together. He was saying "Please" when he was getting close.

What is he whispering into your ear when his cock his deep as fuck inside you? Who knows, but it sounds so good that you don't even stop him to ask. It could be a recipe for apple pie for all you knew. It definitely wasn't though, from the way it was working him up. He was definitely dirty talking you in Lemurian.

His warm voice in your ear speaking Lemurian on those hot steamy nights has you getting off faster than ever before. The sensual way his lips moves when speaking, his sultry accent in the language, the new sounds you hear that aren't in English just rolling off his tongue. It's incredible.

Outside the bedroom you ask him about it and he gets all blushy and apologetic. "Sorry, cutie. It's like all my brain power is focused on what were doing, I don't even think about it."

He's teasing. He knows how much you like it. He plays it up sometimes, watching the way your eyes dip to his lips when he speaks. It definitely goes to his head, but it's a win win for you both.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[vunblr]

City Lights and Mountain Hearts

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Slight Angst. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Stuck in the city for Valentine’s week, Bucky grapples with old wounds, self-doubt, and the urge to escape. Luckily, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, he is not alone.

Word Count: 10.5k.

note: Part of the Roots and Branches AU

The soft pling of an incoming email pulled her attention away from the cheesy vampire novel she had been working on, pausing her fingers on the keyboard. She furrowed her brows at the notification in the corner of her screen, precisely at the subject line.

URGENT: In-Person Attendance Required – Feb 12–16

Her company rarely required in-person meetings, much less for an entire week. But as her eyes scanned the neatly written email, her heart sank. They were hosting a conference within the city, an important one, and all key personnel were expected to attend and be involved. No exceptions.

“Great,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. Of all the weeks.

She didn’t mind her job -she actually liked it most days- but this? This was just bad timing. Her first Valentine’s Day with Bucky, and instead of spending it in their little town, she’d be stuck in a place she hadn’t missed, surrounded by endless traffic, overpriced coffee, and the constant hum of people who never stopped moving.

She exhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. Bucky. He wouldn’t say it outright, but she knew how he felt about the city. He barely ever talked about his time there, and when he did, it was with the same tight-lipped, wary expression he wore when someone brought up his past.

He was not going to be thrilled about this.

She had to tell him. The sooner, the better. Then they could figure out what to do, whether they’d spend the week apart or… maybe he could come. By the time the sun had dipped behind the trees, she had made up her mind. She couldn’t change the situation, but she could soften the news.

So, she set the table with two mugs of hot chocolate and cut a generous slice of apple pie for him. Lately, she had been making dinner later and later, caught up in work, but tonight, she wanted to be ready when he walked through the door.

The familiar sound of the lock clicking open made her stomach flip, slightly tightening her fingers around her mug. Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill as he pushed the door shut behind him. He slipped his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair, and then he made his way toward the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of cinnamon and warm apples. He stopped in the doorway, tired blue eyes flicking between the waiting mugs and the careful way she was watching him. He knew that look.

Something was up.

But before he could ask, she gave him a small, hopeful smile and gestured toward the table. “I made pie.”

----

He sat there, munching the pie with his gaze glued to the plate. She knew he was turning it over in his head, weighing every part of the situation the way he always did.

He swallowed, took a sip of hot chocolate, then let out a slow sigh.

"Guess I'll have to go too."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Bucky, you’re not obligated. It’s totally okay if you-"

"I'll drive us there." His tone left no room for argument. "You’re not spendin’ Valentine’s Day alone. I know you’ve been preparin’ somethin’ for that day, even when I told you I didn’t really mind those kinda celebrations."

She watched as he swirled the chocolate with his spoon, his eyes still cast downward like admitting that cost him something.

"Well, um… yeah," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. "That was when I thought we'd be here, and-"

"Sweetheart." His voice was softer now, and when he finally looked at her, there was something in his gaze, something that made her heart ache a little. "It’s okay. We’ll go together."

-----

The next morning when she woke up, Bucky was gone.

That was unusual. Saturdays and Sundays were slow mornings, mornings where he lingered in bed longer than he needed to, where she could coax him into staying even when he grumbled about getting up. But today, the space beside her was cold, like he hadn’t been there in hours.

She found the note on the dinner table.

Had some business to take care of. Be back later.

No explanation. No details. Typical.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, but let it go. If Bucky needed space, she’d give it to him. Instead, she made herself breakfast, turned on her laptop, and got to work. The sooner she got ahead of things, the more time they’d have in the city. And she wanted them to have time, time to make it feel like something other than just another obligation.

-----

Bucky was in his spot in the woods, where the air was sharp and clean, where the only sounds were the wind through the trees and his own breathing. Where he didn’t have to think.

February wasn’t the best time for chopping wood, but he didn’t care. He just needed to move, to burn through the thing curling tight in his chest.

It had been over fifteen years since he set foot in the city. He had left with a full cast on his arm and never looked back. He should have gone back, just once, just long enough to get the damn thing removed properly. Instead, he’d let the local doctor handle it and told himself it wasn’t worth the trip. Told himself it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe it had. Maybe it had meant more than he let himself admit.

The axe came down with brutal precision, and the wood split instantly. He barely registered it, his mind still circling the same damn thoughts.

The city. He didn’t belong there.

Too many people, too much noise, too many eyes. He already could feel the way the stares would burn into him, the way his skin would crawl under all that attention. He could handle a few looks here in town, the occasional glance from curious folks, the gossip… but the city? That was different. In the city, people watched.

And the worst part? He knew what they’d see.

Some guy who didn’t fit. A man too rough around the edges, too quiet, too scarred.

The axe came down again, unrelenting.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, exhaling hard. What the fuck was he even supposed to wear there? He barely had anything that would blend in. Just one pair of decent jeans and a couple of henleys that might keep him from looking like an uneducated stud.

Might.

-----

He returned just before lunch, the sharp bite of cold still clinging to his skin, the muscles of his arm aching like a bitch but in a way that felt more comforting than exhausting. Chopping wood had helped -somewhat- but not enough to shake the weight pressing down on him.

Then, he stepped into the house, and the scent hit his nose.

Tenderloin. Creamed potatoes.

His favorite.

His stomach grumbled in approval, and when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he found her setting the last plate on the table. She glanced up at him with a smile, like she hadn’t just completely read his mind.

“You’re back just in time,” she said, brushing her hands off on a dish towel. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

Bucky huffed, shrugging off his jacket. She knows. Of course, she knew. She always knew.

By the time he sat down, the first bite was enough to make his shoulders loosen. He didn’t say anything, just focused on his plate, on the warmth of the food, on how damn good it tasted.

By the time he finished his third helping, he finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Darlin’, you’re gonna have to roll me out of here if you keep makin’ stuff like this.”

She huffed a laugh, stacking a couple of plates. “You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault,” he muttered, lazily twirling his fork. “Cookin’ like this.” He shook his head, tone half-admiring, half-accusatory. “Unfair.”

She chuckled, wiping down the counter before glancing over at him. He looked content, a rare sight when something was eating him. That alone made her move closer, stepping into his personal space.

Bucky barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around him, pressing a warm hug against his side. His chest tensed -not because he didn’t want it, never because he didn’t want it- but because it caught him off guard.

She pulled back slightly, flickering her eyes down, and before he could ask, she reached up and wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

“There was-” she paused, tilting her head. “Potato.”

Bucky stiffened.

His hand came up to his mouth a second too late, rubbing over the spot as a slow warmth crept up his neck.

She just grinned. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He scowled, with the kind of embarrassment that made him shift in his chair and grumble under his breath.

“Not flustered.”

“Uh-huh.”

She kissed his cheek quickly, then stepped away before he could protest further.

Bucky exhaled, rubbing his jaw before dropping his hand with a quiet hmph. He didn’t argue, because what was the point? She was already moving on, making casual conversation as she tidied up.

Then-

“We should probably grab a few things for the trip,” she said lightly, not looking at him as she rinsed a plate. “I was thinking we could head into town tomorrow, and pick out a couple of things.”

Bucky hummed in response, but the food in his stomach suddenly felt heavier.

------

They sat at the kitchen table with a notepad between them, as they jotted down things they’d need for the trip. The list was simple: snacks, water, some groceries.

“I’ll make something for the road,” she said, tapping the pen against the paper. “Something easy to eat while driving. I’ll grab the ingredients tomorrow.”

He nodded, with arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll check the truck. Make sure the tires, oil, and water are good.”

She hummed, writing that down, but then-

“Toilet paper.”

She paused, blinking at him. “What?”

“For the glove compartment,” Bucky said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her lips twitched. “Why?”

His ears went pink. “What d’you mean why? When you gotta go, you gotta go. Even if it’s the middle of the road.”

She pressed her lips together, trying really hard not to laugh. “I mean, fair point.”

Bucky grumbled something under his breath as she added it to the list, the color still lingering on his cheeks. But then she glanced up, chewing on the end of the pen.

“You’ll need to grab some clothes from your cabin.”

That was when the shift happened.

His body didn’t move, but something in his expression tightened, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

She noticed immediately.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.

She reached across the table, touching his arm, waiting until he finally looked at her. “One step at a time, alright?”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

She squeezed his arm before letting go, keeping her voice light. “Actually, while we’re on the subject… do you have enough clothes to bring along?”

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean… I got stuff. But…” He hesitated. “I probably need some new things.”

She nodded slowly, reading between the lines.

He dreaded shopping. Trying things on, getting questioned by clerks, feeling pressured to buy things he didn’t even like.

“I can go,” she offered. “Pick some things up for you.”

Bucky glanced at her, skeptical. “And if I don’t like ‘em?”

“We return them first thing Monday morning.”

He exhaled, considering. “I don’t want anything fancy.”

“You? Fancy?” She smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He rolled his eyes, and his shoulders eased the tension, just a little.

“…Something blue or black for the top,” he muttered after a pause.

She grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She could sense the weight still pressing down on him, so she steered the conversation into safer waters. “For the food, I was thinking… have you ever tried empanadas?”

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah, actually. Back in the army. One of the guys- his ma would bring ‘em when she visited. He’d share sometimes.”

Her eyes lit up. “Did you like them?”

He nodded, and a hint of a smile softened his features. “Yeah. They were good.”

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “I was thinking of making a meaty filling. Figured you’d like that.”

His lips twitched, an approving glint in his eyes. “Sounds great.”

She glanced at the clock, noting the time. “Alright, let’s head into town before the shops close. Almost no one opens on Sundays around here.”

Bucky let out a mock groan, pressing a hand to his stomach. “You sure you can get me outta this chair? Ate too much. You’re gonna make me gain weight at this rate.”

She laughed, standing up and stretching. “You’ll look very sexy. And I’ll have more of you to grab.”

That got him. His cheeks flushed a faint red as he ducked his head, suddenly finding the notepad very interesting.

“C’mon, big guy. Let’s go before the town shuts down on us.”

-----

Monday morning, they departed early.

He had insisted on driving, and she let him. Her meeting wasn’t until the afternoon, which meant they had time to get to the Airbnb, settle in, and for her to change before she had to leave. She had suggested a hotel -something nice, something easy- but he had shut down that idea pretty fast.

“Not stayin’ in a damn hotel,” he had muttered.

She knew why. It wasn’t just about avoiding people, it was about having a place that felt less like the city, a place that wasn’t sterile and unfamiliar, a place where he wouldn’t feel watched. An Airbnb was as close to a home as they were going to get in a place that felt otherwise hostile to him.

The trip itself was fine, though Bucky was quieter than ever. She didn’t push, didn’t try to fill the silence, just read her book, occasionally serving him coffee. She figured he needed to settle into his own thoughts and get used to the idea that they were going back to a place he had spent over more than a decade avoiding.

Eventually, she heard it, the low, unmistakable growl of his stomach.

She grinned, closing her book. “Alright, honey. Pull over.”

Bucky grunted. “M’fine.”

“Uh-huh.” She arched a brow. “Pull over. I’ll drive while you eat.”

He gave her a look but didn’t argue, pulling off in the curve. They switched places, and as soon as he grabbed the first empanada, she heard it, the almost joyful sound he made as he took the first bite.

She had eaten earlier, thank God, because somehow, Bucky managed to put away eight in one sitting. And an apple.

As he chewed, thoroughly pleased, she eyed him. “Bucky, are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

He paused mid-bite, squinting at her. “What?”

She grinned. “I mean, the way you’re inhaling those? You’re either growing a small human or preparing for winter hibernation.”

He swallowed, scowling. “They’re good.”

She chuckled, focusing back on the road. “Glad you like ‘em.”

She drove in silence, letting him be.

Bucky had eaten enough to put himself into a food coma, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d drifted off. She knew last night had been restless for him if he had even slept at all. He hadn’t said anything, but she’d felt it in the way he held her a little too long before bed, the way his breathing never fully evened out, the way he had been up before her.

So, when she glanced over and saw him slumped against the window, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, she wasn’t surprised. His chest rose and fell evenly, a few stray crumbs still clinging to his shirt.

She smiled a little and let him sleep.

For a couple of hours, she focused on the road, as the monotone hum of the tires and the quiet murmur of the radio filled the space. But as they got closer to the city, everything changed. The road widened, traffic thickened, and the sky was swallowed by looming buildings.

A sudden blaring horn cut through the quiet.

Bucky jolted awake immediately, sucking in a sharp breath as his hand twitched toward something. His seatbelt, the door, his hip. She wasn’t sure if he was reaching for a weapon or just bracing himself, but for a split second, his eyes were wild, darting around before finally landing on her.

She winced. “Sorry. City drivers.”

He exhaled hard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Should’ve woken me up. I could’ve driven.”

“And be cranky and starving while stuck in traffic?” She shot him a look before glancing back at the GPS. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He muttered something under his breath, but the fight had already left him. Instead, he turned his head toward the window, taking in the skyline, the crowded sidewalks, and the flashing signs. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh.

A few more turns, and she finally pulled up in front of their Airbnb. A modest little apartment, nothing flashy, but in a quieter area just ten minutes from where she needed to be.

She shifted into the parking lot and sighed, stretching her fingers. “Alright. Home sweet home.”

Bucky didn’t move at first, just stared up at the building like it might lunge at him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for their bags.

-----

They didn’t need a key.

Instead, there was a digital lock with a number combination, which she entered easily after checking the confirmation email. The mechanism beeped, the door clicked open, and Bucky’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t like it.

A code? No actual lock? Who else had access to this thing? The owner, obviously. Maybe the cleaning crew. What if the code hadn’t been changed recently? How hard could it be to override it, to force the door open if someone really wanted to? What if-

Then he felt it.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressing into his back. A second later, a soft kiss against the space between his shoulder blades.

Bucky exhaled. Slowly.

“I’ll go change and then I’ll leave,” she murmured against his shirt. “Why don’t you take a shower and get comfortable? Or go for a walk if you want.”

He didn’t answer right away, just rested his hand over hers where it rested on his stomach, giving it a small squeeze. Not much, but enough to let her know he’d heard her.

She squeezed back before stepping away, leaving him standing in the doorway as she disappeared inside.

He took another slow breath, glancing at the lock one last time before finally stepping inside after her.

-----

The apartment was… fine.

Smaller than her place back home, but clean, modern. The furniture was sleek, everything in shades of beige and gray, the kind of aesthetic that looked nice in photos but didn’t feel like anyone lived there. Too polished. Too impersonal.

But it was quiet.

That was something, at least.

Bucky paced through the space, scanning everything the way he always did when he entered somewhere new. Windows locked. No weird creaks on the floor. The bathroom door was solid, good enough for some peace. The bedroom was decent -bigger than he expected- but the bedspread was stiff, too neat, too unfamiliar. The walls were bare, and the city noise outside was muffled but ever-present, like a dull hum beneath his skin.

He sighed, rubbing his face. It wasn’t home. But for the next few days, it had to be. He wandered back into the kitchen, running a hand over the smooth counters. It was nice, but something about it felt… unused. Like no one had ever actually cooked in here before.

Well. That was about to change.

Without really thinking about it, he decided he’d make dinner.

They had packed some groceries in a box in the truck’s back, just to be safe, in case they couldn’t find a store right away. He sorted through it, pulling out what he needed.

Dinosaur pasta.

She had laughed at him when he tossed it into the cart back home, but he didn’t care. It was easy and reliable. And this time, he’d give it a twist. She had taught him how to make pink sauce a while ago, and he’d actually paid attention. Figured he’d surprise her with it.

Or so he thought.

The hour of her return came and went.

Bucky stirred the sauce one last time, glancing at the clock. Then the door. No messages.

He exhaled, shaking his head. She’s busy. It’s fine.

But another half hour passed. Then another. The food sat untouched, already cold. His chest tightened. Not with anger, not really, but with something else. Something he didn’t want to name.

Eventually, he gave up. He microwaved himself a portion, eating in silence before rinsing his plate and heading for the bedroom.

He didn’t bother turning on the big lights, just flipped on the TV, letting it play something -anything- to fill the space. He lay back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, eyes on the screen but not really watching.

Then, finally, the sound of the front door opening.

Soft footsteps. A rustling of bags.

A pause.

“…Bucky?”

He didn’t answer right away, just listened. A quiet exhale. Then-

“My phone died,” she said, her voice carried down the hall. “I couldn’t message you. I- I’m so sorry.”

Bucky blinked up at the ceiling, with his lips pressed into a thin line.

For a second, he debated saying it’s fine. But it wasn’t, not really. He wasn’t mad, not exactly, but something swirled in his chest, something that made him feel stupid for waiting, for hoping for something as simple as dinner together.

So instead, he just said, “There’s food in the kitchen.”

A beat of silence. Then soft footsteps, getting closer.

She peeked into the room, eyes full of guilt. “You made dinner?”

Bucky shrugged. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“You’re so thoughtful, darling,” she murmured, stepping closer. “I’m really sorry. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

He hummed, noncommittal, eyes flicking back to the TV. He wasn’t trying to be cold, but something in him was still knotted up, and he didn’t know how to untangle it just yet.

She didn’t push.

Instead, she peeled off the blazer she had been wearing all day, then unbuttoned her blouse, sighing in relief as she swapped it out for something infinitely more comfortable: one of his old henleys.

She had stolen it from his cabin months ago, claiming it as hers without argument, and at this point, he had just accepted it.

Bucky caught the familiar fabric from the corner of his eye, and for some reason, that tiny thing made his chest ache a little less.

She gave him one last look, a small, tired smile before disappearing into the kitchen to heat up the food.

-----

The hum of the microwave filled the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the countertops as she leaned against them, rubbing her tired eyes. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now, as the scent of the warmed-up pasta made her stomach grumble.

She pulled the plate out, grabbed a fork, and settled at the small dining table. The first bite was perfect, creamy, and rich, with just the right balance of tomato and cream. Even after sitting for hours, it was still good. She smiled to herself. Of course, it was.

She heard a faint noise behind her, and she glanced up to see Bucky lingering in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her eat. He wasn’t brooding, not exactly, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something cautious like he was still holding onto whatever had crawled into his chest earlier.

She chewed slowly, then set her fork down. “You gonna stand there all night, or you wanna come sit?”

Bucky huffed through his nose but pushed off the doorframe, walking toward her with slow, measured steps. He didn’t sit, though. Just leaned against the counter, hands braced on either side of him.

She took another bite, then met his gaze. “It’s really good.”

He hummed like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

She frowned, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Then, without thinking too hard about it, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

Bucky stilled.

She squeezed gently, running slow circles over the back of his hand with her thumb. “I hate that you waited for me and I wasn’t here.”

He let out a slow exhale, shifting his shoulders. “S’not your fault.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But I still hate it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicked away like he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling pressing against his ribs.

Then, finally, he squeezed her hand back. She smiled, tugging lightly until he sighed and gave in, pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down.

She took another bite, then set her fork down again. “You know I love this, right?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

She gestured to the plate. “You. Making dinner. Thinking about me. I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but it is to me.”

Bucky swallowed, flexing his fingers around hers. “Yeah?”

She smiled, bringing his hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. “Yeah.”

He let out a slow breath for the first time that night, as something in his chest finally let go.

------

The next morning, they went out to walk around and make the most of their time before she had to head to her second meeting. The city was already alive with movement, people rushing to work, street vendors setting up, the noise of conversations and car horns blending into the background noise.

They grabbed something to eat at a small café, sitting by the window, watching the world go by. Bucky was quieter than usual, but she didn’t push. He had agreed to come with her and had stepped into a place he hated for her, and that was already more than enough.

After breakfast, they strolled down a quieter street, hand in hand. She had been enjoying herself -taking in the sights, pointing out things she thought were interesting- when she finally noticed it.

Bucky was stiff.

His jaw was tight, and his free hand curled into a loose fist by his side. But what really gave him away was the way his eyes moved, scanning their surroundings, tracking every person that passed by.

She squeezed his hand gently. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Nothin’.”

She arched a brow. “Bucky.”

His shoulders shifted, and after a pause, he sighed. “…I feel observed.”

Her heart clenched a little. She knew what this was, his self-consciousness creeping in, his social anxiety pressing against his ribs, telling him he didn’t belong here, seeing threats where there were none.

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “I don’t perceive it.”

He made a quiet, disbelieving sound, but before he could argue, she smirked. “Although, I do think there’s a bunch of women looking at you.”

That startled him. He blinked down at her. “What?”

“You’re too handsome,” she simply said, like it was a fact.

Bucky groaned, shaking his head. “‘Guess only you see that, darlin’.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Bucky, I’m gonna say this once, because I really don’t want you all cocky later, but… you are a gorgeous man.”

His brows pulled together, like the very idea confused him. Before he could brush it off, she pressed on.

“I know you don’t see yourself like that. Not anymore. But you are,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “So believe me when I tell you that probably six out of ten women we’ve passed would say yes if you asked them out.”

Bucky’s ears tinged pink, and his lips parted slightly before he clamped his mouth shut, looking away. He shifted his weight, clearing his throat like that would somehow push the embarrassment down.

“…That’s not a real statistic,” he muttered.

------

He sat on a park bench, stretching his legs out as she wandered over to a street vendor. She was buying caramelized peanuts, chatting with the old man behind the cart, moving her hands as she gestured about something.

He let his gaze stray through the park.

A pair of guys in army uniforms caught his attention as they strolled past, laughing easily, and moving with confident steps. One of them playfully nodded toward a group of girls sitting on a nearby bench, earning a few shy smiles in return.

Bucky’s chest stiffened.

Once upon a time, he had been one of those guys.

A menace on his days off, all easy charm and reckless energy making the most of whatever time he had before duty called again. He had forgotten, sometimes, what that version of himself looked like.

But then-

The unending campaigns. The things he had to do. The things he couldn’t take back.

His mind yanked him somewhere else, somewhere darker.

The storage house. The explosion. The searing heat of fire before everything went black, then worse, the crushing weight, the sickening snap of bone, the panic clawing up his throat as he realized he was trapped.

Dying buried alive.

Rainwater trickled through the cracks, dampening the dust, and turning it into mud.

His breathing fastened and his gaze dropped to the pavement, curling his fingers into his palms. The world around him dimmed, his body here but his mind there, stuck between then and now.

Then-

A touch. Soft. Soothing.

His head jerked up, with an unfocused gaze.

She crouched beside him, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder, with a concerned expression.

And when his eyes met hers, she sucked in a small, worried breath, because she had never seen that look in his eyes before.

Vacant. Haunted.

Lost.

-----

She didn’t let go of his hand the entire walk back.

Bucky didn’t protest, but he didn’t say much either. His grip was solid, but his steps were stiff, and his jaw was locked so tight she could see the muscle twitching. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the sidewalk, shoulders squared like he was bracing for something, though she wasn’t sure what.

She kept her voice soft. “Almost there.”

He hummed, barely acknowledging it.

She didn’t push.

The city noise surrounded them. The honking of cars, the chatter of people passing by, the echo of hurried footsteps against the pavement, but she barely noticed. Her focus was on him, on the way he was still somewhere else, even as they turned the last corner and the building came into view.

When they reached the door, she entered the code with one hand, still holding onto him with the other. The lock clicked. She pushed the door open, stepping inside first before turning to look at him.

Bucky exhaled slowly like he was only now allowing himself to breathe.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on.”

He didn’t move at first, flicking his eyes past her like he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross the threshold. But then, slowly, he stepped inside.

She shut the door behind him.

“Wanna lie down?” she asked softly.

Bucky didn’t answer right away, but then he nodded, just once.

She guided him toward the bedroom, with her hand still loosely curled around his. The moment they reached the bed, she lay down first, settling against the pillows. He hesitated for only a second before following, shifting until he found the place he always found soothing, his head resting in the valley of her breasts, arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

She exhaled, letting her fingers trace slow, lazy circles across his back.

He said nothing, but she felt it, the way his body, little by little, started to relax against her. The tension in his shoulders softened, his breathing evened out, and his grip on her went from holding on to simply holding.

The minutes passed on, and the only sound in the room was the soft tick of the clock.

“You’re gonna be late,” he grumbled, muffled against her body.

She hummed, drifting her fingers up into his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing strokes. “Don’t care.”

Bucky huffed.

“They haven’t even deposited my travel allowance yet,” she added. “They can wait a few more minutes.”

He sighed against her, and she felt it, the subtle way he melted just a little more, sinking into the warmth of her touch, the safety of her body against his.

“Tell you what,” she murmured, still tracing slow circles over his scalp. “Since you’re so tense, I’ll give you a nice massage when I get back. What do you think?”

Bucky nuzzled against her chest, exhaling a breath that was just shy of a sigh. “I’d be real fucked up if I said no to that.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Perfect.”

Her hands never stopped moving, going down to rub at the knots in his shoulders, then ghosting along the base of his neck.

After a moment, she shifted slightly beneath him. “Will you be okay alone in here?”

He nodded against her.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

He would be fine. The walls weren’t closing in, the noise from outside was manageable, and he had a place to retreat to, away from the chaos of the city. Technically, he’d be fine.

But deep down, he knew what was coming.

She would leave. The apartment would get too quiet. His thoughts -the ones he had been trying to push down since the park- would creep back in, crawling up his throat, and pressing against his ribs.

And that dark, familiar pull would be there, whispering its old, ugly promises.

It was one of his last dirty secrets.

One he was ashamed to reveal to her.

He had gotten better -so much better- but the temptation never really went away. Sometimes it was just a flicker, something he could ignore. Other times…

Like now.

His fingers twitched against her waist, resisting the urge to reach for his phone, to make the order before she even left. Just one bottle. Just to take the edge off.

“I won’t be gone long,” she reassured him.

Bucky swallowed. Nodded again.

“I know,” he murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear the lie beneath his words.

-----

The second the door shut behind her, the apartment felt different.

Empty.

He stayed in bed for a moment, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The warmth her body had left behind was fading, replaced by the cool feeling of being alone.

He took a slow breath. Let it out.

Then he sat up, rubbed a hand down his face, and reached for his phone.

It wasn’t even a debate, not really. The thought had been there since the park, lurking in the back of his mind, and now, without her here to distract him, it clawed its way forward.

Just a bottle. Just a drink. Just to settle things.

His fingers moved before he could talk himself out of it. A few taps, an automatic confirmation. Done.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but the knock on the door came quicker than expected. He stood slowly, crossing the room, hesitating just for a second before pulling the door open.

The delivery guy barely looked at him, just handed over the bag, muttering a quick have a good one before turning away.

Bucky shut the door and stared down at the weight in his hands.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then, he walked into the kitchen and set the bottle down on the counter. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before turning away. His muscles ached from how tense he’d been all morning

He’d take a shower first.

But the water didn’t wash away his thoughts.

His mind was on a battlefield, mud, blood, fire, and screams. The weight of debris pinning him down. The searing pain in his left arm, so sharp it had felt like his body was being torn in half.

And then… the hospital.

The look on the officer’s face when he was told, flatly, clinically, that he was expendable. That his sacrifice had been expected. Calculated. That they would move forward without him.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the shower tiles. He had fought for his country. Given everything. And when he needed them most, they had tossed him aside like a broken weapon.

Then she walked away.

He tousled his hair, exhaling sharply as the memory crawled forward, uninvited.

She had grown distant. At first, it was subtle: longer pauses between messages, a clipped voice when she finally answered his calls. Then came the excuses. How busy she was. How complicated things werefor her. How she needed time.

Eventually, she stopped answering at all.

Her friend had been the one to deliver the final blow. “It was difficult for her,” she had said, carefully avoiding his eyes. “She’s not in a place to handle… your situation. She’s struggling too, you know.”

His situation.

His problems.

His disability.

He turned off the water, with a rough movement. He grabbed a towel, rubbing it over his face before wrapping it around his waist.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, his mind was still in shambles, raw and restless, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Then his eyes landed on the counter.

The bottle was still there, untouched. Waiting.

Bucky cursed under his breath.

His fingers twitched, and before he could think too hard about it, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. He stared at his distorted reflection on the smooth, amber-colored surface for a while.

But he didn’t drink.

Instead, he turned away, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He needed boxers. Maybe if he did something -even something as simple as getting dressed- it would take the edge off.

He shuffled through his suitcase, pushing aside neatly folded shirts, a couple of henleys, and his new corduroy pants. No boxers. He frowned.

Then he remembered, she had packed them in hers.

With a sigh, he crouched next to her bag, unzipping it and rummaging inside. His fingers brushed against some fabric, then something firmer, a box.

Cardboard. Smooth.

Curious, he lifted it out.

It was a large, homemade chocolate box from Winnifred’s, the local baker back home. He recognized it instantly.

He swallowed hard, looking down at the box in his hands, tightening his grip around it while he walked to the living room.

She had planned this, before the trip. She had thought of him, of making this first Valentine’s together special, even when she knew he wasn’t the kind of guy who cared for fancy celebrations.

And he knew -of course he knew- she had probably planned something else, something back home. Maybe dinner at his cabin, decorated secretly while he worked, something small but theirs alone. But the trip had messed everything up, throwing them into this place that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like home.

Still, she had brought a little piece of it with her, for him.

Bucky exhaled shakily, blinking hard. His gaze flicked toward the counter, to the glass of whiskey waiting for him, and the bottle looming beside it.

For a moment, he just stared.

Then he walked over, grabbed the glass, and dumped it in the sink. The sharp splash of liquid against metal filled the silence, followed by the pour as he emptied the rest of the bottle down the drain.

He didn’t watch it disappear. Just threw the empty bottle in the trash, turned, and sat heavily on the couch. Then, he opened the chocolate box with careful fingers, staring at the neat rows inside, hovering his index over them for a moment before he grabbed one.

This would do.

He took a bite, letting the rich sweetness melt on his tongue.

Yeah.

This would do.

-----

The first thing she saw when she stepped through the door that afternoon, was Bucky sprawled on the couch, snoring softly.

Her surprise chocolate box rested almost empty over his stomach, and his fingers -coated with a brownish glint- dangled near the floor. His towel had loosened slightly, barely hanging onto his waist, exposing just enough skin to make her stare longer than necessary.

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

She almost took a picture.

Almost.

But then, she remembered.

The way he had been before she left, lost in his own mind, dealing with something he didn’t want to express. It wouldn’t be strange if he had some kind of oral anxiety attack, needing something -anything- to keep himself calm.

So instead, she tiptoed, lifting the nearly empty chocolate box from his stomach and setting it aside. Then, she grabbed a blanket, draped it carefully over him, and turned down the lights.

With a small sigh, she slipped into the bedroom and pulled out his old henley. Clearly, they weren’t going out for the day.

She then moved into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves as she started pulling out ingredients for dinner. She wasn’t in a rush, just moving through things, deciding what to make while Bucky got his rest.

It didn’t take long before she felt it.

The familiar warmth of strong arms wrapping around her waist. A heavy, solid weight pressed against her back. The slow, hot breath against her ear.

“Isn’t it the massage lady,” Bucky murmured, sleepily.

Before she could respond, he pressed a lazy kiss to the side of her neck. Then another. Slow, unhurried, tasting her, feeling her warmth beneath his lips.

She shivered, tilting her head just slightly, giving him more access. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

He hummed against her skin, tightening his grip on her waist. “Woke up.” Another kiss, just below her jaw. “Found somethin’ better to do.”

She exhaled a soft laugh, resting a hand over his. “That so?”

“Mm.” His lips dragged lower, pressing against the curve of her shoulder. “Still gotta cash in that massage.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, do you?”

“Mhmm.” He nuzzled against her skin, voice dropping to a rasp. “Feelin’ all sorts of tension, sweetheart.”

She smirked, reaching back to run her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. “Well, we did say we’d make the most of our time here…”

Bucky hummed his approval, as his hands started to wander, and his breath blew warm and slow against her pulse.

Dinner could wait.

She turned in his arms, her body still glued to his. Her hands slid up slowly, threading her fingers behind his neck, playing lazily with the hairs at his nape.

“Well, mister,” she murmured, tilting her head. “You’re already in your birthday suit… where exactly are you aching?” she asked, playfully pressing herself flush against him, against the unmistakable evidence of his interest, thick and hard against her stomach.

Bucky let out a low, rumbling sound, tightening his hands around her waist. “You really gotta ask?”

She grinned, dragging her nails lightly over the back of his neck. “Mmm… just making sure. Wouldn’t wanna miss a spot.”

His grip flexed, pulling her even closer, grinding his erection against her. “Sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and heat, “if you keep talkin’ like that, I’m afraid we’ll skip the massage.”

“Oh?” she hummed, trailing her fingers up the back of his neck, scratching lightly over his scalp. “And here I was, all ready to… work on you.”

She let her one hand slide between them, dipping lower, palming his cock through the towel.

Bucky inhaled sharply, and his whole body tensed as her grip tightened just slightly, teasing, testing. His head tipped forward, resting his forehead against hers.

“Darlin’,” he warned, with a strained voice

She smiled, leaning in just enough for her lips to brush his. “What?” she murmured, giving another slow, deliberate squeeze.

Bucky groaned, a deep, needy sound. “You’re real close to losin’ that henley.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That a threat or a promise?”

“Both,” he growled, then kissed her like he meant it.

His lips crashed against hers, slow at first, but that control didn’t last long. Not with the way her fingers kept working him through the towel, sending heat curling low in his stomach, making his knees damn near weak.

He groaned again into her mouth, slipping one hand down to grab a handful of her thigh, pulling her flush against him. The pressure of her palm massaging his cock, the way her body molded to his, it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her lips, with ragged breaths.

She smirked, dragging her nails lightly down his back. “You’re so tense, baby,” she teased, voice dripping with false innocence.

He huffed a laugh, slipping his hands slipping beneath the henley, warm, coarsed palms gliding over the bare skin of her thighs, up to her ass. He gave a firm squeeze, pulling her against his aching cock. “Yeah? Pretty sure you’re the one causin’ the tension.”

She gasped softly, and he took advantage of the sound, catching her lips again, and swallowing every little noise she made as he pressed her back against the counter.

Her fingers hooked into the knot of his towel, tugging, loosening it, but before she could pull it away completely, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“Oh, no,” he rasped, dragging his lips down her neck. “You first, sweetheart.”

Without another word, he slipped his fingers under the hem of her nightie and started sliding it up, as his mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against her skin.

“B-but the idea was to make you feel good,” she pouted, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it.

He chuckled, deep and lazy, vibrating against her skin. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his lips up to her ear. “This is gonna make me feel real good.”

His fingers skimmed over her bare thighs, slipping higher, slowly and deliberately. Then he tugged the nightie over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without a second thought. He leaned back just enough to take her in, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“Look at you,” he murmured, tracing a hand down her side, rough fingers ghosting over soft skin. “So damn beautiful.”

Her lips parted, her body already melting into his touch, but he wasn’t done yet.

Bucky bent slightly, gripping the backs of her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter. His hands slid up, spreading her knees apart as he stepped between them. He barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were on hers again, his hands gripping her thighs, keeping her close, keeping her his.

She shifted against him, pressing closer, brushing her bare skin against his, and fuck, he could lose himself in this.

In her.

After the kind of morning he had, after the things clawing at the edges of his mind, he knew he had been short with her. He hadn’t meant to be, she was one of the few good things he had since everything went to hell, and the last thing he wanted was to push her away.

And yet, she had still come to him. Still had covered him with a blanket, made sure he was comfortable and had started making dinner instead of being upset that he had shut down on her.

He didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve her.

Bucky exhaled against her lips, dragging his hands up her sides before dipping lower, catching the band of her panties between his fingers. “These,” he murmured, snapping the waistband lightly, “are in my way.”

She let out a breathless little laugh, lifting her hips just enough to help him. He wasted no time, sliding them down her legs, letting the fabric hit the floor before running his hands back up her thighs, spreading her open for him.

His mouth traced along her jaw, nipping at the skin just below her ear before whispering, “You really are too damn good to me, sweetheart.”

She sighed, tilting her head to let him continue his path down her neck. “Maybe,” she teased. “Or maybe you just deserve it.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he dropped to his knees.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her in place. He could lose himself here.

He would.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, feeling the way she shivered beneath his touch. He wanted to take his time, to savor, to make up for earlier, not just for himself. She deserved that.

One of his hands slid up, fingers spreading over her tummy, pressing gently as if to hold her steady. The other trailed lower, teasing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, watching with satisfaction as her breath hitched.

Then, finally, finally, he leaned in.

He flicked his tongue against her, just barely, a featherlight touch that made her jolt. He smirked, gripping her hips to keep her still, then did it again, a little firmer this time. “Fuck,” he muttered against her, voice rough with want. “You always taste so good.”

She whimpered, as her fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. That sent a shiver straight to his cock, and made him need to hear more of those sweet little sounds from her lips.

He licked a slow, teasing stripe up her slit, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue before pulling away just enough to blow cool air against her. The way she whined, the way her hips bucked up into his mouth, fuck, she was perfect.

He groaned, gripping her thighs as he dived back in, pressing his tongue against her pussy, stroking her just right, slipping lower to taste all of her before dragging back up to flick again her swollen, aching clit.

Her thighs clenched around his head, and he loved it. He wanted it.

He slipped a finger inside her, groaning at how warm and wet she was, at how she clenched around him, so tight and perfect. He curled it just right, adding a second, pumping them slowly, in time with the strokes of his tongue.

“Bucky-” she gasped, tightening her grip on his hair, legs trembling slightly.

That only spurred him on.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, voice thick with hunger. “Let me have it.” He pleaded, suckling at her clit with intent. He didn’t stop, not until she was moaning his name, arching against him, coming undone beneath his mouth, just the way he wanted.

Her thighs instinctively closed again around his head, rolling her hips, searching, chasing his mouth as she neared that blissful edge.

Her grip on his hair was tight, almost desperate, and fuck, he loved it. Loved the way she came undone for him, loved how she let go with him.

“Bucky! oh God-”

His name tumbled from her lips, breathless, wrecked, and that was all it took. Her thighs trembled, her back arched as the pleasure crashed over her, her walls clenching his fingers tightly as she came apart.

He didn’t stop. Not yet. He worked her through it, lapping up every little aftershock, basking in the way her body pulsed, how she shuddered against him.

Only when she whimpered, overstimulated, did he finally ease up, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against her inner thigh.

He looked up at her, pupils blown wide. “Think that did more for me than it did for you,” he rasped, smirking as he ran his hands over her still-trembling thighs.

She blinked down at him, dazed, as she tried to catch her breath.

Then, with a lazy, satisfied smile, she tugged at his hair. “Get up here,” she murmured. “You’re not done yet.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, with dark intent.

Before she could even catch her breath, his lips crashed against hers, hungry, desperate, gripping her waist almost brutishly as he pulled her off the counter. She barely had time to register the shift before he spun her around, bending her against the cool surface.

A gasp left her lips as she splayed her hands against the counter for balance.

He groaned at the sight in front of him, before running his hands down her back, over the curve of her ass, squeezing once before nudging her legs apart with his knee.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pressing his chest to her back, letting her feel every inch of him, hard and aching against her. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He kissed the back of her neck, trailing his lips down to her shoulder as one hand slid between her legs, fingers slipping through the mess he had made.

Still soaked for him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, as he stroked her, feeling her jolt beneath his touch.

She whimpered, shifting back against him, pressing into his fingers, wordlessly pleading for more.

Bucky smirked against her skin. “You want me inside, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” she gasped, pushing back against him again.

That was all he needed.

He gripped her hip with one hand, guiding himself with the other, teasing her, just barely pressing in. Then, with a low growl, he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside her in one deep, slow thrust.

A broken moan escaped her lips, fingers gripping the counter as he stretched her, filled her, claimed her.

Bucky clenched his jaw, trying real hard to keep it together, to give her a second to adjust, but fuck, she was so warm, so tight, squeezing him just right-

Then she pushed her hips back against him, wordlessly demanding more.

And who the hell was he to deny her?

Bucky growled, and set a brutal pace, determined to make her feel every inch of his cock.

He didn’t speak.

He just took.

His hands were bruising on her hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks, using the leverage to pull her onto his cock with deep, brutal thrusts. There was no teasing, no slow buildup, just raw, desperate need, pouring out of him with every snap of his hips.

Each stroke drove her forward, and her fingers slipped against the counter as she struggled to hold herself up. The force of his movements knocked the breath from her lungs, and made her whimper and moan, leaving her body pliant beneath his.

He was relentless.

He stretched her wide, filled her with every rough thrust, dragging against that sensitive spot inside her that made her keen. Her walls clenched down around him, and he responded with a ragged, guttural groan, tightening his fingers, as his pace grew even more frenzied.

He wasn’t holding back.

The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, mixing with her gasps, and her breathless cries. He drove into her, each movement fueled by something dark and desperate, something he couldn’t put into words.

Because right now, he wasn’t thinking about anything except how good she felt around him, how perfectly she took him, how much he needed this, needed her.

Her legs trembled, and her body arched against him, as every hard thrust sent the pleasure curling up her spine. She was close, her breaths turning into sharp, broken moans, her body tightening around him. The delicious pressure and wet heat threatened to undo him, but he gritted his teeth, determined to make this last.

He didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

His rhythm turned rougher, harder, as he chased the only thing that made sense, the feeling of her falling apart beneath him. One hand snaked between her sweat-slicked thighs to rub tight, hard circles over her throbbing clit.

When she came, she practically sobbed in pleasure, throwing her head back in a silent scream. Her walls clenched around him like a silken fist, massaging his throbbing cock and pushing him dangerously close to the edge. But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

With a growl, he kept going, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her up as he kept fucking into her, hard and deep, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure from her wrecked body, until all she could do was take it.

The countertop creaked beneath the force of his thrusts, and her body jerked with every sharp snap of his hips like a ragdoll. She was overstimulated, so sensitive, but she took it, let him use her, let him chase his own pleasure the way he needed to.

His fingers dug into her skin again, and his pace turned erratic, desperate, sweat slicking his chest as he buried himself inside her again and again. His breath was ragged, and his jaw clenched so tight it ached, while his head swam in her intoxicating warmth, the one thing that calmed him, that kept him from spiraling.

His grip bruised as he slammed into her one last time, burying his cock deep as his body seized. His breath caught, a strangled groan escaped his throat as he spilled inside her, grinding his hips against her rear, making sure every last drop was pumped deep inside her waiting body. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and only the sound in the space was their ragged breathing.

Then, finally, Bucky exhaled, loosening his grip just enough to press his forehead to the back of her neck.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t know what to say.

So instead, he just held her -his anchor, his salvation- until his heart stopped racing and the weight pressing down on his chest finally, finally lifted.

She stood there, trying to catch her breath, with her body still trembling as Bucky held her close, his chest rising and falling against her back. He was still nestled between her legs, slick walls cradling his spent, twitching cock.

She rested her forehead against her folded arms, as a shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Well, Buck… that was… something else,” she breathed out, trying to catch her breath.

Bucky huffed a quiet, almost satisfied sound. He hadn't meant to be so rough, so desperate, but something about what happened, about the way she let him have her, the way she took everything he gave, made it impossible to hold back.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he finally murmured.

She smiled against her arm. “No. Far from it,” she whispered, turning her head just enough to catch his eyes, with a teasing glint. “I suspected it, but didn’t know you had that in you.”

His lips brushed the back of her neck, a quiet apology hidden in his touch. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he needed her, but the words tangled heavily in his throat.

As Bucky carefully pulled out of her, a sharp gasp left her lips. His hands stayed on her hips, but his gaze dropped immediately to where they were still connected, to the way his cum slowly trickled down her inner thigh, glistening against her skin.

Something primal and possessive bloomed in his chest.

Before he could think twice about it, he reached down, swiping his thumb through the mess, gathering every drop before pushing it back inside her with slow, deliberate pressure.

She gasped, jolting, gripping hard at the counter. “Bucky-”

“Shhh,” he shushed, sliding his free hand up her spine, as his lips brushed the nape of her neck. “Can’t let it go to waste, sweetheart.”

Her breath came out in a shudder, and her legs shook as he pushed his thumb deeper, as if claiming her all over again.

Satisfied, he finally withdrew, fingers glistening as he traced lazy circles over her overstimulated pussy, smirking when she whimpered at the touch.

He was about to tease her -about how sensitive she was, how good she looked wrecked for him, slapping her softly- when her breathless voice cut through the haze.

“I take it as you liked the chocolates,” she teased, turning around in his arms and pressing a slow kiss to his sternum. “this was a very pleasant way of saying thanks”

His hands slid back down to her hips, gripping firmly, fingers pressing into the flesh he had spent the last half an hour worshipping. He hummed, satisfied, tilting his head as he looked down at her. “You wanted me to like ‘em, didn’t you?”

She sighed, pressing her face briefly against his chest, before pulling back just enough to cradle his face with one hand. “I’m glad you did,” she whispered.

He exhaled, leaning into her touch.

“And I’m sorry that we’re stuck here until Friday.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, flicking his gaze away for half a second before settling back on her.

“S’not your fault,” he muttered.

She pressed another kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Still.” As she spoke, her fingers trailed up his arm, slow and deliberate, mapping the rough ridges and scarred skin that told stories of pain and survival.

Bucky tensed beneath her touch.

It was instinctive, something ingrained so deep in him he didn’t even think about it. His scars weren’t something he liked being noticed, much less touched. But she had never treated them like something to be ashamed of, never recoiled or hesitated.

And now, instead of pulling away, she leaned in, brushing her lips over the marred skin of his shoulder before playfully nipping at it.

His breath halted.

She grinned against his skin. “You know… I still owe you that massage,” she murmured, pressing her fingers into the firm muscle of his bicep, kneading it gently.

He exhaled sharply, not in discomfort, but in something else. Something warmer. She had a way of disarming him, stripping away the self-consciousness he didn’t even realize he was holding onto.

His lips twitched, as his hands found their place on her hips again. “You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

She hummed, dragging her lips along his shoulder, hands working their way up to his neck. “Nope.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. His tension was gone, replaced by something softer. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing her hip. “Guess I’m all yours.”

She took his hand, guiding him toward the bedroom.

As they walked, Bucky’s free hand reached for the nearly empty chocolate box on the table, smiling to himself.

She raised a brow. “Still hungry?”

His little smile deepened, something dark, wicked flickering behind his eyes as he squeezed her fingers in his.

“Somethin’ like that,” he murmured, winking an eye.

She swallowed, as heat prickled at the base of her spine, suddenly very aware that whatever he had planned… she’d be the one melting like chocolate before the night was over.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[lqveharrington]

Lucky King? | L.M.

summary: Lucifer takes pride in everything he has, especially his wife.

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x wife!reader

includes: fluff, lucifer being a sweet and attentive husband and father, suggestiveness, possessiveness, that’s pretty much it (let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: okay but like, i am on serious hazbin brain rot, i have written more for HH than any other fandom so far.

Being the embodiment of pride meant that Lucifer constantly flaunted everything to his fellow sins and his people. And being the King of Hell meant he had a lot to brag about. Especially his family. God, Lucifer loved his family and would do anything to talk about them in every conversation.

An overlord meeting about movie productions on VoxFlix? Add romantic comedies, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite. Speaking with Beelzebub about her different alcoholic beverages? Make sure to make mojitos, they’re his wife and daughter’s favorite.

He took pride in who he married and who his daughter was. After all, they were the royal family of Hell.

“Mom, I think it’s as tight as it can go— MOM!” Charlie’s eyes flashed red as she squealed, grabbing your arm.

“Sorry!” You tilt your head back as you let a laugh fall from your lips. “I thought you said—“

“No no no no noooo!” She turned around, eyes wide. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You kiss her cheek and adjust her crown.

Charlie beamed at you and traded places with you. “My turn!”

You hum as she tightens the corset around you, eyes flickering up toward the mirror when you hear the door creak open. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, my love.” He pressed a kiss to your hand and then one to Charlie’s forehead. “Hi, apple pie.” He watched his daughter tug on the strings attached to the corset, moving forward when it seemed like you were going to fall from the platform. “Charlie, what are you doing to your mother?”

“Pulling her corset tight—“ She grunted as she held the string in place, tying the back. “There.” You gave her a thumbs up as she finished, watching her glow at your silent praise.

“Gorgeous as always.” Lucifer stole you from your platform, the devil’s tail wrapping around your waist.

“You know? Vaggie is probably looking for me! I should leave…” Charlie let out an awkward laugh and fled for the door. “Text me when you need me for the entrance!”

Lucifer dipped you down, chuckling when you let out a noise of surprise. “You look breathtaking, my love. Maybe we should just skip the gala and do better activities right here—“

“Lucifer!” You lightly smack his chest, face flushed from his words. “You horny devil!”

“Says the queen of Hell.” He captured you in a quick kiss, red lipstick staining his lips. “Come on, Charlie can handle it on her own.” He squeezed your hips as you walked over to the vanity with his head resting on your bare shoulder.

You glance at your beloved with a soft look, “Luce, we didn’t coordinate a whole gala just to have our daughter host it herself.” You clip on a pair of earrings, the golden snake and apple shining through the light. “We also didn’t have these outfits made for us just for them to be wasted away on our bedroom floor.”

“I mean…” He nipped on your exposed shoulder, earning a gasp and glare. “They made you a maroon dress with a slit exposing your legs, my love.”

“Because it matches your maroon and black suit.” You turn in his arms and tug at his lapels. “Which I have to admit, kinda does it for me.”

He smirked as he slowly pushed you up against the vanity, “Yeah? Maybe we should ditch.”

“Nope.” Your hands clasped behind his neck, eyes widening when you feel one of his hands trail down to your exposed leg. “Luce…”

“You started this.” He slotted himself between your legs and continuously peppered kisses to your collarbone and neck, softly sucking. “You’re a tease.”

“Lucifer—“ Your protests were cut off with a quiet moan, but you quickly covered your mouth when hearing him chuckle. “Nope, we’re leaving now.”

Lucifer separated from you, a wide grin adorning his face as he scanned you. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “Let’s go then, my love.”

You raised a brow but didn’t protest, letting him wrap his arm around your waist to guide you toward the ballroom. You both were quickly accompanied by your daughter as you made your way to the landing of the grand stairway.

The lights flashed off and the spotlight projected on the Morningstar family, the crowd’s voice hushed when spotting the monarchy. Lucifer gave a welcoming speech to the sinners, overlords, and sins who attended, making sure to mention his family and how they helped make the gala entirely possible. Final rounds of applause echoed through the ballroom as Lucifer finished off, letting everyone go back to their socialization and dancing.

“Mom,” Charlie caught you before you could follow Lucifer to greet his fellow sins. “Did you… Do you know why… You have bruises on your neck.” She finally mumbled out, eyes not meeting yours.

You felt yourself warm from embarrassment. Not only did your daughter tell you that you have hickeys on your neck, but you stood in the blinding lights with an audience staring at the three of you. No doubt photographers caught this and snapped photos for the internet. “Thank you for telling me, baby. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to murder your father.”

“Mom—“

You scanned the room before your gaze zeroed on Lucifer. He was laughing with Asmodeus before meeting your gaze and gave you a wink. Oh, he was going to pay.

“Lucifer.” You appear by his side. You give his fellow sin a quick smile but turn back to the little devil with a scowl. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.” He wrapped an arm around your waist. “It was nice catching up with you, Oz.”

You guided Lucifer back to a secluded hallway, eyes flashing bright red when you were alone. Within a blink of an eye, you had Lucifer pinned against the wall with your forearm.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to know that I went out there with bruises all over my neck? Or, better yet, that our daughter was the one who told me what was on my neck?” You seethed. You were beyond embarrassed and pissed, you’re surprised you haven’t become a full demon yet.

“To be fair, it was more than just your neck—“

“LUCIFER!” You use your free hand to reach up your collarbone. The room felt ten times warmer, and it didn’t help that you felt Lucifer’s devil tail decided to wrap around your calf.

He remained pinned on the wall, giving you a cheeky grin. “This is really hot.”

“Oh, my god!” You release him with a glare. “There’s going to be photos everywhere! What will the public think about—“

“Lucky king?” He shrugged as he let his fingers trail up your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Listen, we’ll get rid of the photos. But is it really a crime to show off what’s mine?”

You grumble a small response, propping your head on his shoulder. “You’re crazy, Luce.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He chuckled.

The photos never made it outside of Pride Manor, but the teasing you received from the other sins made you flush every time. Lucifer listened to each jeer, a smirk present on his face from the constant reminder that you were in fact his.

Especially when the bruises scattered around you spelled out his initials.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam's favorite weird food combinations

Dick: *pours orange juice in cereal*

Bette: *cooks oatmeal with egg whites*

Cass: *puts whipped cream in soda*

Jason: *melts chocolate onto bacon*

Steph: *dusts fries with powdered sugar*

Cullen: *eats pickles with peanut butter*

Harper: *spreads the same peanut butter on a burger*

Helena: *wraps melon slices in prosciutto*

Tim: *slathers pizza in ranch*

Luke: *makes tuna salad with fruits*

Damian: *drizzles olive oil on ice cream*

Carrie: *adds chips to a PB&J*

Kate: *sprinkles sugar on tomatoes*

Duke: *buys chili with a cinnamon roll*

Barbara: *dips strawberries in balsamic vinegar*

Selina: *stirs butter into her coffee*

Bruce: *grates cheese on top of apple pie*

Alfred, offended: Who raised you all?

Alfred: *opens a can of beans with his toast*

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Saw the kissing list prompt and after reading 28 I immediately thought of Harvey x reader idk maybe it’s just me lol

Prompt: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

Warnings: Established relationship, smooches

"Sorry about that."

"It's alright."

"It won't happen again, I promise."

"It will, but that's okay," You teased. Harvey smiled grudgingly, giving a small nod as he sat back down in his chair, eyeing the retreating waiter's back.

"Everything okay?" You added.

"Fine. Mike ran into a complication, but it should be alright now. What'd you wind up getting?"

"Apple pie."

"Classic."

"What kind of complication?"

A grimace flitted across Harvey's lips as he folded his hands on the table. You rolled your eyes.

"I don't need all the gory details. Just a little hint?"

"Two words: Exculpatory evidence."

"Oh," Your eyes widened. "Yikes."

"Big yikes."

"If you need to go—"

"Mike has it handled."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Harvey reached across the table, taking hold of your hand. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away right now."

"Well, touching Rolling Stones reference aside, if something happens and that changes, I get it."

"You think I'm going to let anything interrupt our anniversary dinner?"

You tipped your brows up slightly, and Harvey tacked on, "...Again?"

You chuckled, leaning back as the waiter returned with your slice of pie.

"Thanks," You smiled, taking up one of the forks and tucking in as Harvey did the same. He got two bites in before his eyes slipped shut, a groan humming past his lips.

"Is that the pie, or is your phone buzzing?"

"Both," He grumbled, fishing into his pocket with a frown. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay." You dug your fork into the slice, doing your best to focus on it instead of the hushed, irritated conversation happening on the other side of the table. You heard a heavy sigh, and you knew what was coming next.

"Go on," You urged.

"Baby—"

"I know," You nodded, forcing a small smile as you met his eye again. "It's okay."

Harvey sighed, lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll be home late."

"Okay."

"I'll make it up to you."

You smiled a little, leaning up for a gentle kiss as he stood. You eyed the table as his footsteps retreated, tugging the piece of pie closer to yourself and poking at it with your fork. You could at least hold your annoyance until he was definitely out of the restaurant, right? Besides, you still had pie. You took a larger scoop of pie with a dollop of whipped cream on top and shoveling it in with a soft sigh. So much for a calm evening.

You heard approaching footsteps again, but assumed that it was the waiter, so you sat up just a little.

"I paid the check," Harvey's voice made you look up in surprise, "So don't worry about that."

"Oh. I could've—"

"I know you could've, but I wasn't going to let you."

Harvey's eyes wandered your face for a moment, and you frowned as his lips tipped up with a small, amused smile.

"What is it?" You asked.

"You've got a little..." Harvey trailed off, bracing on hand on the back of your chair as he raised the other to trace your lower lip gently. Your eyelashes fluttered as the tip of his thumb dipped into your mouth, and your tongue gently lapped at the smear of whipped cream. His eyes lowered to the swell of your lips, fingers curling around your jaw as he tipped your chin up for another kiss. You parted your lips, letting your eyes slide shut as his mouth worked tenderly against yours. You raised your hand to curl in his hair, smiling against his lips as he groaned softly again, then broke your kiss.

"Was that the taste of the whipped cream, or is your phone buzzing again?" You teased.

"You, baby," He murmured. "That was all you."

[bettystonewell]

ANOTHER NOTCH ON HIS BELT

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex. 18+ only

Word Count: 1.2k words

Tags/Warnings: lil’ bit of SMUT, casual sex, Dean needs a hug, light angst

A/N: Summary inspired by the lyrics of the song “Tough” by Lewis Capaldi.—————————————————————Read on AO3 || Masterlist

He loves the sex. 

Needs it. 

Craves it. 

The closeness it gives him. The warmth of someone else surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing below or on top of him. He doesn’t care. 

Even with the scrapes and bruises he doesn’t remember which ugly bastard he ganked giving them to him, he’s not ashamed. He just wants to fill up his heart with affection to get him through the next death he knows is inevitable, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s something he can’t escape, except maybe for the night. Tonight, if he’s lucky.

As she pours him another cup, and places the pie he ordered beside his now empty plate, he pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean he’s not watching. He just continues to hold the conversation with Sam while listening to her greet someone new.

Her voice carries like silk over the chatter of people and the ringing coming from the door. Her hands are clean, her skin soft and inviting as she pulls out her notepad and pen. 

He flicks his head up to exchange a glance, and she actually winks at him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Sammy?” He looks his brother’s way, but brings his gaze back to her the second he’s answered.

“Thanks,” he says and reads the badge pinned to her blouse aloud. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The girls in these dives they eat at are always perfect in his eyes. Their lives are just so, even if they don’t see it. 

No scars, at least not from weapons. Pliable flesh he can sink his fingers into. Grab, smooth, lick, taste. Sweet perfume that would fill a home he knows has things littered with the apple pie life he once thought he wanted. 

He’ll tell no one he still does.

He’ll also never tell Sam that’s the real reason he doesn’t bring them to the motel anymore if he can avoid it. It’s easier to leave them when he wakes up and feels out of place.

She walks away, back to the counter whence she came with hips that sway in time to the tick of the dusty old clock on the wall. Past the other patrons and tables full of more coffee and mediocre food. 

Chicken served in nugget form. Sandwiches lathered in sauce. It may be swill and smell closer to ass than edible, but if he plays his cards well, he’ll be devouring something far better tonight.

“Don’t wait up,” he says after downing the scalding liquid in one go. He’s done with waiting. Just needed the last boost of confidence before he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and grabs his phone. Brushes down his jacket, checking there’s nothing on it from the hunt, and looks up to the smile that caught his eye again. 

She’s watching him.

“Don’t do the hot coffee thing,” Sammy bitches, as he walks away.

But while Dean ignores him, a split second frown sours his face. He refuses to let his baby brother see the remark stings. 

It’s not about dipping his stick in the oil, but he’ll let Sam believe it is. The facade is easier than admitting the truth.

He steps up to the counter, where she’s taking some other chumps order, and raises the cup he never put down to gain her attention. There might be a suave grin thrown her way. Definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Can I get another, sweetheart? Hot, and…just like you?” There’s a wag of his brow now.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says with a chuckle that makes her even more desirable. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

He wants to taste. He wants to touch. He wants her arms wrapped around him while he holds her tight. So he takes the opportunity presented to him. A brush of his fingers on hers when she hands the smooth ceramic back to him. Lingering as he gauges for any reaction. Any hint that she’s interested in being his comfort for the night.

“Thanks,” he says through a grin of goof and charm, and she smiles. Doesn’t even move her hand, and he knows he’s in with a chance.

“Can I get you anything else…?” she asks.

“Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” she repeats, and he wants to hear it again. Underneath him. On top of him. Legs wrapped ‘round his waist as she chants it into his ear. 

He’d settle for it once if it was on her doorstep, following an ‘I had a good time last night,’ and so he’s bolder. His choice of words, just as. “Any chance you’re getting off soon?”

And she chuckles, hearty and soft. Nods her head in consideration, tongue playing with her cheek as she looks him over nice and slow. “You don’t beat around the bush, huh, Dean?” 

“Depends on the carpets,” he says. 

It’s cheesy and cringe and doesn’t even make much sense, but it works. She’s placing the pot of coffee down, leaning in closer to him, hovering over him a couple of hours later in a room that’s both foreign in foundation and comfort.

Plush bedding that’s clean. No smoke or dust or grime in sight. 

A light that never flickers and appliances that don’t buzz.

There’s a thigh on either side of him, bent at the knees just as he wanted. A sheen of sweat between. Her hands, warm and soft, creep over his skin, tracing patterns with tingles that curl his toes and tense the muscles in his shoulders and glutes.

His arms pull her down on him, pushing himself further into her. Giving her more of him, and she moans. He does, too. The squeeze of her walls on the covered tip of his dick is wonderful, but it’s the look in her eyes that does it for him. 

There’s a connection, now, even if there might be none come morning. This lust that he can mistake for adoration is what he needs. What he craves.

He’s wanted. She feels. Her body is alive, and she cries his name. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks with a snap of his hips, savouring the next sound she makes. If they go another round, he’ll do it again. When he’s alone with just his hand, he’ll chase it with the memory of her trembling lips, thighs and chest.

He’s pulling her tit into his mouth. Wide to capture as much of her smooth skin as he can. He’ll remember the saltiness, too. The way her nipple pebbles as his tongue swipes over and around it. The way her pelvis rocks.

She’s grinding down on him. Her fingers are tugging into his hair, and as her nails scrape down to the nape of his neck, he’s pulling her stomach to his. 

He’s grabbing her ass and raising it up. He’s chasing both their highs.

And when it hits, and he feels his balls tighten, and her around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, he’s burying his nose into the junction between her hairline and ear. Inhaling the soap and shampoo. Her perfume. The sweat on her skin. He’s taking it all in and holding her tight.

In this moment, she’s his. 

The closeness she gives him. The warmth of her surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing on top of him.

He craves her.

He needs her.

And he’ll continue to, because it’s not just about sex. He loves the intimacy.

Read on AO3 || Masterlist—————————————————————Thank you so much for reading!

Coming soon! - Must Love Dogs - 24/01

(Dean’s POV - Humour - 900 words)

The Colonel needs to take a leak. Rather than risk the stench of dog piss in their already rank motel room, Dean, begrudgingly, obliges. It’s lucky(?) he does, because Dean will always pick up. —————————————————————TAGLIST- If you’d like to be tagged, lmk.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa

[trashmouth-richie]

✿ 𝒈𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆

✿eddie x female reader

✿triggers: 18+ smut, oral, female receiving, allusions of sex, mentions of not using a condom, a little hint of ass eating

✿summary: literally no plot, sorry. 

✿800 words

Bumblebees. 

The watercolor print made a delicate pattern of the little creature along the eggshell cotton of your sundress. 

The dress which was once pretty and brand new was now hiked up to your ribs, the delicate fabric wet, crushed between your front teeth. 

His mouth was stained with your cum the same way your dress had been painted in the tacky milk of his. Eddie muttered nonsense into your puffy lips, lapping his tongue like a hurricane against you. His rings bit into your hips as he held you in place. 

“You taste like honey, princess.” 

He groaned into the apex of your thighs, running his nose along your sex, devouring your scent, every inch of the dripping wetness from you. 

Butterfly shy moans spilled over your lips as you came again, and again. The rumors of Eddie “Twister Tongue” Munson were true, but you never expected it to be that true, but time and time and time again, it somehow was better than the last time. 

He was a legend, a God amongst men. His venom tongue piercings buzzed in harmony against his tongue, pooling spit and sliding against your clit with each flick he teased. 

You cried out as you came a third time, his bangs between your fingers as you pulled and yanked and ground your hips up to meet his mouth. His groans vibrated between your legs when you squeezed him in place, riding out your high.

“Shit, that’s a first for me,” he panted when you finally released him and he collapsed beside you on the laid out blanket and spilled bottles of beer. 

Your eyes were still closed, reveling in the lingering tingle of goosebumped and sweat slicked skin. “Hm?”

Eddie wasn’t shy, always spoke whatever was on his mind and didn’t care if it bothered anyone. 

He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag speaking before he exhaled, “I came while eating you out.” 

Your eyes widen in shock, embarrassment but he leans on an elbow and looks down the slope of his nose, “it just means I liked it, and you taste really fucking good.” 

Eddie flicks his tongue and you laugh, shoving his shoulder and sitting up, almost light headed from the earth shattering orgasms—plural because jesus take the fucking wheel his tongue was better than heaven itself.

You tried to stand but Eddie pulled you back into him by your waist, “you’re gonna want to sit a while, get some strength back in those legs,” he said, squeezing the pad of fat on your inner thighs as he adjusted his legs around you. 

He pulled another drag through his lips and blew the smoke past your shoulder, dimples dipped into his cheeks, and you relaxed against his chest.

“Was this the good seat you were talking about?” 

Eddie blanched, remembering that the seat he was talking about was his face. “Nah, this one is better.” 

The sun dipped on the horizon, casting the Indiana sky into blushing shades of peaches and cream. He had another cigarette as you relaxed into him fully, running your fingers against the veins protruding from his skin, tracing the lines of his tattoos. 

You felt good against him, you always did. Smelling like apples and cinnamon, the sweetness of pie still on his lips. The moon cast her pretty face into the sky before he decided that it was time to get you home before your roommate wondered if the freak had kidnapped you, again. 

“One of these days,” Eddie said, moving your dress strap back into place on your shoulder, “we should go on a real date.” 

You look at him incredulously, “a date? Isn’t that against one of your rules? No dates, no calling, no condoms?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged looking at you with those baby doll eyes, “but, there’s something you haven’t let me taste yet…and I wanna know if it’s as sweet as that pussy is.”

[bits-and-babs]

Im so sorry I didn’t see this till after request were closed but so idk if you gon see this but, f!reader had her nipples pierced? I’m sorry but I feel like price would be obsessed with readers piercings like if she had a tongue piercing too? Manz would go crazy. Smut? Dw if not <33

✦ 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 6: NIPPLE PIERCINGS

cds!john price x recruit!reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: three months into your sas training course, chief directional instructor captain john price drills you on cold-water-shock survival.

cw: f!reader, cold water shock, power imbalance (recruit x directing staff), secret relationship, breast/nipple play, p in v sex, cream pie.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 7: INCUBUS ⇾

It wasn’t as though there hadn’t been sufficient warning, but three years of service in the British army was nowhere near enough to prepare your body for the brutal battering that SAS selection subjected it to. Your blisters had blisters, and your body pulsed with a bone-deep ache every time you managed to crawl into bed upon dismissal. 

You had been sufficiently warned… About everything except this. 

Freezing cold water drips from your nose as you hoist yourself out of the pool at the base of the waterfall. Cold-Water-Shock training was a standard part of SAS selection– the ability to control your own discomfort and maintain a level head whilst also teaching the fundamentals of surviving sub-zero. January weather meant temperature levels were unsurvivable past a handful of seconds, and you could feel why. 

The process was simple. Fully submerge yourself into the icy depths before raising to the surface and keeping your chin above water. Next step; breathe. Regain composure and steady your breathing to fight the effects of cold-shock. Recruitment Staff would then ask you a handful of simple questions to assess competency before heaving you out of the water. 

You’d passed, you felt, with flying colours. The savagery of the otherworldly Brecon Beacons had failed to shake your resolve, answering the questions with ease. Even now, drenched to the bone and involuntarily trembling, you maintained a strong eye contact with Chief Directional Instructor Price as he eyed you with a stern expression. 

It’s momentary— barely there. You’d have missed it had you blinked. Price’s thick eyelashes, made damp by the sleet that had been battering the group all morning, dipped below your face. Sapphire blue irises glint in the low light when they zero in on their target. You hadn’t worn a bra this morning given you’d been forced out of bed at the arse-crack of dawn and expected to be in the van within five minutes… They’d left you little to no choice. 

Regardless of this reasonable explanation, you suddenly begin to regret your decision to forgo the cover, Staff Price gazing at the way your grey t-shirt clings to your pebbled nipples and the exposed shape of the piercing balls either side of each mound. 

“That’ll be all, 16,” he says, that raspy grit to his voice warming you from the inside-out. That fever encroaches on the apples of your cheeks when you realise he’s yet to pull his eyes away. 

“… Yes Staff.”

✦✦✦

“You did that on purpose.”

John’s voice, husky and full, was surprisingly even considering how tight your pussy walls clenched around his thick, veiny cock. You wail quietly at the soft breath that dances across your assaulted skin, nipples so incredibly sensitive. Sucked and nibbled and licked, the tender skin screams when Price drags the flat of his tongue over your pierced nipple with a delighted hum. 

“N-No—“ you choke out, the overstimulation of your nipples sending another shockwave of bliss down your spine. You know you’re squeezing him, because John ruts up into your fluttering pussy with a far less composed groan. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to!”

“You’re not foolin’ anyone, Love,” John murmurs, gently taking your pebbled nipple between his teeth and rolling it. 

You see stars— swirls of technicolour dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly you squeeze them shut against the cataclysmic pleasure that seeps between your thighs. When John jerks his hips up again, you can hear how wet you are. It’s sloppy, disgustingly soaked, and Price loves it. 

“Fuckin’— Hah-“ John moans against the supple flesh of your breast, wrapping his lips around it and sucking on the hypersensitised skin. This time, when you arch your back from the bed with a wail of his name, he begins a slow and leisurely pace with his hips. 

Burying your fingers into the short-crop of his hair, you brace against the ticking bomb of your orgasm as it approaches. Each long stroke of John’s hips makes another disgustingly wet sound, your cunt greedily sucking him in and creaming around his throbbing dick as he flicks his tongue back and forth across your abused nipple. His other palm, battle calloused and rough, squeezed the other breast, thumb equally torturing your second nipple. 

It comes in waves; cresting, crashing tsunamis rather than soft laps of the ocean on a beach. A prickling heat that singes away the Beacon’s icy cold from your toes and creeps up the inside of your thighs. Your heart slams against John’s lips, your hands pushing into the back of his head to keep him there while you chase what could only be described as liquidation. 

“Ohmygod—“ you slur, and it’s as though the edges of your vision blacken. In truth, you’re not sure what you call him as you come apart on his cock, sobbing out a hapless string of garbled noises that don’t sound anything like his name. Toes curling either side of his hips, you fail to brace against the overstimulation that rips violently through you. 

“Fucken’ ‘ell—“ he groans deeply, a guttural growl that seems to vibrate the atoms in the air around you. The deliberate, methodical thrusts of his hips suddenly pitch to a sloppy, desperate gallop. John’s hands grasp the bed sheets so tight you almost hear the threads strain against the pull. 

He cums, coating the inside of your cunt with a rumble of your name that sounds so foreign to your ears with the afterglow buzzing in your eardrums. John continues to fuck you through it, taking pleasure in the way you squirm and squeal and cry until his cum seeps between your legs, coating the inside of your thighs with his seed. 

Sharp, heaving breaths echo in his small quarters, and you’re almost certain that his fellow DS had definitely heard you this time. But when John places his damp forehead to yours, eyes closed as he relishes in the bliss of being so close to you for just a moment longer, you struggle to find it in yourself to worry. 

“You should wear a bra,” John mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips— but missing in the haze of post-orgasm-bliss and settling for a peck on the corner of your mouth. 

“Why?” You muse, still a little breathless as he works his lips down your chin and over your jaw. The gruff, burly Chief of Directing Staff was so affectionate when the door was closed. You knew that this thing you had going on was more serious than a thing when you stopped being anxious about getting caught and being kicked off the course— instead stressing about John offering his tenderness to another recruit. “If this is how you react to seeing me with a wet shirt and no bra, I’ll dunk myself in that water every damn day.”

In a moment of sobriety, John pulls back to look you in the eye. His aquamarine irises hold a heavy seriousness that makes your breath stall for a moment, afraid you’d said something out of line. 

“Love, I completed that whole trainin’ session with a rock hard cock.” 

A beat. 

Just before peals of laughter burst from you. John rolls his eyes, turning onto his back on the mattress. Still, he’s unable to bite back the smile that pulls on his lips.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[moonstruckme]

apple pie - send a character + a prompt off this list and I’ll write a drabble

hi mae!! congrats on 7k you're amazing! the new pfp is also very pretty. so, can I please get ⁴⁾ red-painted nails with james? thank you very much!

Thanks lovely!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 450 words

You’ve observed that while your boyfriend has many talents, James is not good at slow-going, punctilious tasks. He can’t sit still. 

“I can too!” he insists when you share this with him. “You can’t sit still.” 

James is sitting with the wrist of your hand grasped in one of his, the other wielding the brush of your nail polish between two fingers. He’s concentrating so hard that his tongue is peeking out from the corner of his mouth, and yet thus far he’s managed to paint most of your fingertip a bright red. 

“It helps if my hand is resting on something steady,” you offer. 

“Are you saying I don’t have a steady grip?” 

“No. Of course not.” You suppress a smile. James tries to start on your next finger, and it naturally dips under the weight of the brush. 

“Angel, could you stay still?” 

“I’m trying!” you laugh. He tries to give you a vexed look, co-opted from his moodier friends (James is not truly prone to vexation), but his lips betray him by twitching. 

“You’re intentionally sabotaging me.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“So that when you show up to the match tomorrow, you’ll have one nice hand and one shit hand, and everyone will know who did which.” 

You roll your eyes, grinning. You painted the nails on your left hand to show James how it’s done. Admittedly, it does look far neater than the mayhem he’s inflicting upon your right. 

“It’s normal for one hand to look better than the other,” you tell him. “Anyway, it still counts as Gryffindor spirit whether it’s messy or not, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” James mumbles. “You’ll wave at me with this hand, right?” 

“If you want me to.” 

“Good.” He kisses the tip of one of your fingers that’s dried. You wince. You feel like that much polish could be poisonous. “You know, I actually don’t care if people know I did this one. It shows that you trusted me enough to do it, yeah?” 

“Wrongly, it seems.” 

“So sweet.” James pretends as though he hasn’t heard you, pecking you on the lips. “Honestly, if I get it all over your whole hand, that’ll probably be even better luck for the team. More red to cheer us on.” 

You eye his hand holding the brush. “You won’t, though, right? Like, that’s not the goal.” 

“I’ll try not to. But you won’t wipe it off, will you, sweetheart? You’ll leave it the way it is?” 

“I…sometimes when I wash my hands, bits come off…” 

“Then just don’t wash your hands.” At your incredulous look, James clarifies, “Only until after the match. Please?” 

You sigh. “All right.” 

He kisses you again. “Attagirl.” 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Herbs, Spices & Seasoning

Herbs and spices can add flavor and variety to your food.

Use a little at first, then add more when you are sure you like the flavor.

To substitute dry herbs for fresh, use ¼ teaspoon powder or 1 teaspoon crushed for 1 tablespoon fresh chopped herbs. Some herbs and spices are expensive.

You might want to buy only a few of the less expensive herbs and spices you will use.

Herbs and spices lose flavor and can spoil or get buggy if kept in the cupboard longer than a year.

If you use herbs and spices slowly, buy small containers, or store them in the freezer.

Uses of Herbs, Spices & Seasonings

Allspice - A mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Use in fruit desserts, pumpkin pie, apple cider, cakes, cookies, chicken, beef and fish dishes.

Basil - Tomato and egg dishes, stews, soups and salads

Bay leaves - Tomato dishes, fish and meat dishes

Celery seed - Juices, soups, salads, vegetables, pot roasts, poultry, rolls and biscuits

Chili powder - Chili, bean and rice dishes

Chives - Potato dishes, soups, dips and sauces

Cilantro - Latin American, Indian and Chinese dishes, salsa, stir fries, (Coriander leaves) legume or rice salads, hot cooked rice, grilled chicken or fish, or a dish of ripe tomatoes. Use fresh if possible.

Cinnamon - French toast, fruit and fruit salads, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and squash, puddings and apple desserts, ham or pork chops

Cloves - Whole cloves on ham or pork roast; ground cloves to season pear or apple desserts, beets, beans, tomatoes, squash and sweet potatoes

Coriander seed - Middle Eastern dishes, spice cakes and cookies, soups, roast pork and salad dressing

Cumin - Mexican, Middle Eastern and Indian dishes; beef and lamb, dry bean dishes, marinades, chili and tomato sauces; ingredient in curry powder

Dillweed - Tuna or salmon salad, potato salad, pickles, dips and sauces

Garlic - Mexican, Italian and Oriental dishes and in salad dressings; can be used fresh or dried, minced or powder

Ginger (fresh) - Oriental dishes, marinades for chicken or fish, fruit salad, dressings

Ginger (ground) - Gingerbread, spice cake, pumpkin pie, poultry or meat, soups, stews, stuffing, squash, sweet potatoes

Ground peppers: black, Cayenne & white pepper - Meats, casseroles, vegetables and soups

Italian seasoning - A mixture of marjoram, oregano, basil and rosemary; use in Italian dishes such as spaghetti

Marjoram - Egg and cheese dishes, meats, fish, poultry and vegetables

Mint - Fruit salads and fruit soups, melon, berries, cold fruit beverages, cooked carrots or peas, chilled yogurt soup, lamb, tabbouleh

Mustard - Sauces for meat and fish, in marinades, salad dressings, chutneys, pickles and relishes

Nutmeg - Cooked fruits, pies and desserts, baked items, spinach, sweet potatoes, eggnog and French toast

Onion - Any dish where onion flavor is desired; can be used fresh or dried (minced or powder)

Oregano - Italian dishes, chili, omelets, beef stew, meat loaf, pork and vegetables such as broccoli or tomatoes

Parsley - Meat, soup or vegetable dishes; adds color

Paprika - Stew, chicken, fish, potatoes, rice and hard-cooked eggs

Rosemary - Egg dishes, meats, fish, soups and stews, and vegetables

Thyme - Fish, poultry or meats, in soups or stews, vegetable salads

If these writing notes help with your poem/story, do tag me. Or send me a link. I'd love to read them!

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