#just don't let them shake hands with frankie and everything will be.... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capuccinodoll · 3 months ago

Text

The boyfriend act, part 10: "The one with the skydiving" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: It’s the day after the wedding, and you and Frankie aren’t being too open about it. You jump together, and it makes sense, of course, that you fall. WC: 8.6K

A/N: Okay, so here’s what happened: I started writing chapter 10 and just kept going and going, and before I knew it, it was WAY too long. So, I split it in two. This is chapter 10, and chapter 11 will be up sometime between tomorrow and monday because, honestly, I can’t wait to share it!!! lol If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!

Frankie was the first to wake.

He lay on his side, eyes half-lidded, his body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t fade overnight. For a few seconds—four, maybe five—he simply existed in the quiet, his mind sluggish, untangling the fog of sleep. And then he remembered.

The previous night played back in pieces: your hands, the soft drag of your voice, the way you had looked at him. He exhaled, the air catching in his throat as his gaze settled on you. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting pale streaks across your bare shoulder. You were still asleep, your breathing even, your face turned slightly away from him. You looked peaceful. That was the first thing that unnerved him.

The second was the sharp vibration of his phone on the nightstand. The sound cut through the silence like an alarm meant for something urgent, something ominous. Get up. Get out. Now.

For a fleeting, desperate moment, he considered it. Panic gripped him, quick and suffocating. It would be easier to leave. Slip out before you woke, before you had the chance to regret anything. Before you could look at him with the kind of quiet disappointment that would make his chest ache for days.

But he couldn’t do that. Not to you. Not to himself.

If you woke and found him gone, it would undo everything—the slow, careful progress of the past few days. He wasn’t sure what that progress meant, not exactly, but he knew it mattered. And he wasn’t ready to lose it.

So he stayed.

He reached for his phone, silencing the alarm with a swipe of his thumb. 8:00 a.m. His eyes burned, his head ached, but he closed them again, let himself drift in the shallow space between sleep and wakefulness.

When he opened them again, he startled, instinctively checking the time. Only twenty minutes had passed.

He supposed the rational thing to do would be to wake you. Shake your shoulder gently, say your name, ease you into consciousness before the weight of the morning settled in.

But then he turned his head and saw you, exactly as you had been hours ago. You hadn’t moved. Still curled on your side, facing him, one hand tucked beneath your jaw. Your breathing steady, your face soft, undisturbed. He had never seen you like this—so completely at ease, as if the world beyond this bed didn’t exist.

And so he stayed quiet. Let another moment pass before dragging you into the aftermath of what you’d done. Another moment before you opened your eyes and saw him there, before recognition flickered across your face, before regret had the chance to settle in your expression like a bruise.

So he watched you instead. Two, maybe three minutes of memorizing you, as if his mind had no choice but to press the image of you deeper and deeper into itself. The curve of your brows, the dark shadow of your lashes against your cheek, the fullness of your lips—soft, inviting, impossibly close. His own breath felt unnatural in his chest, too aware of itself, too careful.

Something shifted in him then, a pulse of warmth in his ribs that curled low in his stomach, spreading outward like a lit fuse. Familiar. Dangerous. His throat tightened. His fingers twitched against the sheets. And then, just as quickly, something cold followed—a sharp, sinking understanding. It was too late.

Too late. Something changed.

Almost without thinking—acting on impulse, or maybe just a need to break the silence pressing in on him—Frankie reached out and let his fingers brush against your shoulder. A light touch, barely there. You shifted, just slightly, but didn’t wake.

For a second, he considered letting you sleep a little longer. So he let his gaze wander around the room, taking in details he had never really considered before. He had been here before, of course, but never like this, never with the luxury of stillness. The dresser at the foot of the bed held a neat row of books, their spines softened from use, stacked beside two picture frames. One of you and Emma, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. The other, a quieter moment—your face turned toward your father, something warm and unguarded in your expression. Above it all, the television hung dark and unlit, a black void against the pale wall.

On the floor, a scattering of shoes—heels, mostly. He imagined you stepping into them, then stepping out just as quickly, discarding them in favor of something better. By the window, a chair, half-buried under a pile of clothes, as if you had thrown them there in a hurry, already thinking about something else. He could see you doing it. He could see you standing there, sighing, pressing your fingers to your temples before turning away.

Then, a sound. A quiet, insistent scratch, followed by a high, barely-there meow.

He exhaled, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and pushed himself up. The floor was cool against his feet as he walked to the door. When he cracked it open, a small shape darted in—Mr. Darcy, tail held high, back slightly arched as he rubbed himself against Frankie’s legs with a kind of determined affection.

“Good morning,” Frankie murmured, crouching down to run a hand over the cat’s head. Mr. Darcy blinked up at him, then pushed his face into Frankie’s palm before pulling away again.

He turned back toward the hallway, his green eyes wide and expectant, then let out another quiet meow.

Frankie frowned. “What’s up, buddy?” The cat meowed again. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

Mr. Darcy flicked his tail, like maybe he wasn’t impressed with the question, like maybe Frankie should already know the answer.

The cat turned without hesitation and padded down the hallway, glancing back just once, as if to make sure Frankie understood. He did. His instructions were clear. So, he followed.

When he caught up, Darcy had already settled beside an empty dish, sitting upright, his tail curled neatly around his paws. He flicked his gaze between Frankie and the bowl, expectant.

“Yeah, you’re hungry,” Frankie observed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped closer. He glanced toward the cabinets, exhaling. He had no idea where you kept the food, and he didn’t want to make a mess looking for it. Still, he crouched down, opened one door, then another, moving carefully, aware that he was rummaging through someone else’s kitchen. Eventually, he found what he was looking for—a nearly full container pushed toward the back of a shelf.

Behind him, Darcy let out a pleased little chirp of approval. Frankie huffed a quiet laugh.

“I don’t know if she feeds you at this hour, buddy,” he said, unscrewing the lid. “You better not get me in trouble.”

He crouched again, tipping just the right amount into the dish. Darcy immediately dipped his head, ears twitching as he focused on his meal, content and undisturbed. Frankie lingered for a moment, watching him eat, then sealed the container and put it back where he’d found it.

The apartment was quiet. He pressed his hands against the counter, letting his weight settle there for a beat. Darcy crunched his food, unconcerned.

Standing there, he let his gaze drift across your living room. His jacket was still slung over the armchair, exactly where he’d left it the night before, and your journal—left open, pages curling slightly at the edges—sat on the coffee table. The sight of it sent something uneasy through him, like he had glimpsed a version of himself that didn’t quite make sense.

What the hell was he doing?

Why was he here, in your house, moving through your space with an ease that should have felt unnatural but didn’t? Feeding your cat like it was just another part of his morning routine, like he had done it a hundred times before. Even the smell of your apartment—faint traces of coffee, something floral, something unmistakably you—felt familiar in a way it shouldn’t. As if he had spent more time here than he actually had.

It didn’t add up. And it was unsettling, wrong. He had no reason to feel this comfortable.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

A month ago, he could barely stand you. And you—well, you had made it very clear the feeling was mutual. It hadn’t even been two months since he first stepped into your apartment and you had greeted him with a can of Coke and a look that could’ve frozen him solid. Not even two months since Santiago had taken one look at the two of you and laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.

The quiet stretched between him and the sound of Darcy’s methodical chewing. He needed to wake you up. To say something, to break whatever spell had settled over this moment before it unraveled into something he wouldn’t know how to explain.

He pushed himself up from the counter, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might help shake off the lingering heaviness of sleep. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that made him move softer, more aware of the space he was in. He took a quick detour to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, running a hand through his hair. It didn’t do much, but it was enough. Then he turned back toward your room.

You were still there, curled up beneath the sheets, your breathing deep and steady. Sleep clung to you like a second skin. He wondered, briefly, if you’d been comfortable like that, in last night’s dress, or if it had twisted around you in ways that made it impossible to rest.

His shoes were at the edge of your bed. He reached for them, moving carefully, the quiet feeling heavier now that he was trying not to break it. Slipping them on, he walked back to where he’d been sitting not long ago and lowered himself onto the mattress beside you.

His fingers found your shoulder, his touch featherlight, testing. He said your name, soft, careful. You didn’t stir. Instead, you let out a small, sleepy sound—one of those drowsy, unwilling whimpers, the kind kids make when they’re being nudged awake too early for school.

He tried again, his fingertips grazing over your skin, your name forming once more on his lips. This time, your eyes fluttered open.

Frankie watched you, still and waiting. He braced himself for something—confusion, regret, the sharp edge of a boundary being drawn.

But instead, you smiled.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I—”

“What time is it?”

Frankie glanced at his phone, the screen too bright in the dim light of the room. “Quarter to nine.”

“Oh,” you murmured, shifting beneath the sheets as you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Shit, my makeup. I probably look like a panda.”

You sat up, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and fixed him with a squint, like you were still adjusting to the light—or maybe to the sight of him sitting there.

“Have you been up long?” You asked.

“A little while.” He leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his knee. “I fed Darcy. Hope that’s okay.”

“Ah, well.” You stretched your arms over your head, then you exhaled, your words lost for a moment in a yawn. “That’s all right.”

Then you looked at him, really looked at him, your face still and unreadable in the quiet.

Frankie held your gaze, steady at first, until something in his chest tightened. He looked down at his lap.

“You feeling okay?” His voice was quieter now, less sure.

“Yeah. You?”

“Good. Not hungover?” He tilted his head, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I need coffee.”

Frankie huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Me too.”

“I’ll make some.” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching again before padding toward the door. “Feel well enough to jump out of an airplane?”

He smirked, mirroring your movement as he got up and followed.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” His footsteps were heavy behind you as you made your way to the kitchen. “I feel good. What about you?”

“I’m not missing that jump,” you said, throwing him a glance as you opened the fridge. You grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and handed it to him. He took it without thinking, his fingers brushing over yours for a brief second. “What time should we leave?”

“Ten o’clock sounds good.”

Your eyes flicked open wider, a spark of surprise breaking through the haze of sleep. “That’s in an hour.”

“That’s right.” Frankie lifted the bottle to his lips, tipping it back as he swallowed. The cold water cut through the dryness in his throat, and he gestured vaguely with the bottle before setting it back down. “I’ll go home, take a shower, and come back for you. That okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine. A shower sounds amazing.”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Okay.”

He placed the bottle on the counter beside you and stepped toward the living room, grabbing his jacket from where he’d tossed it the night before.

“Aren’t you going to have coffee?”

“When I get back, okay?”

You nodded again, though the hesitation in your face made him grin. Jacket draped over his arm, hair still a mess from the night, he walked back toward you.

“I’ll see you in a bit. Get ready—wear something comfortable.”

And then, before he could think about it, before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.

It was brief, barely a second, but the warmth of your skin stayed with him as he pulled back. The realization of what he’d just done settled in immediately, heat rising up the back of his neck. He turned away, walking toward the door, suddenly hyperaware of his own movements.

“Uh—wear, um—wear comfortable shoes,” he added, grasping for something to say.

His hand was on the doorknob when he finally glanced back at you. Your expression unreadable, your posture relaxed, still tucked into the kitchen like you hadn’t quite caught up to the moment either.

“I’ll be back,” he said, voice quieter now. Then, after a beat, “I’ll be right back.”

“Bye, Francisco,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Frankie pulled the door shut behind him and took the stairs two at a time, his heartbeat a little too quick, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. His body felt too warm, like he’d just stepped out of a too-hot shower, but at the same time, his hands were cold. By the time he reached the front door and stepped outside, the cool morning air hit his face, soft and bracing all at once. It felt like a reset. Like a kiss against his overheated skin.

But the relief was short-lived.

A creeping discomfort settled in his chest, something uneasy and unformed. You hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t flinched or looked at him funny. No wide-eyed stare, no awkward shifting. It was like nothing had happened.

Hadn’t it?

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you’d already forgotten.

But—no. He was almost sure you weren’t drunk enough to forget something like that. Almost. And yet, the possibility wedged itself into his mind, refusing to be dismissed.

Had you forgotten?

Or worse—had it just meant nothing?

Christ.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as he crossed the street.

What the hell had he been thinking?

“Nothing. It was like nothing happened.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at you from the video call, her face filling most of your screen as you propped your phone up on the nightstand. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on your sneakers, hair still damp from the shower. The conversation had been going since you stepped out, and you had told her everything. Everything.

“Would you have liked him to say something about it,” she asked, tilting her head, “or am I imagining that?”

“Yes,” you admitted without hesitation, before catching yourself. You glanced at the screen. “I mean—see, we almost fucked last night. That doesn’t exactly seem insignificant.”

“What surprises me most is that you even kissed.” She folded her arms, looking personally offended. “When exactly were you going to tell me things had changed this much? I feel like I’ve been lied to.”

“I did tell you we kissed.”

“You told me you kissed at his mother’s birthday. Pretend kissed. For show. That’s very different from actually kissing.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you tied the laces of your shoes. “That was all that had happened until last night. I wasn’t keeping anything from you. Don’t be toxic.”

Emma scoffed, unconvinced. “So just the staged kiss at Helena’s birthday, and then last night?”

“Exactly.” You stood up, grabbing your phone and holding it closer.

She hummed, unconvinced. “Sounds like a lot more than nothing, babe.”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head at her, but the truth of it was sitting somewhere in your chest, annoying and persistent.

“Yeah, well, apparently we’re pretending it didn’t happen.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t wait for him to bring it up. You bring it up. He’s probably overthinking it, freaking out, or some dumb shit like that. It’s not like your relationship is the most normal one in the world.”

“You’re not wrong about that.”

“Exactly. So say something.”

You groaned, tilting your head back. “I won’t.”

“Coward.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you afraid of what he’s going to say?”

“No,” you said, forcing a smile. “It’s just—awkward, isn’t it? We almost slept together. Am I supposed to pretend like nothing happened? Good God, he saw me half-naked.”

Emma’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “No way. Francisco Morales saw you naked? That’s it, you’re going to disintegrate. It was nice knowing you.”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, heat crawled up your neck, settling in your cheeks like a second-degree burn. You groaned, pressing a hand over your face, shaking your head as if that would somehow undo everything.

“This can’t be happening, Emma. Francisco. We’re talking about Francisco. Francisco the obnoxious. Francisco the asshole. Santiago’s Francisco. What the fuck did I do? I completely fucked up.”

Emma sighed, tucking her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she walked through her apartment.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t fuck anything up. Nothing would’ve happened if he wasn’t up for it too, honey.” She adjusted the camera so she could look directly at you. “This is—listen to me.” Her voice softened slightly. “It happened, okay? And you need to deal with that. It’s not your fault, and it’s not his fault. Jesus, you’re two horny adults who almost slept together. That’s all.”

You let out a miserable groan, dropping back onto your bed.

“It’s humiliating. ‘You’re Santi’s sister.’” You mimicked his voice, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Fuck. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

Emma went quiet then, watching you carefully through the screen.

Your stomach twisted. “What?” you asked, more impatiently than you intended.

She didn’t blink. “You like him.”

The words hit like a sharp, well-aimed dart, right in the center of your chest. For a second, you didn’t move.

“No.” The denial left your lips automatically, even as you stayed perfectly still.

Emma’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yes, sweetheart. You like him.”

“That’s not true.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t like Francisco.”

Her lips twitched, like she was holding back laughter, her eyes bright with something unbearably smug.

“You like Francisco.”

“Emma, listen to me. I don’t like him. I can’t like him. It’s not possible. It’s not—” You searched for the right word, your brain scrambling. “It’s not functional.”

She barked out a laugh. “Functional?”

“Yes, functional,” you snapped. “He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s—he’s Francisco.” As if that alone should be enough. “Do you know what would happen if something like that happened? No—no, it’s not—”

Emma cut in before you could spiral further. “If the only excuse you can come up with for not letting yourself think about him that way is that he’s Santi’s friend, then, babe, that’s not a good enough reason.” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice firm. “And honestly, what does that even have to do with anything? You can like him. You don’t choose who you’re attracted to. It just happens.”

You pressed your lips together, heart hammering.

“And look,” she continued, “you know I don’t like him very much. I’ve spent years listening to you complain about him, about all the shit he’s said to you, the way he acted. I wanted to kill him. It sucked. But everything you’ve been telling me lately?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It sounds convincing. All that stuff about confusion and about that night ages ago—” She exhaled. “I have good judgment. Really good judgment. And you know it.”

“I know.”

“I believe him. I don’t think he’s that bad. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with liking him either.”

“I told you—”

“Yes, and I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head like she could see straight through you. “I’ve known you for twenty years; you can’t lie to me. It’s in your eyes. And that whole thing that happened last night, at the wedding? Are you fucking kidding me? That was hot.”

You let out a laugh, but it felt thin, forced. “Yeah, it was hot. But he wasn’t serious. He was just teasing me. He likes to do that—play with me. And since we don’t fight anymore, he’s just… trying to beat me at something else.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “I doubt a man would be that creative. He likes you.”

You opened your mouth, but she didn’t give you the chance.

“He told you he wouldn’t regret it in the morning. For God’s sake, are you kidding me?”

“He was drunk.”

She scoffed. “Even you don’t believe that.”

“Emma—”

“Okay.” She held up a hand. “Fine. I get it. It’s complicated. Just… think about it, consider it. There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.”

You stared at her through the screen, your chest tightening.

“It’s Francisco.”

Emma shrugged. “And you’re you. So?”

Your throat felt tight. You looked at her, doubt settling over you like a weight you weren’t prepared to carry.

“I don’t even know if he wants to talk about it,” you admitted. “The easiest thing to do is just… pretend it didn’t happen. That it was a mistake, that we were drunk, and…” You exhaled sharply. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I know, I get it.” Emma’s voice softened, but her words carried a quiet insistence. “But listen—he was there when you woke up. He didn’t leave. He fed your cat, for crying out loud. And after you woke up? He didn’t run off. He could have come up with an excuse to bail on the skydiving, couldn’t he? He could’ve said he was hungover, or in pain, or—hell, anything. But he didn’t. He stayed.”

As she spoke, a strange warmth spread across your chest, curling into your stomach. She was right. The easy way out was always within reach. But Frankie hadn’t taken it. Instead, he had kept pushing forward, right there with you, even if his reasons remained unclear. He kept showing up. Helping with the list, coming up with ideas, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t out of guilt. Maybe it was something else. But he was still there.

You let out a quiet breath.

“You really want it to be that simple,” you said softly, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “But it’s complicated. I… I need to take it one step at a time.”

“That’s acceptable.”

Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you jump.

Emma laughed. “First step: open the door for him.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a reluctant chuckle.

“I have to go, but I promise I’ll write you later, okay?”

“Don’t forget to send me a picture of you in the sky.”

“I won't.” You smiled, feeling a little lighter than before.

“And don’t forget to think about what I told you.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

Frankie set his hand against the doorframe, then thought better of it and pulled away. He took a half step back, creating space between himself and the entrance, listening to the faint sound of your voice from the other side. You were laughing, saying something too low for him to catch.

It was 10:05 a.m. He made a point of being on time. He’d showered quickly, dressed even faster. He hadn’t managed a sip of coffee before leaving, and now the late-morning heat pressed against his skin, settling in the fabric of his shirt. But he felt all right, better than an hour ago. His hair, still faintly damp from the shower, was hidden beneath a dark gray cap. His clothes were light—a black t-shirt, chino shorts.

When you opened the door, you were smiling, phone in hand, still halfway inside whatever conversation you’d been having a minute ago.

"Right on time," you said, stepping aside so he could come in.

He moved past you, eyes flicking toward you, careful and quick. Black denim shorts, a fitted white t-shirt, hair pulled back. You turned, already moving toward the stairs, and he followed, gaze fixed firmly on the steps, refusing to look at you in any way that might betray something unspoken. Especially not from that angle.

"I'm ready now, okay? Just need to check everything before we go," you said, disappearing into the apartment. Then, a brief glance back at him, like you were remembering something. "Have you had coffee?"

"No. You?"

"No," you said, already in the kitchen. You reached for Mr. Darcy’s saucer, filling it with water, your movements practiced, unthinking. His food bowl was still half full.

Frankie watched as you moved through the apartment, methodically shutting windows, pulling curtains closed with a practiced ease. The light shifted, dimming slightly, the space growing cooler. You grabbed your purse from the coffee table and walked toward the door, stopping beside him, your fingers curling around the doorknob.

"We can grab coffee before we head out," you said, looking up at him.

Frankie stepped over the threshold as you turned, shutting the door behind you. The lock clicked into place.

"Sounds good. I wouldn’t go for anything too heavy, though."

"But I’m craving something good," you said, already making your way down the stairs. "Aren’t you?"

He followed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe. I think we deserve it."

"I think so too."

At the bottom of the stairs, you opened the door, and he stepped out first. You locked up behind him, and as you turned, the movement sent a whisper of your perfume into the warm air between you. Clean, floral—like early summer mornings, fresh and soft.

"Come with me, it'll be quick," you said, already walking, not bothering to check if he was following.

Of course, he was. His gaze flickered over the back of your neck, the line of your spine, the curve of your shoulders, the way your arms swung naturally at your sides. Then lower—to your legs, to the sway of your hips, to the way your shorts sat on your body as you moved.

Frankie cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away, his hand ghosting to the back of his neck like it might ground him.

You walked a little further before stopping in front of a coffee shop. The storefront was charming, the kind of place that felt tucked away even when it was right in front of you. Through the window, people sat scattered at small tables, quiet in the hush of the morning.

You pulled open the door, and a rush of cool air greeted you both, a welcome contrast to the warmth outside. Frankie followed as you stepped in, scanning the space as you joined the line. Only one person stood ahead of you.

"The coffee here is really good," you murmured, leaning in slightly, your voice just for him. "And if you're getting something to eat, I recommend the blueberry cupcakes and the glazed donuts. The coconut cake is great too."

Frankie tilted his head, lowering his voice to match yours. "I’ll probably just get whatever’s easiest to eat in the car, to be honest."

You grinned, eyes bright with amusement. "No need. Order whatever you want—I can feed you while you drive."

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "That actually sounds kind of fun."

"Of course it does. I’m very skilled with the little airplane method."

Frankie laughed again but didn’t respond, his attention drifting to the glass display case lined with pastries. Donuts were the practical choice—no mess, no crumbs, nothing that would end up in his lap while he drove.

The woman ahead of you collected her order and stepped aside, moving toward the pickup counter, where cups of coffee were lined up in neat rows. Behind the counter, a barista worked quickly, pouring shots of espresso, scribbling names onto cups with a black marker.

You stepped forward, and the man at the register greeted you with an easy smile. Frankie moved up beside you, resting one hand on the counter, the other settling on his hip.

"It’s always good to see you," the guy said, his tone warm, familiar. "Made my morning, actually. I was thinking about stopping by to see you yesterday."

Frankie’s eyes flicked up, attention sharpening.

You smiled, and something in your body language shifted—smaller, softer. Shy, maybe.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tilting your head. "Any particular reason?"

Frankie’s gaze slid from your profile to the man behind the counter. Was he invisible?

"Yeah, actually. Two reasons," the guy said. "One—I need a book recommendation for my mom. And two, well, that one’s a little more complicated." He lowered his voice slightly. "I was wondering if we could talk later, if you have time. Nothing weird, don’t worry."

Frankie cleared his throat, glancing away before looking back at you. You nodded, your expression unreadable but amused.

"Sure," you said. "Are you going to be here later?"

"I'm afraid I'm only here until noon today," he said, leaning slightly against the counter. "But I can swing by the bookstore later if you want, after closing."

You nodded, but then your gaze flickered to Frankie, like you’d just remembered he was there.

"Oh, I won’t be in, sorry," you said easily. "We’ll be skydiving."

Frankie glanced at you, catching the flash of amusement in your eyes, the way you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. A quiet sort of pride sat beneath your words, like you were pleased with yourself for saying it out loud.

Then, as if just realizing, you gestured between them. "This is Frankie, by the way."

The stranger’s smile didn’t falter as he turned to him.

"Oh, nice to meet you, Frankie," he said, extending a hand. "I’m Bill."

Frankie reached out at an unhurried pace, his grip firm but easy, a small, unreadable smile on his lips.

"Bill. Nice to meet you. I heard the coffee here is good."

Bill’s face lit up a little more at the comment. "I hope so. Let me know what you think. First time here?"

Frankie gave a single nod.

"It is," you answered at the same time, looking at him with a knowing smile.

"Well, then," Bill said, resting his hands on the counter, "it’s on the house. Take your pick."

Frankie straightened slightly. "Oh, no need."

Bill mirrored the movement, studying him.

"No, I’m serious. Whatever you want." Then he shifted his gaze back to you, his voice taking on an easy familiarity. "Actually, you and I had an arrangement, didn’t we?"

You let out a quiet laugh, your fingers brushing against the side of your neck, a movement Frankie caught.

"That still stands?" you asked.

"Of course," the man said. "Anything for my favorite book dealer."

The laugh that slipped from your throat was quiet, intentional. A sound that felt as if it had been considered before being released. Your eyes narrowed, the corners creasing, fine, barely-there lines appearing for the briefest moment before smoothing out again.

Frankie ordered first. Black coffee, no sugar, no nonsense. Strong, thick, almost aggressive in its weight. Glazed doughnuts. You followed. A latte—also strong, also heavy, but softened with milk. Chocolate donuts because why not. Bill, all easy smiles and practiced efficiency, rang it up, then paused, lifting an eyebrow:

“So, skydiving?” He asked.

Which led to five minutes of you explaining the list thing, skirting around the details, giving just enough to satisfy curiosity but not enough to invite further questions. Bill nodded along, impressed. Wished you both luck. And just before you stepped away, he turned to Frankie.

“How’s the coffee?”

Frankie’s response was a single nod. "It's really good." He said, his cap shadowing his eyes as he reached for the door. That was that.

Ten minutes later, the car smelled like coffee and sugar.

Neither of you had said much, both too preoccupied with the food in your hands, the heat of the coffee on your tongues.

Shit. It was good. Really good.

Through the speakers, I Wanna Be Your Dog by The Stooges pulsed low and scratchy. Frankie chewed, his jaw working as he shook his head slightly, almost to himself, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Then, still chewing, still looking straight ahead, he spoke. “He’s into you.”

You had your coffee raised halfway to your mouth. Paused. Lowered it.

“What?”

Frankie swallowed. “Bill.”

You frowned. “Bill?”

“Yes.”

“No, he’s not.” You shook your head, attention flicking back to your donut.

Frankie let out a small, almost amused breath. “Yeah. He is.”

He could feel your gaze on him like sunlight pressing against the side of his face. He didn’t look at you. Just smiled.

“No,” you said finally, certain. “I don’t think so. He’s just nice. A nice person.”

“A nice man who’s into you.”

“Mhm.” You made a small sound, noncommittal, tilting your head slightly. “I bet you'd like that.”

That made him laugh. He glanced at you, brief, testing. You were still looking at him and for some reason, it made his chest feel too open, like he’d turned himself inside out without meaning to.

“How’s that?”

“Well.” You stretched the word out, dragging it a little. “If that were true, it’d work out pretty well for you. Maybe I’d get a real boyfriend and finally leave you alone.”

“You think so?”

“Yes,” you said, voice barely softer than usual, but just enough that he caught it. Then silence. A silence he didn’t want to break. A silence he wanted to hand over to you, let you decide what to do with it.

And then you did.

“I don’t need a boyfriend.” You shrugged, the movement easy, thoughtless. “I already have a fake one, anyway. That counts, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” he asked, watching the road, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re here. And you’re good at faking it.” You exhaled, the sound barely there. “Lately, you don’t even need a witness.”

Something about the way you said it landed differently. Not playful, not teasing, just something you were letting into the air, unclaimed. Frankie’s hands tightened, his knuckles briefly going white. Last night sat there between you. He wondered if you were finally going to say something about it.

But you didn’t.

“You take me places,” you continued, as if you hadn’t just given him a reason to stop breathing. “You help me with my list. You even fed my cat.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. He shook his head, glanced at you again, then back at the road.

“I think you’re describing a servant.” His lips twitched. “I am your servant.”

You clicked your tongue. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t worry. I like helping you. Feels good to be useful for a change.”

"Francisco, enough. Don’t say that."

He laughed, the sound rolling through his chest like a wave, rising and settling. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Well, let me help you with something too.”

Frankie huffed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re already helping me. You’re my girlfriend, the light of my eyes, my heart—at least in front of my family, remember?”

You laughed, filling the tight space of the car like sunlight through a crack. Frankie caught the slight nod of your head in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, right,” you said. “But I mean it. If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

He glanced at you, longer than he should have, taking in the shape of you in his passenger seat, the way your fingers curled around your coffee cup.

“You’re doing good. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t respond, just smiled to yourself, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands.

A few seconds passed, the kind that stretched out too long, where the air seemed to change in density, pressing down just a little. The music played, filling the space, but it wasn’t enough to stop the creeping thoughts. Frankie exhaled, thumb tapping against the steering wheel, a small, restless movement.

Why weren’t you saying anything about last night? Had you really forgotten?

Without thinking, he reached down and grabbed his phone, holding it out toward you.

“Here,” he said. “Put on some music.”

You took it without hesitation, eyebrows lifting, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face.

“Wow. You’re actually handing over control of the music? Must be my lucky day.”

Frankie laughed, his mind drifting somewhere else entirely.

The drive from Austin to San Antonio passed in pieces—fragments of conversation, long stretches of silence thick with things unsaid. By the time you pulled up at the airfield, the sun was high, casting sharp-edged shadows across the tarmac. The place felt wide open, almost empty, the metal hangars spaced out along the runway, a handful of small planes parked off to the side. A flag snapped in the wind, the Texas air heavy with heat and the distant churn of engines and propellers, voices carrying from the other jumpers and staff.

Eric, the instructor, was tall, mid-forties, with a loose, easy smile and a handshake that felt like a formality rather than a necessity. His jumpsuit was blue, sleeves patched with embroidered logos, sunglasses catching the glare off the pavement.

He and Frankie hugged, the kind of greeting that held years of familiarity. Then, casually, Frankie introduced you—his girlfriend. They fell into conversation, catching up on life, exchanging news. Their voices blurred together as your eyes drifted over the space, your stomach twisting with something you didn’t want to name. Then, suddenly, the thought landed fully in your mind: you were about to throw yourself out of a fucking plane.

But before you could sink too deep into that, Eric clapped his hands.

“Alright, first things first—we have to deal with the boring part,” he said, amused, leading you inside a small office. The walls were cluttered with framed certificates and pictures of past jumpers, frozen mid-air, grinning.

He slid a stack of papers across the desk—liability waivers, legal forms outlining all the things that could go wrong.

“Basically, this says that if you die, you can’t sue us,” he said, grinning. “But don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

“Wow,” you said. “So reassuring.”

Eric laughed, and just as you were about to reach for the pen, you felt it—Frankie’s hand, warm against your back, moving in a slow, careful rhythm. Your breath caught slightly before you exhaled.

Once the forms were signed, Eric led you both to a training area where the other participants were already gathered. He walked through the basics: how to hold your body in freefall, how to bend your legs for landing, why it was important to keep your head up and, above all, not to grab at anything once you were in the air.

“It’s kind of like swimming in a vacuum,” he said, tightening the straps on the harness. “The trick is to let go and trust the equipment.”

He checked each buckle with precision, giving them a final tug before patting you both on the shoulder. "Ready?"

You turned to Frankie. He was already looking at you. His black jumpsuit fit snugly, his hair a mess from the cap he’d been wearing earlier, from his hands running through it. Without thinking, you moved closer, your body tilting toward him. His hand found its place on your back again, tracing up until it rested on your shoulder.

"It’s going to be fine," he said, low and close to your ear. "Eric’s a pro. And I’ll be right there, watching you from above when you jump."

"I’m really scared," you admitted, a nervous smile forming before you could stop it.

Frankie pulled you in, his arms warm around you. You let your forehead rest against his chest. Beneath all the noise—voices, wind, the distant hum of engines—you could hear his heartbeat.

After a moment, you leaned back just enough to look up at him, something tight forming in your throat.

"You’ve done this before?"

"No." His lips twitched, his eyes fixed on you.

"And you’re not scared?" You glanced toward Eric, who was deep in conversation with another instructor a few feet away. "I know you’re used to flying, but this is different, right?"

"In some ways, yeah."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "I mean, you’ve seen worse. You’ve probably been through things in CAG that make this feel ridiculous."

Frankie’s grip on your shoulder tightened just slightly. "It’s not ridiculous. It’s new. And to be honest with you, I think it’s going to feel good to fall through the air without being the one responsible for keeping myself alive." He let out a small laugh.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Eric waved you both over.

The group started moving toward the runway. The plane was waiting, red and white, its side door already open. The engine hummed like it knew what was coming. The wind had picked up, kicking dust into the air, lifting the edges of shirts and loose strands of hair.

Frankie walked beside you, hands curled into easy fists, his expression unreadable. Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to.

"Wait, hey—look at me." Frankie’s voice pulled you back just as you were about to head up the steps.

You turned to find him holding up his phone, his grin bright.

"Come on, smile." The camera clicked as you obeyed, your expression probably a mix of excitement and sheer panic.

You gestured to your jumpsuit—a black one-piece with straps pulled tight across your torso, the sleeves a little too long. "I look like an astronaut from a budget sci-fi movie."

Frankie just laughed.

The roar of the plane’s engine filled the air as you climbed the metal steps.

Inside, space was tight—just two rows of seats on the floor, the pilot focused on the controls up front. Eric moved efficiently through the cabin, checking harnesses, giving instructions. The side door stayed open, letting in gusts of wind, fragments of conversation from the ground below.

Frankie sat beside you, straps secured across his chest. His gaze was distant, locked on something you couldn’t see.

Your heart was racing, and not just from adrenaline. It was the certainty of what was about to happen, the realization that there was no backing out now. No chance to claim dizziness, to blame it on a delayed hangover—

No.

The plane lifted off, the ground dropping away fast. The streets and houses of San Antonio shrank to toy-sized versions of themselves, colors and grids blending together. The river cut through the city like a streak of silver, roads and fields stretching out until everything looked impossibly small, distant, unreal.

Eric had gone over the plan earlier. A 25-minute flight to reach the jump altitude—9,000 feet. Then, 35 seconds of free fall, plummeting at 130 miles per hour. After that, six to eight minutes drifting under the parachute before landing. They would take pictures. Record a video. But all you could think was: please don’t throw up.

Your eyes stayed on the view, your pulse high and erratic. Your breathing turned uneven, and at some point—without noticing—you started bouncing your knee, shifting your legs. Then, warmth. A hand on yours, grounding, steady. Frankie.

His fingers wove through yours, a quiet, easy motion, and your heart stuttered. His thumb moved over your skin, light, absentminded. You tried to focus on breathing. In, out. In, out.

"Here you go," Logan, the other instructor, cut in, handing you a pair of goggles. The moment shattered. Whatever had been happening between you—if anything had been happening at all—was interrupted.

Minutes blurred together. Eric tugged at your harness one last time, double-checking every buckle, every strap. His voice was loud but distant, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears.

"Ready?"

You weren’t. You nodded anyway.

The moment arrived too fast. The door slid open, and the wind howled through the cabin, sharp and cutting, like it wanted to rip you straight out of the plane. Eric led you to the edge.

Your feet met nothing. The space between you and the ground stretched forever. You tried to turn, to catch one last glimpse of Frankie, but the angle made it impossible. If you called his name, you weren’t sure he’d hear you. But he was there.

The wind tore at your face. The city below was impossibly small, the sky endless in every direction. Your lungs clenched.

Eric counted down.

"Three... two... one."

And then—you fell.

Or maybe, the world opened up and swallowed you whole, a deafening rush in every direction. Everything you thought you knew about gravity unraveled in an instant—you weren’t falling, you weren’t floating. You just were. Suspended in nothing, weightless and untethered.

The wind lashed against your body, hot and unrelenting, turning the descent into a collision with speed itself. And for a second, there was no space in your mind for anything else. No fear, no doubt. Just motion.

The world spun, stretched endlessly around you, and adrenaline burst inside your chest, wild and consuming, like a star collapsing and expanding all at once.

And then you screamed.

Not from fear. From something bigger than that. Something closer to exhilaration, to release.

The wind roared in your ears, thick against your skin, the force of it making the air feel solid. But none of it mattered.

Because you were falling. Hell, you were falling. And somehow, impossibly, it felt so fucking right. It was the best thing you had ever felt.

It took a moment to understand it, to really let it sink in. But when it did—when it fully hit you—your body stopped resisting. Something inside you loosened, unraveled.

And you laughed.

The sound barely existed before the wind stole it away, torn from your throat as if the sky itself wanted to keep it. Your heart pounded hard, so hard you could feel it everywhere—in your fingertips, in your toes, in every cell of your body—as the ground rushed closer and the sky stretched infinite behind you.

Eric waved you over, checking if you were okay. You shot him a thumbs-up, your grin so wide it almost hurt.

To your right, another instructor coasted effortlessly through the air, a helmet-mounted camera fixed on him. He waved his hands dramatically, motioning for you to do something.

Without thinking, you threw your arms out, wiggled your fingers, feeling both ridiculous and euphoric. The instructor mimed the click of a camera, then gave you an approving thumbs-up before drifting back, adjusting his position with an ease that made the whole thing look effortless.

You had no idea how long you’d been falling—fifteen seconds? Twenty? It could have been hours. It could have been nothing at all.

But here, in the open sky, with the world stretched out in every direction, with your body weightless in a way you’d never known before—one thing was certain.

You didn’t want it to end.

But it did.

Minutes later, you touched down in a vast stretch of green, landing just the way they’d told you to. Your stomach was fluttering, your pulse hammering, your entire body alive with an energy you had never felt before. The ground felt too solid, too still beneath you.

Eric unhooked the harness, stepping back as you stayed where you were, hands pressing into the earth like you needed proof that you were actually here, back on the ground. He grinned, holding up both thumbs.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Your breath came out in a laugh, wide and uncontained. “I didn’t want it to end.”

He chuckled, reaching out a hand to pull you up. Your legs were unsteady, not from weakness but from whatever was still coursing through you, whatever part of you hadn’t quite landed yet.

You tilted your head back, scanning the sky, searching. And there—far above—you caught them. Two dark figures cutting through the blue. Frankie and Logan, still falling, still weightless.

Eric nudged you, gesturing for you to move toward the pavement. You followed him, your steps uneven, gaze flicking between the sky and the field, as if you could still feel yourself in both places at once.

When Frankie landed, you felt the pull before you even decided to move. You waited. Ten seconds maybe. And then he got up, a smile on his face as he started talking to Logan, smiling, his body still humming with the same high that was thrumming through yours. But his eyes kept finding you, like a signal, a call.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

Your legs were shaky, the harness still tight around your chest, but none of it mattered. Maybe it was reckless, maybe you were supposed to wait, but you didn’t.

Frankie saw you coming. His arms opened instinctively, and then you crashed into him, his body warm, solid, the adrenaline between you mixing into something electric.

He lifted you, feet leaving the ground again, arms locked around his neck, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know if it was the fall or if it was this—him.

"You did it, baby," he murmured, voice low, still breathless. His grin was wide, shining. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes flickering downward for a second—just a second—before meeting yours again. "I knew you could."

"That was insane," you breathed. "I loved it."

"Me too."

"What did you think? Everything looked so different from up there, so small. And the sky—"

His hands were still on your waist, grounding you in a way the earth couldn’t.

"It felt fucking good," he said, laughing, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. "Wanna do it again?"

You smiled, your hand trailing down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath beneath your fingers.

"Thank you for doing this with me."

His eyes stayed on yours, locked. But then—

"Hey, lovebirds!" Eric’s voice cut through the air.

You blinked, exhaling a laugh as you stepped back. Frankie’s hands lingered a second longer before he let you go.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working!!)

371 notes · View notes

love-marimo · 5 months ago

Text

goodnight n' go (Sanji x Fem!Reader)

Lolita's Note: you have a crush on the love cook of the ship. yet you can't find the right time to confess to him without embarrassing yourself. that is, until one breezy summer night.

ー this is inspired by ariana grande's song! enjoy ♡

cw: none, just a romantic kiss under the stars ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊

To say that you've been playing it cool is an understatement. Sanji is notorious for practically throwing himself on every lady he sees. And you've convinced yourself that everything he does for you is just part of his nature ー because he does the same things to Nami and Robin.

Yet you can't help but admire him back. But you don't want to be obvious about it. The last thing you want is to be teased by the whole crew, and you kept telling yourself that if he likes you back, he would've let you known a long time ago.

In the last two years that you've sailed with the Strawhats, it's an admirable feat that you've kept your silly little crush on the cook from everyone. Every time he offers you his hand, every time he cooks your favorite meal, every time he catches you looking at him, oblivious of your true feelings, every time he smiles at you ー your heart never fails to skip a beat. And each time, you wonder if he'll realize how much he really means to you.

Here you are, at a ball in a palace of a country you freed, clad in a light pink ball gown, waiting for Nami and Robin to finish getting ready for the party.

Meanwhile, Sanji waited outside the ladies' quarters holding three bouquets for you, Nami, and Robin.

"To the world's most beautiful navigator, a bouquet of the most dazzling sunflowers." He says, confident and proud of the arrangement of the flowers. Nami smiled,

"Thank you very much, Sanji-kun!" She replied, used to his chivalrous actions, but still grateful nonetheless.

"Anything for you Nami-san!" He beamed, then turned towards Robin to give her bouquet.

"A bouquet of purple chrysanthemums for a beauty that you will see once in a lifetime, Robin-chan." Robin smiled and thanked him as well.

Your heart swelled. There was this feeling again. You couldn't pinpoint if it was jealousy or admiration. A huge part of you wants him to have his undivided attention to you and only you, but then again, who are you to control him like that? Just why does he have to be so cute? You thought to yourself, smiling. You're well aware that neither Nami nor Robin loves him the way you do. Robin's way older, and Nami has hit him way too many times for you to remember. You asked them about how they felt about Sanji once.

"He's a romantic man, I give him that." Robin laughed, shaking her head.

"Sanji-kun? Well, him and Brook can't control themselves around women. I'd rather not have that. But well, that's who they are and I'm in no position to change that." Nami shrugged.

Finally, he turns to you, holding the bouquet of your favorite flowers, and placing one on your ear.

"To my wonderful muse who looks the most enchanting tonight, here is a bouquet for you." He says your name with utmost adoration. His expression softened as he admired your dolled up form, and you chalked it up to his usual love cook antics.

But wait… muse? I'm his muse? No, I must've misheard him.

"Thank you, Sanji. These smell amazing."

At that moment, his signature heart eyes went crazy for you. Your heart skipped a beat, but you smiled at him in response, playing it cool, again.

"Wait-!" Sanji said, but Robin and Nami began to walk towards the ballroom so you followed suit, accidentally not paying attention to what he was going to say.

The night was young, so you and the crew had let yourselves loose. Dancing, eating, drinking your hearts away, the ball was a well deserved feast after a long time of fighting the enemy pirate crew that had overtaken the whole island. Luffy and Chopper were having the time of their lives at the buffet table. Zoro was with the castle guards devouring all the sake that he could. Usopp and Franky found themselves a crowd to entertain. Brook was with the castle musicians, and you three ladies were dancing with the local nobles at the center of the hall.

You were a little tipsy drunk, having drank quite a lot of wine, but you were happy nonetheless.

So happy that you forgot about Sanji.

Wait…

"Nami, have you seen Sanji?" You slurred, not realizing that it's a stranger you're talking to.

"Miss, if you're looking for the blonde man who likes to smoke, I have seen him at the balcony by the west wing. He-"

It's probably the alcohol rush that overtook you but you let go of whoever was dancing with you, took two glasses of wine, and headed over to the said location. The man shouted something but you couldn't care less.

Because somehow, you knew that you'll find him where you need him.

Sanji's back was facing you. He was enjoying his time alone, smoking a cigarette and savoring the cool, summer night's breeze until he heard your footsteps.

"Oh? There you are!" You giggled, stumbling on your steps. Sanji called back to you, catching you in his arms.

"What is it, angel? Do you need something?" He asked, taking the wine glass you offered him.

"Sanjiiiiiii…" You slurred.

"Yes?" He replied, helping you stand up properly.

"I have to tell you something. But first! Let's have a drink." You laughed.

Sanji was surprised, but he laughed with you even if he's confused. He's never seen you this… flirty. But he knows you're drunk, so he treats you carefully and gently anyway. He wonders what you'll tell him. Is it a stupid thing that the mosshead did? Or is it a secret that only you two will know?

"Cheers!" You said and drank the wine in one go.

"Whoa there, mon amour. Slow down." He said worriedly, helpless as to how you consumed the alcoholic drink.

"What is it that you want to tell me, ma belle?"

"Come closer." You said in a hushed whisper.

"Sorry?"

Before he could process everything, you pulled him close and whispered to his ear.

"I like you." You smiled.

Sanji stood there for a moment, flustered and taken aback.

"L-like me? Since when?" he stuttered, a nervous hand on his chest as if to assure himself that he's not hearing things from you.

The two-year old secret is out of the bag, and your sober self wouldn't have expected that this is how you'll reveal it to him.

"Since we met at the Baratie." you hummed, giggling.

And so began the litany of things you like about him. You told him you loved how he never hurt women. You loved how thoughtful he is when making everyone's favorite dish. You loved his smile, his voice, his hair…

"…And when you called me your muse earlier? It took everything in me not to pass out! Gosh, you have no idea what you do to me."

Sanji stood there, a fool's smile on his face. You looked up at him, and you giggled, unaware of what you just said.

Sanji laughed with you too. He tucked loose strands of your hair to your ear. You took it as an opportunity to lean into his touch, surprising him yet again.

"It's warm isn't it? I drank a lot tonight." You said, rubbing circles on his hand that touches you.

He said your name again, his expression softened.

"I know you're drunk but… do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do."

"Really?"

"Do you want me to prove it to you?" You said, wrapping your hands around his neck. He nods in reply.

The moon glistened in its full glory, and the stars seemed to sing in celebration of love, their faint light illuminating you. The summer breeze blew, and before you know it…

You pulled him in a kiss.

Sanji dropped the cigarette he was holding, his eyes widened, his heart beat faster.

"You…" He began, finding the right words to say, warmth spreading on his cheeks.

You smiled, pulling away. You began to walk away from him to return to the ladies' quarters.

"Do you love me back?"

"I do." He said without hesitation.

"Good to know." It was enough to make butterflies swirl in your stomach.

"Well then, goodnight, my lovely prince."

"Wait!" He said, grabbing your arm.

"Will you… will you still love me in the morning?" Sanji asked, looking away in embarrassment.

"I will love you in the morning, and every second after that."

And when he heard you say that, it became his turn to kiss you again ー a romantic moment shared under the moonlit summer sky.

The love cook wonders how you'll react tomorrow.

ー Lolita

#lolita writes #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji fluff #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #sanji imagines

169 notes · View notes

wildrangers · 1 year ago

Text

In the Blink of a Crinkling Eye // Matt Smith

Word Count: 2.8K

Fem Journalist x Matt Smith

{This is truly just the longest meet cute because they’re my favorite thing to write}

Warnings: None besides cursing and use of Y/N; smut in part two

“Clover, no!” you chastise, rushing to grab the puppy who’d somehow escaped the holding pen your team built. You’d wanted to be a journalist for as long as you could remember but this wasn’t quite what you’d imagined yourself doing–wrangling puppies while waiting for your interview subjects to arrive.

“She’s a clever one, isn’t she?” you hear a deep, amused voice say from behind you.

“I wouldn’t give her too much credit, I’m sure Daisy and Willow helped her out” you reply, your eyes unexpectedly meeting curious hazel ones. “Is everything okay?”

His brows furrow, “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

You glance down at your phone, holding the wriggly puppy closer to your chest to avoid a kamikaze situation. “Because no one’s due on set for another half hour.”

“I can leave if you’d like,” he offers, his smile turning uncertain.

“No, of course not” you shake your head, offering your free hand to him, “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Matt, lovely to meet you. I couldn’t resist coming out to get some extra time with these little guys” he grins, releasing your hand only to hold his palms up. “Clover, right?”

“Yes, she’s litter mates with Willow and Daisy,” you reply, pointing them out in their pen after handing Clover to him. “And then there’s Leo, Frankie, and Gertrude. They’re all from different litters, the last of their siblings in the shelter.”

“Poor little things” Matt coos, gently placing Clover back where she belongs before reaching down to grab one of the strays.

“Wait, no not her” you jump in, scooping Gertrude into your arms before Matt can.

“Is she nippy or something?” he asks, head quirking in confusion.

“No, I think I might be taking her home today. I wouldn’t want you to get too attached.”

Matt throws his head back in laughter, “Hazards of the job I suppose?”

“Kind of” you shrug, gently stroking Gertrude’s soft fur. “My roommate’s been begging for a pet for months now and little Trudy here is just too sweet.” Seemingly in response, the little dog lifts her head to briefly lick your chin before settling in for a nap in your arms.

“Now that is too precious,” Matt says, smiling softly and retrieving his phone from his pocket. “Want me to take a photo?”

“I’m sure I look a mess, I’ve been running around all morning” you laugh.

“Nonsense, you look great. Trust me, you’ll want this–smile!” he cheers and you laugh looking into the camera. “Gorgeous” he compliments and you ignore the swoop of your stomach.

“Let me see” you request, moving to his side as he angles his screen towards you. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that while you look flushed from running around, your hair and makeup have miraculously stayed in place. “Aw, doesn’t she look too cute? All tuckered out already.”

“What’s your number? I can forward you this if you’d like” he offers and you do something you’ve never done before–flirt with a guest.

“If you wanted my number you could’ve just asked from the get go” you tease, eyes flicking up to meet his.

His smile curls up higher on one side, “Well you see, now I’ll have your number and this beautiful photo for your contact.”

“Well played then” you reply, listing off your number for him. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket but don't move from his side.

“How long have you been working with Buzzfeed?” he questions, turning to face you directly.

“A little over a year, it’s certainly a unique place to have landed.”

“You don’t like it” he replies instantly and your eyes widen.

“I didn’t say that…”

“But it’s what you mean, no?” he pushes, not breaking eye contact.

“Why, are you aiming to take my job?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, not offering you a way out except to answer the question.

“I’m a writer. So, ideally one of my books or screenplays end up in the right hands. Or, if not, I’d really like to do print work. Spending lots of time with someone, or a group of someones, and writing a more in depth piece about their process, the work, whatever. Like, we got the screener for the first half of this season, right? You know how many questions I want to ask about the cinematography or an acting choice, or a certain shot? Instead, we have these cutesy questions prepared.”

That makes him laugh but you feel vulnerable, exposed after offering so much to a stranger, especially one you’re meeting at work. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t professional of me. I really do appreciate this job.”

“Hey, no apologies. I’m the one that asked, aren’t I? I appreciate your honesty.”

You nod, a slightly awkward silence descending between you. Matt breaks it by leaning down to pick up Leo who promptly bites his finger.

“Shit, are you okay?” you ask, biting your lips to repress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. Matt’s face is the portrait of shock and outrage even though you can tell Leo’s teeth barely broke his skin.

“I think I’m alright” he replies, seriously inspecting his finger and a little giggle escapes your mouth. His eyes leap up to yours and his frown deepens at the amusement he sees on your face. “Well, go on then.”

At his begrudging permission, you burst into laughter settling a now grumpy Gertrude into her pen. You make your way back to where the first aid kit is, your sides turning sore from laughter that won’t cease. You wave Matt over and he morosely makes his way to you, plopping down in the seat you direct him towards.

“I’m sorry” you offer as you sit opposite him, unzipping the bag. “It’s really not even that funny but now I just have the giggles.”

“You’re forgiven, if only because your laugh is the most joyous sound I’ve heard all day.”

His compliment does what his annoyance couldn’t–rips the laughter from your throat. You gaze into his eyes, expecting to see jest but find none. “That’s kind of you.”

“It’s the truth.”

A different kind of tension simmers in this silence. “May I?” you request, reaching for him. His calloused hand lands in yours and you lean closer, inspecting the tiny cut on his pointer finger. You pull an alcohol wipe from the kit and wrap it as gently as you can around his cut before quickly replacing it with a bandage. “Good as new.”

“You could look into nursing you know” he responds gently and you meet his intense gaze. The moment seems to stretch eternally with you lost in the green and brown shades of his eyes. A door slams open, jarring you two apart and making you realize you’d been holding onto his hand just as it slips away.

“Looks like it’s show time” you force a smile as you stand. “Think you can manage with this grievous injury?”

He returns your smile, nodding, “I think so but have the medics on standby just in case.”

***

Luckily, the interview goes smoothly, jokes being made all around at Matt’s injury and another round unleashing when he’s nipped again while filming. As you drive home, Gertrude beside you, you work to convince yourself you’d been imagining things. That Matt had simply been friendly and naturally charismatic, not that there’d been any kind of spark. And that he most definitely hadn't lingered after you’d thanked him and his castmates, eyes boring into your back, before finally following them out onto the New York City streets. And you certainly weren’t still lost in those thoughts as you placed the wiggly puppy in your roommate, Sage’s, arms.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“She almost got swept up by Matt Smith” you joke and her eyes widen.

“I forgot that was today, how was it?”

“Good, everything went smoothly.”

“...but?”

“But what?”

“But why does your face look like that?”

“Fuck you, it was a long day.”

“Bullshit” she argues and you glare at her. “I’ll wait.”

“I was just deluding myself that’s all.” She waits expectantly and you sigh, throwing up your hands. “I had myself half convinced that Matt Smith tried to sweep me up.”

“Tell me everything.”

And you would have, if your phone didn’t buzz in your pocket. Sage pointedly rolls her eyes as you pause the conversation to check your phone just in case it’s a work issue. Your heart drops which must’ve reflected on your face because she’s beside you, reading over your shoulder, a second later.

Hi it’s Matt

Well, you know that obviously.

I mean to ask, are you free tonight?

“Tell me everything right the fuck now Y/N/N or I swear to God.” You quickly fill her in, all while attempting to decide what to do. “Just answer, see why he’s asking.”

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?”

The look Sage shoots you could melt steel, “Respectfully, you primarily do puppy interviews at Buzzfeed. Answer him.” You couldn’t argue with her logic even though you wanted to.

I just got home but have nothing in the books. Why do you ask?

Would you want to meet with us at a pub near our hotel? Everyone loved working with you.

Who’s everyone?

You do love questions, don’t you?

Emboldened by having a screen between you, you allow him to see you’d read the message on What’s App but don’t type a reply. Within a moment, he begins typing again:

All of us, but especially me.

One condition

Anything.

I can ask you about the Harrenhal sequences

Off the record of course

That’s all? You shouldn’t be thinking so small.

I want to make sure I have you in my thrall a bit more before asking for your banking information.

Can we compromise with drinks on me?

Text me the place and time and I’ll see if I can make it

***

“I knew you were bullshitting us.” Fabien cackles from beside Matt, who rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time already tonight.

“Lay off him, Fabs, he’s about to be stood up after all” Olivia replies, doing a terrible job of hiding her own laughter.

“It’s only half past. She’s a New Yorker, it’d have been weird if she showed up exactly at 9…maybe she’s nervous?” Emma offers.

“What, about meeting up with the Great Matthew Smith for drinks?” Fabien retorts and even Emma can’t fight their smile at his expense.

“Thank god I have you lot to keep me humble” Matt grumbles, getting up and stalking over to the bar to get another round. He sighs to himself, scrubbing his hands down his face as he waits for the bartender to mix his drink.

He knew it had been a bad idea to text you. You were simply being professional and he’d unfairly pushed you into meeting up for a drink. It had been Emma’s idea to have the whole group there so it felt less like a date, sensing his unease about asking you out directly. Their advice was much more helpful than Fabien’s goading and Olivia enthusiastically endorsed Emma’s plan if only to be able to snoop.

He grabs his drink and begins heading back to the booth when your distinctive laughter makes his steps briefly falter. Nerves flood his system and he rolls his eyes at himself. You're acting like a schoolboy, he chastises but he can’t help himself. He feels drawn to you in a way he hasn’t felt to anyone else in a long, long time. As he rounds the corner, his eyes find yours immediately. Unsurprisingly, his friends have placed you right beside his vacant spot which he is both grateful for and exacerbated by–again, so secondary school of them all.

“Hey, you made it!” he exclaims as he sits beside you.

“I’m sorry I’m a bit late, Sage took far too long at the petstore getting Miss Trudy’s supplies. Oh, wait, how’d you know I love vodka crans? What a gentleman” you grin, plucking the drink from his hands and taking a deep sip.

“Just another thing we have in common, it appears.”

“In addition to?”

“Our love of dogs, of course.”

“Ah, if only the dogs loved him back” Olivia goads and you let loose another glorious giggle.

“How are your wounds doing?” you tease, eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Fine for now but I may need a skilled medic later to assist with bandage changes.”

“I suppose I could help if you can’t find anyone with the proper training.”

“Very generous of you, Y/N.”

“I aim to serve. Also, here, I wouldn’t want to actually steal your whole drink” you acquiesced, sliding the drink into his waiting hand. He lifts the glass to his mouth, taking a long sip while your eyes bore into his. You have such an unflinching way of appraising people, remaining present even while nothing’s being said, and he’s entranced by this.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he replies quietly, gently grasping your hand and easing the glass back into it. He doesn’t release your hand or your gaze and, for once, his friends around the table are silent which he would’ve previously believed to be impossible. He faintly hears Emma and Olivia excusing themselves to the restroom as Fabien chugs his beer just to go refill it.

“We really cleared the table, huh?” Your faint words barely reach him despite your closeness.

“All the better if you ask me” he replies, heart thumping at the grin his comment earns.

“Do you do this often?” you ask, head tilting and eyes sharp.

“Do what?”

“Charm women you meet in your line of work?”

He can’t fight the smile that splits his face–he could banter with you for eternity, he fears. “No, of course not. I have a reputation to uphold after all.”

“What reputation?”

“Are you implying my gentlemanly reputation doesn’t proceed me?”

“Are you implying you’re of such stature I looked into you before today?”

“I’d assumed you were good at your job but you can correct me if I’m wrong.”

“I am excellent at my job” you retort, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Well, then what’s my reputation?”

“You’re a classic Scorpio.”

“What?” he asks, genuinely perplexed. He notes the smirk that quirks your lips–you’d intended to throw him off his game. Well played, then.

“Scorpios are charming, easily pulling people into their orbit. But they also tend to be deep thinkers who hide behind that charisma to keep everyone at a distance despite being surrounded by people.”

He could hardly catch his breath–have you truly seen through him so easily? “Meaning?”

“Meaning that despite being in this business for decades, not much is actually known about you. Glowing comments from everyone who’s ever worked with you, surface level reporting on a few previous public relationships, but nothing of much substance despite the countless interviews and press junkets you’ve done over the years.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, it intrigues me. But it also makes me weary.”

“Why’s that?” he questions, heart sinking.

“I may not be doing groundbreaking work right now but I value my career. So much of this business, and publishing, is based on word of mouth, having people speak well of you from previous projects. I’d hate to think this was a fun game for you when it could ruin my credibility.”

He chuckles to himself and your eyes flash. “They had to convince me to ask you out.”

“What?” you recoil at his words and he desperately wants to pull you back to him.

“I knew from our conversation earlier today you have ambitions and I’d never want to come between you and them. You’re insightful and have a sharp mind, I’m sure your writing reflects that. But they convinced me I was just giving myself an out so I wouldn’t have to risk your rejection.”

Your head tilts at his words, eyes appraising him in a way that lays him bare before you. “I think you were right,” you acknowledge. “But so were they.”

He couldn't tear himself away from you if he tried. He can only guess what’s going on in your head but your eyes reveal how countless thoughts are flowing behind them, calculations being drawn up, quick decisions being made.

“I love this song” you say quietly, throwing back all but a swallow of your shared drink, which you then offer to him. “Dance with me?”

He holds your gaze as he slowly consumes the last bits of vodka before extending his hand. “It would be my pleasure.”

So, I clearly am incapable of writing a brief meet cute but I can’t help myself. I have loads of ideas where this could go so any feedback would be much appreciated! I’ve never written for actors before but I hope y’all enjoyed 🫶🏻

#matt smith #house of the dragon #matt smith x reader #matt smith imagine #matt smith fanfiction #hotd #matt smith fic

420 notes · View notes

bees-library3 · 29 days ago

Text

The Cut That Always Bleeds

Summary: At night, Frank has a nightmare about the day that he lost his family, and you do your best to soothe him.

Warnings/Tags: ptsd, nightmare, hurt/comfort, light angst, some fluff, usual triggers/warnings for The Punisher, husband!Frank, wife!reader(she/her), no use of y/n

Word count: 928 words

A/N: As someone who was a massive Bucky Barnes fan in 2014 (still am tbh), I am a SLUT for a good nightmare comfort fic. Also, this is my first time writing Frank, and I'm really hoping that I executed it well.

It was the same nightmare that it always was - the day his family was massacred in front of him. Frank can still hear his little girl's screams and the music playing from the running carousel. God, the fucking music is what drove him crazy. He could feel the warm blood coating his forearms and soaking into his clothes. He'd tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood. It just kept flowing from his wife and children.

Frank woke up shaking, and his chest was heaving. The sheets were slightly damp with sweat, and he was trying in vain to calm down. There was always a period of time between the nightmare and his waking up, during which he felt stuck. His entire body was filled with panic, and he anxiously scanned the room. What exactly he was seeking, he wasn't sure. He had begun unconsciously muttering to himself.

“No, no, no. Please.”

Hearing his ragged breaths and the covers shifting, you stirred. You could tell by the frantic look on his face that he'd had a nightmare - again. Things had been getting better lately, but you'd been handling these for most of your relationship. You spoke softly and placed a gentle hand on his forearm, careful not to startle him.

“Frank, baby, I'm right here.”

He looked over at you and tried to focus, but it felt impossible. Frank's mind was still at that park, and the words began flowing before he could stop them.

“I tried so hard, sweetheart. So fuckin' hard, but I still lost 'em. I couldn't keep 'em safe. What kind of man can't even keep his family alive?”

Your heart broke for your husband as you saw the slightly vacant look in his eyes while he spoke. He was deep in this episode, and you took a moment before responding to him. “You did everything that you could, my love. That situation was completely out of your control, and none of that was on you.”

Frank did his best to process your words, but it always felt like you were lying to him. Deep down, he knew that you were telling the truth, but his mind was a ruthless bastard. His family had been murdered to send him a message and keep him quiet. How was that not his fault?

“You don't understand, sweetheart. They died because they were important to me. They fuckin' killed 'em to make sure that I didn't divulge the crimes that we'd been ordered to carry out. People die 'cause they love me. Everyone around me pays a price.”

“Oh, baby. That's not true. Those around you do not die because of something that you've done. I've been with you for almost ten years now, and I'm still here.”

Your words were starting to make a little more sense, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours again. Frank's right hand was still curled in a fist against the sheets, but he seemed less agitated now. If anything, the man looked exhausted.

“You really mean that? Nothing's gonna happen to you 'cause we're together?” He hated how needy he sounded, but he desperately needed his wife's reassurance.

“Of course, Frankie. I love you so fucking much. You make me feel so safe, and I'm not leaving you now. I'm not leaving you ever.”

You reached over and gently pulled him into your arms. Frank didn't even try to put up a fight and let his head collapse into your chest. Your hand rubbed gentle circles on his bare back and found a gentle rhythm in the groove between his shoulder blades. You kissed the top of his head and spoke softly, “Try and match my breathing, okay? You're tired, and I want you to rest.”

Frank nodded against your chest and mirrored your slow breaths. The combination of your smaller body beneath his and your hands gently rubbing his back was soothing. The tension oozed from his body, and his muscles started to let down. This was working.

Feeling him relax, you let out a small exhale of relief and kept touching him. “There we go. You're doing so good, baby. Keep taking those steady breaths. You wanna close your eyes?”

“What if I see it again? I don't want to go back there, sweetheart. It hurts so bad.”

You hadn't even realized that he had started crying until you felt Frank's hot tears hit the top of your breasts. You immediately wiped his cheeks and kissed his head again.

“You're safe, baby. I'm right here, and I'll wake you up if you start having that dream again. Would you feel better if I stayed up for a while?”

Looking up at you through damp lashes, the occasional tear was still falling, but they'd slowed a bit. “You'd stay up for me? I don't want you to be too tired in the morning.”

“I'm already awake, and I don't plan on falling back asleep. Probably just gonna finish that book that Curtis is letting me borrow. Don't worry about keeping me up.”

Even though Frank wanted to be stubborn and insist that you rest, the episode had completely drained his energy. He nodded tiredly and pressed a gentle kiss to your sternum. His eyelids felt heavy, and his words slurred with exhaustion.

“Okay, sweetheart, I'll go back to sleep. Thank you.”

Moving your free hand to run through his dark curls, you felt him relax further, and his breathing fully evened out. He mumbled something that sounded like 'love you' before falling asleep.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfic #frank castle oneshot #jon bernthal #the punisher #punisher #the punisher fanfic #the punisher oneshot #the punisher x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #light angst #hurt/comfort #frank castle fluff #frank castle x reader fluff #light fluff

128 notes · View notes

greenwitchfromthewoods · 4 months ago

Text

laughing through the kiss - Frankie Morales

900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts

bio : This story is part of the 900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts.

person ordering: @underneath-the-sky-again

warnings : tw : lump in breast, (it's just a story, but it doesn't change the fact how important regular check-ups are. you can also do a self-exam, it's very important. take care of yourself!) , tears, friends to lovers, fear, uncertainty, doctor, check-ups, fluff, kissing

[my masterlist]

This wasn't what Frankie expected when he stood in front of your door on Friday afternoon. Truth be told, no day would be right for this. When the door opened, what Frankie wanted to say froze in his throat.

You looked like you were on the verge of despair. Your eyes were glistening with tears and your hands were shaking nervously.

"What happened?" he asked, a little scared.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling. “I need your help, Frankie.”

"Of course."

He went inside. You were supposed to go to Pope's together, but you were standing in front of him wrapped in a robe and he didn't think you were ready to go anywhere. You were too shaky, and when Frankie reached out to pat your shoulder, you almost jumped back.

“Listen…” you began, “You’re my friend. I know this might be uncomfortable for you, but if you don’t help me, I’m going to go crazy in a few minutes!”

“Jesus, what happened?” Frankie asked, clearly scared.

“I…” Your eyes filled with tears again. “I was taking a shower and… I felt it, Frankie. In my chest. Some kind of lump, not too big, but… I wish I was wrong, but I still feel it.” A sob escaped your throat, and Frankie felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He remembered one of his aunts finding something like that once. Doctor, hospital, tests, treatment… It had been a long and hard road, but you… You were still young.

“I’m sorry to ask this, but I don’t have anyone and I trust you. Could you-” you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down and give yourself courage. “Could you check if you feel it too?”

His lips moved unconsciously. "Of course, baby. I'll do whatever you need."

It was the longest few minutes of his life. You went to the bathroom and took off your robe. Frankie could see how stressed and tense you were. You had known each other for a few years, but he had never seen you like this before - defenseless, half-naked, desperate and terrified at the same time.

He felt like an idiot. Like he didn't fit in there at all, like he wasn't cut out for this. But you asked him for help, you trusted him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel so uncomfortable.” You said, looking down. Frankie noticed your cheeks were streaked with tears, his heart almost broke.

"Don't worry about me. You're more important." He came closer to you. When his large hand touched your breast, you flinched. "I'm sorry, my hands are cold. Since..."

"Don't worry." You tried to smile despite everything. "Let's just do it."

Frankie didn't have to say anything, you read the answer in his brown eyes.

You didn't go to that barbecue at Pope's, in fact you didn't go anywhere all weekend. Frankie stayed with you after you called the clinic to make an appointment for Monday. Too shaken, too scared to function normally. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have been able to get off the couch.

It was Frankie who took you to the doctor on Monday. He sat in the waiting room with the other patients for over an hour. He didn't complain. A thousand thoughts were running through his head and he tried to get rid of them so he could be with you.

He kept hoping you hadn’t noticed how scared he was. You needed support, a strong shoulder to lean on, and he wanted to be that for you. His leg bounced nervously. Why did all this have to take so long?

It was the longest week of his life. When he was at work he kept checking his phone, afraid that you might call. Even though you kept saying you were fine, he didn't trust those words.

"Are you really going to sleep on the couch?" you groaned when he announced he would be staying with you so you wouldn't be alone at night. "That would be killing your spine."

"I can sleep on the floor too, but you won't get rid of me, hermosa."

That first night, when you called him at around 2am, made him realize how much he wanted to be with you. Frankie had a soft spot for you, he knew it, and you guessed it too. The hours of talking, the texts you sent each other, the outings. It was like dancing, except you couldn't meet halfway.

“Should I come in with you?” he asked as you stood outside his office on Friday.

You squeezed his hand tighter, your fingers intertwined. "No." you replied quietly, as if you were barely breathing. "I'll handle it."

He kissed your temple and let you go.

And again the same waiting room, the same slowly passing minutes. Frankie's thoughts kept going back to the past week, to the time spent with you. Your mutual stubbornness meant that you slept in the same bed, which was good for Frankie's back and your well-being.

“Thank you for being with me…” you said last night, he just hugged you tighter and kissed you lightly on the forehead.

Many such affectionate gestures had occurred between you, but each of you felt that you would have preferred them to have occurred under different circumstances.

"I'll invite her to dinner. As soon as she leaves this room. It doesn't matter what she says, it doesn't matter what the diagnosis is," he repeated to himself. He didn't want to wait any longer.

When the door opened, Frankie almost stood to attention. He was too scared to understand what had happened, to understand that your tears weren't tears of sadness.

“It’s nothing malignant,” you laughed, throwing your arms around his neck. “The doctors will remove it, but it’s nothing serious. I’m safe. Safe…”

“Oh, fuck!” Frankie moaned in delight, a little too loudly, and the older woman looked at him sideways. He raised a hand in apology. “That’s wonderful, hermosa! I’m so…”

He didn't get to finish his sentence because your lips were on his. It was so spontaneous and unexpected that Frankie couldn't do anything but surrender to the moment. The familiar hands that had been holding yours a moment ago now cupped your face, wet with tears. The softness of your lips was even more delightful than he had imagined.

Kisses mixed with laughter. It was a miracle that your lips found each other. But you were so happy that you couldn't stop laughing, and Frankie was quick to return the feeling.

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat and that brought you back to earth. You looked at each other, confused but still smiling. It wasn't until you took his hand that Frankie realized that this wasn't his dream.

“Can you get me out of here?” you asked, still smiling even though the muscles in your face were slowly starting to hurt.

“Wherever you want, hermosa.” he replied and pulled you towards the door.

He already knew that his place was always with you and you could no longer imagine anyone else being by your side.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #900 followers milestone celebration #tw lump in breast

78 notes · View notes

tokkiwrites · 9 months ago

Note

My love!! I saw you’re taking requests!! Could you possibly do something with Javier P or Frankie relating to Heartbeat by Childish Gambino?? 😍😍🥵

hello anon, thank you for this request! i love love loove heartbeat, one of my fave songs. I hope it was what you envisioned :( • reqs

javier pena x f!reader, infidelity, fwb pretty much, ex javi, toxic rs, p in v (unprotected), kind of angst

The motel room is dim, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp outside. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. It’s been hours since you last saw him, and the weight of everything hangs between you like smoke—too thick to ignore, but too fragile to touch.

When Javier walks in, he looks as tired as you feel, but there’s something else in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Or guilt. It’s hard to tell anymore. He shuts the door behind him, leans against it for a second like he needs the support. His jacket's slung over his shoulder, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the rise and fall of his chest.

"You left," he says, his voice low, rough. He’s not asking—he already knows why. You don't answer right away, because what is there to say? Instead, you just stare at him, the silence stretching between you like a heartbeat, fast and uneven.

"I didn’t know what else to do," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Javier’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. He’s watching you with that same intensity, like he’s trying to figure out how you’re both still standing here, in the middle of all the mess. He drops his jacket on the floor and takes a step toward you, shaking his head slightly.

"I can't keep doing this," he mutters, but the way he looks at you says something else entirely. You look up at him, your heart racing. The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. "Then don't."

For a split second, neither of you moves. It's as if the air itself holds its breath, waiting.

Then, suddenly, Javier is on you, his hand cupping your jaw, the other gripping your waist as he pulls you against him. His mouth crashes onto yours with a kind of desperation you weren't prepared for, the kiss hard and rough, like he's trying to pour everything he can't say into it.

You melt into him, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as he kisses you deeper, like this is the only thing in the world that makes sense right now. The tension, the frustration, the heat-it all explodes in that moment, the room spinning around you until there's nothing left but him, and the way his lips move against yours, claiming you without a word.

He pulls back for a moment, taking you all in as if you were a precious porcelain statuette. The tips of his fingers trace your face and what can you do but lean into his touch. "No matter what the others say just know I'll always choose you. It'll always be you. Stop running away and let me show you that."

the rhythm of you heartbeat quickens and you let thoughts flood your mind for just a little. it was wrong. your boyfriend was at home, probably worried sick yet your brain was always too preoccupied with Javier choosing someone that isn’t you. He wasn't yours, but you were hisㅡ at least it felt that way. You kept promising you'd never go back, or call him again crying, let him come over, but you never stopped. you couldn’t. it wasn’t fair how all of you belonged to Javier yet you still couldn't let go of your boyfriend. Even whilst Javier was between your thighs, you still thought you can make it work, figure something out.

"Why'd you have to go?" Your voice broke the silence between the two of you. "Why didn't you..ㅡ Why did you just disappear? when we broke up..." You feel tears brimming at the corner of your eyes as his palm comes up and cups your cheek. "Is this the time you wanna talk about what happened, baby?" he's almost mocking you. "We aren't together butㅡ but you hold me when we wake up, you always look for me, you call me beautiful when I'm laying on your chest, so... so what are we, Javi?"

Javier's hand stays on your cheek, his eyes searching yours in the dim light, the weight of your question hanging between you. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But then he speaks, his voice low and rough, barely heard.

"Don’t do this," he says, his thumb brushing over your skin, almost tender. "You know what this is. I’m not good for you. You know that." His words hit hard, but it’s the truth you've been avoiding. The truth that’s been haunting you in the quiet moments, when your phone lights up with his name and your heart jumps, when your boyfriend’s arms feel safe but not enough. You search his face, trying to find something there that makes sense, but all you see is the same old, the same heartbreak you keep coming back to. "I can’t keep being yours when you’re never really mine."

For a second, he says nothing, just watches you, his hand slipping down to rest on your neck. His thumb traces slow circles over your skin, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "Maybe you shouldn’t be," he mutters, his words thick, like they’re hard to get out. But his hand stays there, holding you, pulling you closer. "But I can’t stay away from you."

The honesty in his voice cuts deeper than anything. He kisses you again, but it’s different this time—softer, lingering, like he's trying to say something without words. You feel his hesitation, the way his grip tightens like he knows this might be the last time, but still he holds on. "You deserve better," he whispers against your lips, his breath shaky. "I know that. You know that. But I don’t—"

"Then let me go," you whisper back, but you already know he won’t. You feel it in the way he kisses you again, the way his body presses against yours, full of all the things neither of you can say. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling your face. "I don’t know how," he admits, his voice raw, his forehead pressing against yours again. The confession makes your heart jump, one you both already knew but never said out loud.

"I don't want to."

And just like every other time, you let him pull you back in.

your lips found each other in a passionate kiss, igniting a fire that felt deeper and more genuine than anything, maybe it was because of the truth, or maybe out of feat. Javier's hands roamed up your body, pulling you closer to him as the kiss became increasingly intense.

When you finally pulled away, you were both were left panting, eyes locked in a dance only you two knew. "fuck," Javier whispered, his voice melted with desire. "do you know how long I've waited for this? all week, baby. all I could think about was you." javier's lips crash onto your neck, sucking small spots, the skin blooming red as roses whilst you hastily start to undress each other.

"You gonna let me take care of you, sweetheart?" You reply "pleaseㅡ" desperation. and maybe something a little more that he couldn't quite name yet. Javier's fingers dance upon your skin, trailing up to where your bra clasp was. in one swift motion, he undoes the garment, letting your breasts fall down into one of his palms. inching closer, he starts to trace kisses down your shoulder to your cleavage, nipping slightly at the sensitive skin between your chest. "You're so beautiful."

he finally pulls off your panties, tossing them to the side as he spreads your cunt wide open with two of his fingers, analyzing the way it glistened in the dimly lit room. "so pretty. my pretty girl." you moan weakly in response. placing his palm behind your knees, he lifts up your legs as to press light pecks onto your plush thighs, his thumb now tracing down your pulsing clit. javier starts to slowly swirl his finger, still kissing your thigh. "I'm gonna stretch out that pretty pussy, it'll be all you think about." but it already was all you could think about.

cunningly, javier moved his finger into your cunt, squelching sounds and moans lapping off the walls and into his ears like melodies. "that's right. want you to come on my fingers, hermosa." it didn't take long for him to get what he asked for, coming just from javier's fingers, body writhing as soft whines dripped from your lips.

"i got you." he smiles, eyes tracing every curve of your body as if it was the first time he saw you this way. he takes off his briefs, letting his shaft spring free, small pearls of precum already gathered at the tip. taking his length into his fist, javier pumps it a few times before he aligns it with your velvet entrance that trickled with arousal. he teases your swolled bud, then goes in fully, making you to claw at his back. "moveㅡ please..."

"fuck.." Javier groans, almost coming right then with the way you stared up at him through your lashes, wet with tears. "fuck, sweet girlㅡ" he starts to pump inside of you, harder and deeper, roughly hitting that one spot continously. you moan, head empty, vision blurry, and mouth agape. you were a mess, the prettiest mess he'd ever seen.

the man moves back and forth harshly, feeling himself so close as your walls wrapped perfectly around him. "shitㅡ you were made for my cock, baby. my girl." he moans, pressing his head between your breasts, nails digging bruises into your hips that'll still be there next week.

a few moments later, your head is completely blank, incoherent babbles skipping from your mouth as Javier fucks deep into you. "you gonna come, hermosa?" and you nod rapidly "go aheadㅡ fuck! go ahead, come on this cock, show me how good you are to me."

you come once again, nimbly wrapping around javier like a vine, walls squeezing him so tight it gets him over the edge, making him release warm, white ropes inside of your pulsing cunt. you both sit like that for a few minutes, you can still feel his seed inside, and some dripping around his shaft. you look him in the eyes, searching for the words that desperately need to make their way out. instead, you kiss him again, pulling him closer to you as your warmth mixes with his.

"I wish we never did this." it all settles over you. if this is loveㅡ if this is how bad it hurts, you can get used to the pain.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #javier peña

38 notes · View notes

marchtooctober · 1 year ago

Text

It's been some time since i posted something 😅

My contribution for prompt "Desperate"

@dailytwiyorprompts

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

“Yor.”

“Yesh?”

“Your scarf. It's falling off.”

“Oh… Shorry.”

It was one of those dinner nights of Loid and Yor, a regular practice that is part of their cover as Mr. and Mrs. Forger. Loid managed to pull off the date smoothly at the cost of another intoxicated Yor. At this point, he's now surprisingly used to it after so many times.

But maybe, this is the last.

“Thish too hard.” With struggling effort, Yor tried to fix her scarf.

“Let me.”

“N-No it'sh alright…” She mumbled.

Loid grabbed the scarf and wrapped it around Yor. As he adjusted the cloth, he felt Yor's warm breath on his hands. The sensation made Loid feel fuzzy inside, as if the warmth has spread all throughout his body. Then he quickly pulled back his hands, quite abashed.

“Thank you.” Said Yor and turned away.

She walked a few steps ahead while tapping her cheeks.

Loid wondered if he made a mistake. He didn't want Yor to be wary of him. But he couldn't help himself.

“L-Let ush cake some for Franky and Anya.”

Despite the messed up sentence, Loid understood.

“I don't think we can buy cake at this time. It's already late. I'll just bake one tomorrow if that's alright with you.” He replied.

“M'kay.” Said Yor and continued walking.

It's deep in the night and only a few people are still out, just like them.

The cobblestone pavement carpeted with dry foliage, the leafless trees line up the path. Howling of chilly wind signifies the near ending of fall. And it won't be long before winter comes, and a lonely one at that.

No matter how much he yearns for an ordinary life, Loid will never attain it. The so-called “home” where he wants to be, is a place very far from his reach.

“Loi? Where are you? Loi!”

Yor's voice took him out of his grim reverie. He rushed to her.

“I’m here. Hold on to my arm and walk carefully.”

Loid held out his arm but Yor declined.

“I’m fine. I jush thought you gone shomwere.”

Hearing those words, Loid swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to worry. I… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere..” Replied Loid and smiled bitterly.

They continued, Yor still walking ahead. Loid stared at her back and felt the unfamiliar sting of guilt. And where did it come from? Guilt out of saying those words? Handful of words added to the pile of lies. But it was necessary, lying for his mission. Yet, he couldn't shake the heaviness of guilt.

There shouldn't be any emotional hindrance. He knows it well. But for a second, he was possessed with selfishness and tried to reach out his trembling hand. Loid simply wanted to hold Yor’s hand.

Suddenly, he quickly remembered that he had no right to do such a thing.

Who he is right now is nothing but a disposable mask. Loid Forger is just one among the many passing shadows of Twilight.

Pain is welling up in his chest. Twilight realized his fault. The suppression of feelings that he didn't want to face.

Is this love after all?

What he knows about romance is mostly from theory but never experienced the real thing. It’s unfitting to someone like him. Feelings and sentiments were never beneficial to him.

Drawn to the flame he can't touch. As a last resort, he called out to Yor.

“Yor.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we take our time walking?”

“Why?”

“B-Because…”

“Okay, Loi… If you want sho. Let'sh walk sowlowly.”

Yor beamed a smile and turned away. Loid was thankful that he was walking behind. He didn't want Yor to see the few tears that escaped his eyes.

This little distance between them is the only thing that keeps Loid from losing his sanity. He knows that even this moment will fade as a memory once everything is over. And he will be left with nothing but a blank canvas for him to paint another fakery.

That's all there is to it.

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #loiyor #sxf fanfic #sxf #twiyor #drabble #dailyprompt #twiyor daily propmts #loiyor drabble #yeayeayea i kinda promised a royai fic but that one will take me loooonger #i need to do a proper research first lol #so anywayyy #long live angsty fics #twiyorprompts

90 notes · View notes

gingerjolover · 2 years ago

Note

Can I ask for a blurb about Naomi calming down their anxious/panicking gf pls 🥺

yes you may sweetheart!

i have two scenarios in my head (if that's alright with you sweet anon)

in person and over the phone

in person, naomi gives me cuddlebug energy okay? like maybe you et home from school or work and you're just having a shit day so you lay facedown on the couch, just sobbing quietly to yourself, the anxiousness creeping up in your throat, the burning spreading across your chest. Naomi comes home chipper as ever, like in a goofball mood, ready to mess with you. "'m home love," they say in a British accent, giggling before stopping and seeing you on the couch, instantly dropping their bags as their face falls into concern. Naomi makes their way to the couch, kneeling down next to you, "Hey baby, hey," just softly rubbing your back, maybe pushing some hair away from your face and ears so they can kiss your temple. "What's wrong, sweet girl?" not knowing if you need space or comfort. Responding is hard, one wrong move and you'll be thrust into a panic attack so your pinky just softly grazes Naomi's before they're scooping you up, laying down on the couch, making you lie on top of them. Naomi's hand runs up and down the expanse of your back, lips pressed to your head, giving you small prolonged pecks. "wanna talk about it?" naomi whispers, their heartbeat against your ear as you shake your head, more tears falling. "'s okay, I'm here," just cooing at you, their hand pressing you firmly to their chest, other hand massaging the small of your back, trying to ground you so you don't start hyperventilating again. Maybe you fall asleep there, Naomi holding you to their body so you can rest securely, protecting you from yourself and anxious mind.

over the phone, i have this exact scenario where naomi is on tour and you've been doing okay up until today where you're just panicking, like on the ground, phone to your ear, no real reason behind the forest fire in your chest, your muscles tense and burning, your nails digging into your leg or hand so you can feel something. and naomi is not answering like at all. zero responses. this of course makes you panic further, your mind running all of the scenarios in which they are hurt or ignoring you or... and finally you call katie or jo.

if you called jo i think theyd lowkey panic lol, like you'd be crying, words jumbled being like "need naomi, please" and jo would be frantic if they were in the greenroom and naomi was somewhere in the venue, scrambling around out of breath by the time they get to naomi. there's no warning for your poor partner, just a wide-eyed panicked jo shoving their phone at naomi yelling "here!"

if you called katie i think she would try and talk you down, scrambling to find naomi but definitely more graceful than josette. "I'm looking for them pretty girl just hang on," because katie knows you need comfort (and in my hc she def gives off protective bff mom friend vibes to jo and naomi's girlfriends). When Katie finally finds Naomi, they similarly to Jo thrust their phone at them, giving them a look.

"Hello?" Naomi says confused because this isnt their phone and who could it possibly b- "I'm sorry I just--I need you right now and I..." is all Naomi needs to hear before putting their equipment down and rushing off stage, hand to their other ear. "What's wrong baby?" before you just spill everything that you're feeling, panic rising in Naomi's chest at the pain in your voice. "I need you to breathe baby, can you do that, tell me something you can see..." and they start working through exercises to calm you down. When you're finally breathing normal, voice thick with emotion, Naomi lets out a sigh of relief before asking, "Should I come home? I can come home, I'll-I'll get Franki to look at flights right now," before you have to calm down your partner, apologizing for interrupting soundcheck when they passionately call you out, "Dont do that, don't say sorry... I'm sorry I'm not there... you call me whenever you need me, its what I'm here for."

#anon cutie #naomi mcpherson x reader #naomi mcpherson #i...love them #muna x reader #muna blurbs #muna fics #muna

108 notes · View notes

criticallyacclaimedstranger · 10 months ago

Text

Milestones [a Jay and Frankie fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: Family life, Frankie is a soft girl!dad, allusions to sex and breeding kink at the end.

Words: 1,306

Summary: It's Alma's first day of school, and Frankie's emotional about his little baby that got so big.

A/N: @rambling-in-purple asked for "Anything to do with baby/kid milestones. First steps, first tooth falling out, starting school... Frankie being all emotional and Jay being '"'yep they grow that's what they do'", so here goes. I hope you like it!

"Come on, crew, let's move like we got a purpose!" Jay pokes her head into Alma's room while passing on her way to the bathroom with Bianca.

"Almost done," Frankie frowns, tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration while he finishes Alma's French braids. He's more nimble with his fingers, and has spent a lot more time in Youtube braiding school, so he's usually in charge of fixing Alma's hair. Today is a special day, and her hair needs to be perfect.

"Don't wanna be late for first day of school," Jay reminds them both, already further down the hall. Bianca needs a quick wash before getting dressed, and then it's off to daycare with her before Frankie and Jay are to leave their firstborn at school.

Frankie is the nostalgic one of the two, but Jay can't help but reminisce about the first few years with Alma. She was always headstrong, independent, and fearless, and starting her education doesn't seem to phaze her at all. Helping Bianca, who's now two and a half, get dressed, Jay still doesn't miss the days of trying to get Alma dressed in time for daycare. Alma's first full sentence was a defiant "Alma can self!" that her parents always tried to respect, but sometimes there just was no time for her slow and meticulous procedures. Bianca is less concerned with being helped. Then again, Alma was always a grinder, trying and trying until she got the hang of things. Bianca barely seems interested in trying, until she one day surprises everyone by just doing it, as if she knew all along how to but didn't care to share it.

Returning downstairs with Bianca, Jay finds Frankie handing Alma her backpack. When he turns to her, she can see that he's close to bursting into tears. She shoots him a grin that's equal parts taunting and comforting, and he smiles back.

"I'm good," he tells her.

"Until we say goodbye to her," Jay adds knowingly. Frankie chuckles, and grabs the car keys.

"Probably. But honestly, where did the time disappear? How is she so old already?"

Jay looks around for Bianca's daycare bag, before seeing that Frankie's already put it by the door.

"Time works like that," she tells him before shooing her family out the door. "Okay, I think we got everything, let's go, crew."

She was right all along. When they watch Alma skip happily into the school building, Frankie sniffles and has to wipe at his eyes.

"Please," Jay sighs, but she takes Frankie's hand in hers as they walk back to the car. "You did this when we put away the stroller. You did this when she lost her first tooth. You'll do it when she loses her last baby tooth, and when she graduates elementary school, when she gets her license, gets into college, moves to college - "

"Oh god, I can't even think about that!" Frankie shakes his head. "Why can't they stay small forever?"

"Kids grow, that's kind of their thing," Jay shrugs. They get into the car, Frankie in the driver's seat. Jay sends him a teasing look.

"Can I trust you to drive...?"

"I'll do my best," he replies with some dignity, and starts the car. Jay puts her hand on his thigh and squeezes it gently.

"I know, baby." Her voice is low, and he knows it's not him bucking up that she understands. He places his hand on hers, long, thick fingers folding around hers.

///

Alma's first school day goes great, and when her family picks her up, she's more than willing to go back the next day. The afternoon is sunny, so the girls play outside while Jay and Frankie pull up weeds. Alma gets to decide dinner and picks bbq skewers, so Frankie fires up the grill, and Jay picks vegetables in the garden while the chicken thaws in the kitchen. After dinner, they help Alma with her first homework assignment: colouring a pre-printed stock picture that describes her summer. The teacher had presented class with various different pictures, and Alma had picked one with flowers, because she had spent most of her summer in the garden, playing but also learning how to grow vegetables. She draws some tomatoes, carrots, and cucumbers next to the flowers, while Jay helps her prep for what she wants to say about her choice of picture.

The kids go down easily enough that night, and a few hours later, Jay and Frankie go to bed. Jay's almost asleep when there's a deep, wet sigh from Frankie. She blinks, orients herself, then frowns.

"Come on, stop bawling, man."

"I can't help it," he sniffles. "Our baby is all grown up."

"I'm warning you, Francisco..."

He rolls over, facing her, and collects her in his arms. "I need a hug."

She sighs theatrically and pats his back.

"There, there, there..."

Frankie chuckles despite himself.

"I'm serious!"

"Fine."

She embraces him, helps him settle against her, and buries her fingers in his thick hair, graying charmingly since a couple of years back. He sighs again, relaxing against her, and a small smile appears on Jay's lips. It doesn't matter that she thinks he's overly sentimental at times; she wouldn't change him for the world.

"You know that this is what parenting is about, right?" she reminds him in a murmur.

"Yeah. I just feel like we moved in here last month, and now it's been two years, and she started school, and soon we'll be sending off Bianca to school..."

"They'll be home for years to come."

"I know. I just feel like I missed so much time with them when they were younger, and when I was away."

She knows what away means: the month he slept on Benny's couch. It's been over two years, but his betrayal to his family still haunts him.

"I know, baby." She strokes his hair, pulls him closer to her. "But you're here now, we're both here, and we're lucky enough to not have to work for a living right now. doesn't that count for something?"

"It does." He draws a deep breath and sighs it out. "And I'm so proud of her. She'll do great."

"They both will," Jay agrees. Frankie lifts his head, and finds her lips in the dark. There's a hint of salt in his kiss, but it's quickly forgotten when he rolls on top of her.

"Let's make another." His voice is warm and low against Jay's neck.

"Another what?"

"Duh. Another baby." He kisses her neck, slowly, elaborately. Distracted, Jay passes her fingers through his hair.

"Are you serious?"

"Only half."

"Francisco."

He stops his ministrations and faces her. In the dark, she can't see his eyes, but she knows he's looking right at her.

"You seriously want another baby?" she asks in a low voice.

"You know I want a dozen kids with you," he tells her, "but we're both over forty, and those two are a handful as they are."

"But you said..."

"I know what I said. Jay, if you want another baby, I'm game. But I'm happy with the family I have."

He cups her cheek, seeks her lips for a kiss.

"I love you." A new kiss. "I love our girls." Another. "I love being a dad."

A familiar, exciting pull has replaces the tiredness in Jay's limbs, and she puts her arms around Frankie's waist.

"I love you too, Frankie. Let's just stick with the two we have, okay? Although I do miss the sex we had when I was pregnant."

He grins against her lips, his knee pushing in between her thighs.

"Now see, that we can do something about, there's always pretend, isn't there..."

A shiver runs up Jay's spine. "Then hurry up and put a baby in me, daddy..."

#frankie morales #frankie morales x ofc #jay and frankie #jay 'lady' ray #triple frontier fanfic #my fic

19 notes · View notes

sunflowersandsapphires · 2 years ago

Text

Fall Drabbles, Day 5

prompt: pie

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

summary: You are not willing to accept that Frank doesn't like pie.

warnings: swearing, more sickly sweet fluff

a/n: This is set in my Gray Skies AU but you do not need to read that one to enjoy this drabble. I had a great time with this piece as well. Post divider once again from the lovely @saradika!

w/c: <1k

“I cannot believe you. How can you not like pie?” You giggled, looking at Frank in shock.

The large man shrugged, hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Dunno. Was never my thing.”

“But there’s so many varieties!! Pumpkin, pecan, French silk, key lime, savory pies! You don’t like any of them?”

“I didn’t know this was such a deal breaker for you, sunshine.” Frank chuckled, trying not to let his honesty betray his concern.

“Oh it’s not a deal breaker,” You assured him, to Frank’s overwhelming relief. “Just means I’ll have to put in the effort to change your opinion.”

“Oh yah?” Frank raised an eyebrow at you.

“I’m a professional baker, Frankie. That is literally my job.” Planting a gentle kiss on his lips, you hovered your lips next to his ear and whispered menacingly. “You’ll never see it coming.”

Frank laughed deeply, pulling you into a hug. “We’ll see about that sunshine.

Glancing around your kitchen with a grimace, you began gathering the dirty dishes when a knock sounded throughout your apartment.

“C’mon in!” You yelled above the clatter as you hurried to tidy up the huge mess you’d unknowingly created.

“Jesus,” Frank whistled under his breath as he took in the state of your apartment.

”I take my craft very seriously,“ You panted, leaning on the counter to catch your breath.

Shaking his head, your boyfriend strode over to you, using a thumb to wipe off the smear of icing sugar on your nose. He chuckled, ”I can see that, darlin'. You did all this for me?”

“Of course, Frankie! It's fall, otherwise known as pie season! We have to find one you like.” You explained, taking him by the hand and dragging him to the table where you had laid out 7 different pies. “Ok so I didn't have time to make ALL of these but I chose my 3 favorite pies from around the city and made the other 4.”

Frank was blown away by the visible lengths you'd gone to for his benefit. It wasn't that he didn't like pie, it just had never really stood out to him. A pastry was a pastry, after all--if you put it on his plate he would polish it off all the same. The two of you had gone to a diner and shared a slice of pie that was fine, which he had admitted when he encouraged you to finish it off.

But he wasn't expecting your kindness and genuine care for him to run so deep. How often did someone love him to the point that an offhanded comment compelled them to go on a baking spree until they found his perfect bite? Had it ever happened before? He honestly wasn't sure, and that in itself was almost too much to bear. Everything you did, you did with your entire heart and he adored you for it.

Slightly overwhelmed, he sat down with a tinge of apprehension, which, of course, you picked up on. “I know I went a little overboard. Say the word and we'll pull the plug on this whole thing and I'll donate all these.”

“Hell no, sunshine. Let's eat!”

You giggled, sitting beside him so that your thighs were brushing. ”Alright, well the 3 I bought were the cherry, the strawberry rhubarb, and the lemon meringue. The ones I made were pumpkin, french silk, apple, and pecan. And, I didn't include it in the count, but I made a chicken pot pie for myself for dinner and you're welcome to try that too!“ Huffing an exhale, you looked at him nervously. ”Saying all of that out loud really highlights how crazy this was. I am so sorry.“

Taking your hand, Frank brushed a kiss over your knuckles. “Thank you, darlin'. For goin' through all the trouble for me. I—I don't think anyone's ever been this devoted to making things that I like.”

Smiling sweetly, you gave his stubbled cheek a kiss. “Shall we see if you like any of these pies?”

“I like everything you make, sunshine” He chuckled, taking the fork from your outstretched hand.

Giving an exaggerated groan, you rolled your eyes to him. “Well I wish I'd known that before going through all this TROUBLE.”

Frank gave a bellowing laugh, eagerly digging into the slice you placed before him.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #the punisher x reader #punisher #the punisher imagine #nmcu #the punisher netflix #frank castle fluff #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fc #my writing #fall prompts 2023

102 notes · View notes

emma23 · 2 months ago

Text

Shadow of deception :

Santiago garica x reader

The jungle was unforgiving, dense with vegetation and the sounds of unseen creatures echoing through the thick air. The group moved in calculated silence, their eyes scanning every shadow, every movement. Santiago led the way, his sharp gaze focused on the terrain ahead. Behind him, the team he had meticulously assembled followed, trusting in his leadership and the plan he had devised.

Among them was Y/N, a recent addition to the group, brought in for their unique skills in surveillance and intelligence gathering. Unlike the seasoned soldiers Pope was used to working with, Y/N was an enigma. She was quiet, seemingly aloof, yet her insights had proven invaluable more than once. Pope had found himself intrigued by her, drawn to the mystery she embodied.

But tonight, something felt off. They had been tracking their target, a high-ranking cartel member with ties to the infamous drug lord Lorea, through the jungle for hours. The plan was simple: capture the target, extract information, and leave no trace. But as they reached the edge of a small clearing, Pope couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Hold up," Pope whispered, raising his hand to signal the group to stop. The team froze, blending into the darkness. Y/N moved closer to Pope, her breath warm against his ear as they spoke.

"What is it?" She asked, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the jungle.

"I don't know," Pope replied, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area. "But something's not right."

Before Y/N could respond, a shot rang out, followed by a second. The team dropped to the ground, weapons ready, but it was too late. Their target was already dead, his body slumped over in the clearing.

"What the hell?" Frankie muttered, his eyes wide with shock. "Who shot him?"

"Everyone stay low," Pope ordered, his mind racing. How could this have happened? They were the only ones in the area, and no one had fired a shot.

[Y/N] eyes meets Pope's. "No. But we should move. If there's someone else out here, we can't stay in one place for too long."

Pope hesitated, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong. But there was no time to question it. They needed to get out of the jungle before whoever was out there found them.

"Let's move," Pope finally said, signaling the team to follow him. As they made their way deeper into the jungle, Pope couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something important—something that could change everything.

Back at the safe house, tensions were running high. The team had made it out of the jungle unscathed, but the mission was a failure. Their target was dead, and they had no idea who was responsible. Pope paced the room, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what had happened.

"Whoever it was, they were damn good," Tom said, breaking the silence. "We didn't even hear them coming."

"Yeah, but who the hell are they?" Ben added, his voice tinged with frustration. "And how did they know we were out there?"

Pope didn't answer, his eyes focused on Y/N, who was sitting in the corner of the room, her expression calm. Too calm, Pope thought. It was almost as if she knew something the rest of the team didn't.

"You got something to say, Y/N?" Pope asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "No. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Pope pressed, his patience wearing thin.

Y/N hesitated "I'm saying that it's possible someone on the inside tipped them off," Y/N continued, her gaze unwavering. "Someone who knew exactly where we would be and when."

Pope's heart sank. The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Not with his team. But now, hearing Y/N say it out loud, the possibility seemed all too real.

"That's a serious accusation," Redfly said, his tone defensive. "Do you have any proof?"

Y/N shook her head. "No proof. Just a feeling."

Pope stared at Y/N "We need to figure this out," Pope finally said, his voice firm. "No one leaves this room until we do."

As the team began to discuss their next steps, Pope couldn't help but notice the way Y/N was watching him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him uneasy. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew he needed to keep a close eye on her.

Over the next few days, tensions continued to rise within the team. Trust was eroding, and everyone was on edge. Pope found himself questioning everyone, even his closest friends. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N was hiding something.

One night, after the others had gone to bed, Pope found Y/N sitting alone outside the safe house, staring up at the stars. He approached her cautiously, his hand resting on the handle of his gun.

"What are you doing out here?" Pope asked, his voice low.

Y/N didn't look at him, her eyes still fixed on the sky. "Just thinking."

"About what?" Pope pressed, his suspicion growing.

"About everything," Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "About how we got here. About what's going to happen next."

Pope studied her, his eyes narrowing. There was something in her tone—something that sent a chill down his spine. "What are you really doing out here?" he asked, his voice sharp.

Y/N finally turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "Do you trust me, Santiago?"

The question caught Pope off guard. He hesitated, then finally nodded. "Yeah. I do."

Y/N smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Good. Because you're going to need me."

Before Pope could respond, Y/N stood up and walked back into the safe house, leaving him standing there, his mind racing with questions.

The next morning, everything came crashing down.

Pope woke up to the sound of gunfire. He grabbed his gun and rushed out of his room, only to find chaos. The team was under attack, but it wasn't an outside force—it was one of their own.

In the midst of the chaos, Pope spotted Y/N standing in the doorway, a gun in their hand. Her eyes locked, and in that moment, Pope knew the truth.

"You," Pope breathed, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "It was you all along."

Y/N didn't deny it. She simply smiled, a cold, calculating smile that sent a shiver down Pope's spine.

"Why?" Pope demanded, his voice shaking with anger and betrayal.

Y/N shrugged. "Because it was the only way. You wouldn't understand."

Before Pope could react, Y/N raised her gun and fired. The shot missed, but it was enough to send Pope diving for cover.

The room erupted into chaos once again, but this time, Pope was focused on one thing and one thing only—taking down the person who had betrayed him.

The two of them clashed, their fight brutal and relentless. Y/N was quick and cunning, but Pope was fueled by a mixture of anger and hurt. They grappled, exchanging blows, until finally, Pope managed to disarm them.

He stood over Y/N, his chest heaving with exertion, his gun trained on them. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger," Pope growled, his voice laced with fury.

Y/N looked up at him, their eyes cold and unfeeling. "Because you loved me."

The words hit Pope like a punch to the gut. He hesitated, his finger trembling on the trigger. For a moment, he considered it—considered letting her go, considered forgiving her.

But then he remembered the betrayal, the lies, the people who had died because of her. And in that moment, he made his decision.

The gunshot echoed through the room, and Y/N fell to the ground, lifeless.

Pope stood there, staring down at the body of the person he had once trusted, once cared for. He felt nothing—no relief, no satisfaction. Just an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

As the rest of the team regrouped, Pope knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The mission was over, but the scars it left behind would never heal.

Months later, Pope sat alone in a dimly lit bar, nursing a drink. The mission was over, the money long gone, and the team had gone their separate ways.

Pope had drifted from one place to another since that night, haunted by the memories of what had transpired. The betrayal, the bloodshed, the sense of loss—it all lingered like a shadow that refused to fade. He downed the last of his drink, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the pain that had taken root deep inside him.

The bartender, a grizzled man with a tired expression, approached to refill his glass, but Pope waved him off. "I'm good," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

The bartender nodded, moving on to another patron. Pope stared at the amber liquid in his glass, his mind wandering back to that final moment with Y/N. Their words echoed in his mind, "Because you loved me." He hated how true those words had been, how they still held power over him.

He had tried to justify what he had done, telling himself that it was necessary, that Y/N had deserved it for what she had done. But no matter how many times he repeated it in his head, the guilt never fully subsided. It gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the line he had crossed.

The door to the bar creaked open, and Pope glanced up out of habit. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the figure standing in the doorway. For a split second, he thought it was Y/N, back from the dead to haunt him. But as the figure stepped into the light, he realized it was just a stranger—a young woman with a worn-out look in her eyes.

Pope sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was losing it, seeing ghosts where there were none. He needed to get a grip, needed to find some way to move on. But how did you move on from something like that? How did you let go of the weight of betrayal and the guilt of pulling the trigger on someone you once cared about?

The woman approached the bar, ordering a drink before glancing at Pope. "Rough night?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

Pope managed a faint smile. "You could say that."

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

Pope chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "I'm not sure it would help."

"Maybe not," she replied, "but it's better than letting it eat you alive."

There was a sincerity in her words that caught Pope off guard. He studied her for a moment, wondering what had brought her to this place, what demons she was trying to drown in her drink. But he didn't ask. They were both here to forget, not to remember.

"What's your story?" Pope asked, changing the subject.

She shrugged. "Just trying to get by. Made some bad choices, ended up here."

Pope nodded, understanding all too well. "Yeah. I know how that goes."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The bar around them buzzed with the low hum of conversations, but it all felt distant to Pope. He was trapped in his own head, replaying that night over and over, searching for some way to make sense of it all.

"What's your name?" the woman asked, breaking the silence.

Pope hesitated. For a moment, he considered lying, giving her a fake name to keep his distance. But then he realized it didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.

"Santiago," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you, Santiago. I'm Maria."

Pope nodded, not sure what else to say. They fell into silence again, but this time it was more comfortable, less heavy. Maybe it was because Maria seemed to understand, without needing to ask a hundred questions. She was just another lost soul, drifting through life like he was.

"Do you ever wonder if it was worth it?" Maria asked suddenly, her voice laced with sadness.

Pope glanced at her, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Everything we go through," she explained, staring into her drink. "All the pain, the loss, the mistakes. Do you ever wonder if any of it was worth it in the end?"

Pope thought about it, his mind flashing back to the mission, to Y/N, to the moment he had pulled the trigger. He had wondered that very thing countless times. And every time, he came up with the same answer.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But I like to think it meant something, that it wasn't all for nothing."

Maria nodded, as if she understood. "Yeah. Me too."

They sat there for a while longer, two strangers in a sea of people, each trying to find some semblance of peace. For Pope, it was a fleeting moment of calm in the midst of the storm that had become his life. And for the first time in a long while, he felt a sliver of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to live with the choices he had made.

As the night wore on, Pope found himself opening up to Maria, sharing bits and pieces of his story, careful not to reveal too much. She listened without judgment, her own experiences giving her a unique perspective on the darkness that haunted him.

By the time the bar was closing, Pope felt lighter, as if talking to Maria had lifted some of the weight off his shoulders. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going, to give him a reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

"Thanks for the talk," Pope said as they left the bar, the cool night air hitting his face.

Maria smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Anytime, Santiago."

They parted ways, each heading off into the night, but as Pope walked away, he felt a strange sense of closure. He knew the scars would never fully heal, and the memories would always haunt him, but maybe that was okay. Maybe, in the end, it was those very scars that made him who he was.

And as he disappeared into the darkness, Pope made a silent vow to himself—to keep moving forward, to live with the choices he had made, and to never forget the lessons he had learned. Because in a world full of shadows and deception, sometimes the only way to survive was to embrace the darkness within.

#Santiago Garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

3 notes · View notes