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essentiallyleaf · 6 months

Text

day 24. car sex. with. ningning.

1286 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, car sex, Z O O M I N, deepthroating, semi-public sex, a bit of classic existential dread.

notes.

it is so fucking late i gotta go. speedily, leaf.

It’s at times like these that you want to treasure the most precious resource you have. The sun just sank down the horizon of Alpha-Earth, giving the sky this vibrant, electric aura, from the golden and pastel blue West to the indigo East. Hundreds of headlights leave long trails of yellowish white and rusty red all along the highway, almost as if the lines were already there, and the cars just following their predetermined paths. Your right foot pushes down, getting closer and closer to the asphalt. They can call you old-fashioned, but you love the growl of the rear combustion engine, the sound of rubber on tarmac. Time. They say it gets slower as you approach light speed, you’re far from it, but it’s almost like the clock’s hands move slower as the speedometer needle reaches new peaks. Nothing feels as close to God as this. The car takes a life of its own, and you wish you could simply close your eyes and, feel. The thrill you get when you’re on top of a tall building, and part of you wants to take a step. Those are also just passing moments, you think as you lift and return to cruise speed.

Ningning is beside you like she, sometimes is. Her hand falls on your pants-clad dick and starts rubbing like it does almost every single one of those times; the other times you’re already naked. Not the first time this happens in the car, even at high speed, so you simply turn auto-pilot on (they forced everyone to install it even on cars built before 2035) and let your head fall back in pleasure as she reaches inside your underwear to caress your bare length. Your right hand naturally goes to her almost naked back, needing to feel her skin under your finger pads.

She doesn’t dress to impress; sometimes she doesn’t dress at all. And the navy skintight rags she’s wearing today, well, those almost qualify as the latter. You’re in your usual attire, combat boots, cargo pants, the ones that tighten at the ankle, a close-fitting long sleeve shirt and a windbreaker. She needs your help to lower your pants and underwear, then goes back to stroking your cock, spitting on it for lubrication and reaching down to fondle your scrotum from time to time, causing you to moan up towards the roof of the car.

“Mmmh- Ning?”

“Huh?”

“Mind speeding the process up a little?”

Ningning likes to take her time, you learned that long ago. To make you look at her as she pulls the little lever on the side of your seat to move it backwards, positions herself between your legs, and stamps one long wet kiss on your tip. Or to observe people strolling at the night market, mothers buying their sons balloons, couples eating tanghulu (“You can tell if they’re good kissers just by looking at that” “Want to try with me?” “There’s a more hands-on way”; that was your first shared kiss, and it was more than just hands, on one another’s bodies after that). Right now her blue-tinted eyes are on yours, as her mouth surrounds more and more of your cock and she starts to feel her eyes watering and her lungs lacking air. She resists for almost fifty seconds this time - a good one, though not in her top five - drawing more than a groan from you before she has to back out and seek for oxygen.

“Are you okay?” She nods quickly, her hands cleaning up some of the drool that has accumulated on the sides of her mouth. “I need you right now, Ning.”

Ningning smiles and snorts lightly like she has you in the palm of her hand, and at the same time she has to concede this one to you. You stare at her open-mouthed as she somehow rids herself of her clothes, revealing her supple breasts and thick outer lips to you, and only thanks to your tinted windows not to any car around yours. She straddles your lap and wraps her arms around your neck to kiss you deeply while you grab onto one of her plump thighs with one hand and align your shaft with her already wet slit with the other. Her eyes are finally closed as she focuses on the feeling of your tip swiping up and down her vulva, brushing on her clit at every passage.

She’d been looking outside for almost all the trip, scrutinizing every detail of the gray and neon skyline of Nu-Seoul. Ningning has always had her own, unique wide-angle lens on the world. She has a little plant shelf right below her window in her apartment. It’s in one of those old, gray, samey buildings they were plopping one next to the other back when a growing world population wasn’t just a myth; the place is small and the plaster falling apart. One day she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the new little blossoms on the orchid, or at the bland, shiny neons on the skyscraper behind it, you couldn't really tell.

“Do you ever feel like the world is moving too fast for you?” She asked, sounding dispirited.

“I try to stay on pace”

“I feel… impotent. Like there’s nothing I can do, to change it”

“Do you think it’s on you to change it?”

“I think it’s on me to try.” She turns her gaze towards you, you let out a little sigh.

“When it’s just the two of us,” You sit beside her and wrap your arm around her back. “We can make what we want of our time. Make it speed up, slow down… It’s just ours. No one will ever take that away from us”

What you’re making of it now is pumping your dick in and out of her pussy while gripping onto her full asscheeks while she whimpers in your mouth at the sensation of her hole being stretched. She loves that feeling like she loves the feeling of wet grass on her feet when it’s raining, though meadows are but a distant memory in a city eaten by cement and desolation. Her soft, tight walls squeezing you in a humid embrace. You were wrong; this is what makes you feel like you’re touching the Infinite, reaching Eternity. Ningning moaning in bliss on your lips, on the crook of your neck, on the headrest of the driver’s seat. Her hands not finding rest, switching between your pecs, your jaw, your hips, and her own heat, digits circling at frenzied pace on her clit. You speed your thrusts up, time slows down. It’s a race ending in a photo finish; you can see the end, it’s close for both parties, but you never seem to reach it. Take a look at her pleasured state, savor the moment. Savor her tits as well, feast on them, then slap her ass once, twice. She wasn’t expecting it, her instinctive reaction is to drag her pelvis forwards towards you, giving you a different angle to attack. Exploit that to hit every crevice, every little patch you weren’t able to before, and as she contracts around you in one long, then multiple short and rhythmic flexes of her lower abdomen, each accompanied by a scream that fills the entire cockpit, you have your own release. Spill cups and cups of milky substance into her womb, every spurt coinciding with an upwards thrust and a small bite on her shoulder, as you continuously groan in complete bliss. Then it’s silence, a second, or an eternity, it doesn’t matter anymore, before she talks again.

“Back seat for round two? I want it from behind”

footnotes.

now i can’t unsee the asthma periods. you cursed me @erospandemos. gaspingly, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #aespa #ningning #aespa ningning #aespa smut #ningning smut #aespa ningning smut

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daintcas · 1 month

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jj who comes home in a fit from a shift at work !

dabbling with the infamous mechanic jj, works at some shabby auto shop just off the cut that reluctantly serves mostly kooks and nine times out of ten tests jj's temper on the daily.

the slamming of the door already hanging on by a single rusty hinge confirms your suspicions. as you perk up on his couch from lounging around (and having stayed the previous night), you see just how irritable your boyfriend had become with the sharp sighs and long strides he takes straight to the kitchen.

cautiously sitting up and deciding to approach him didn't turn out to be the brightest idea. because when you place an overly gentle hand on his shoulder, he shoots up from when he was hunched over the dingy fridge, riffling around for a beer.

you're left quickly pulling away and staring up at him with wide eyes, still trying to gauge the strength of his feelings. he sighs and lifts his cap, free hand running through his blonde hair. unbeknownst to you, he'd been working on containing his anger, specifically so he could prevent hurting you like before.

"sorry. sorry, it's just.." he says through an exhale, words slurred and hands repeatedly clenching into fists in the air.

"'s okay, jayj," you reason softly, hesitant to put your hands on him again and instead opting to crack open the tab of his beer.

the response is a small sigh from him, enough to ease the tension previously displayed on his forehead. he returns the favor by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, the metallic smell of his rough hand causing you to scrunch your nose.

at this he lets out a low, amused laugh, releasing the last bit of agitation. his large hand moves to splay across the back of your head, effortlessly pulling you into his chest and playfully roughing around the hair he had just been so careful with.

a smirk replaces his scowl when you giggle and succumb to his firm hold on your body, the hand not tangled in your hair starting to slip around your waist and underneath the barrier of your sweet little baby tee.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank prompt

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iris0-0 · 3 months

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Driver!Ellie Williams headcanons

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Warnings: Mentions of racing and speeding, nsfw if you squint.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Driver!Ellie: Who’s first car was Joel’s old red Chevy truck that was a bit rusty, she was estatic.

Driver!Ellie: Her license looks like a mugshot

Driver!Ellie: Who worked at an auto shop to earn enough money to buy a black Chevy Camaro, the prize of her life until you showed up ofc.

Driver!Ellie: Who only puts the masculine scented ‘little trees’ in her car. Until she let you put in a cherry one that lasted for months.

Driver!Ellie:Who used any excuse to drive her car. Need something? Car. Hungry? Car. Beautiful sunset? Car.

Driver!Ellie:Who you can tell is home by the slightly rev of her Camaro.

Driver!Ellie:Who swerves on empty backroads to drive you crazy.

Driver!Ellie:That rests her hand on your thigh on slower speed roads.

Driver!Ellie:Who’s prob eaten someone out in the back of her car in a dark empty parking lot.

Driver!Ellie:Who has illegally tinted windows.

Driver!Ellie:Who got a speeding (from racing someone on an empty highway) ticket at 18 and Joel (verbally) beat her ass and made her work extremely hard to pay it and regain his trust.

Driver!Ellie: That never speeds and always checks twice before doing anything on the road after Joel’s warning.

Driver!Ellie: That plays explicit/vulgar music loving the bass of the car.

Driver!Ellie who nearly gave Joel a heart attack when learning how to drive.

Driver!Ellie: Who looks like a man wearing sweatpants and a hoodie pumping gas at night.

#tlou2 #tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #driving #headcanon #imagine #x reader

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spasmsofthought · 3 months

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there is no fear now (dick grayson x reader)

been a little while, so i might be a little rusty, but this came so suddenly and i had to get it out.

THIS remix of "unconditionally" by katy perry is to blame for all of these words.

i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know you are deserving and worthy of being loved without reservation or shame.

not proofed or beta'd so please be kind.

xoxo

+++

Maybe the problem is that you don't think.

It might explain the way you're operating on auto-pilot as you make your way to his apartment. It might be why he's been keeping his distance from you. It might be why his texts are shorter and why he says he's too busy to stop by your place of work.

He knows there's something that's changing, that will change.

Given his background and how much is going on in his life currently, it's logical that he would be resistant to change. Especially a change like this.

Your knock on his apartment door is loud, unashamed.

It's like someone tied a knot in your gut and has been pulling and tugging you to where you have landed yourself in front of his door.

Maybe the problem is that you have always jumped into everything headfirst.

There's no thoughts about self-preservation or how you might embarrassing yourself as the door swings open.

His blue eyes are the first thing you see, tinged with exhaustion and fatigue. But there's a shining warmth too as he registers that it's you.

He says your name softly. And then, "What are you doing here?"

It's 11:30 pm on a Wednesday night. You're normally already in bed, and he's usually getting ready for patrol. You both know this is unusual.

Your mind has been on one track all evening. Scratch that -- all day.

"I love you" comes out.

I love you - pouring coffee into a cup.

I love you - the middle of the morning blue sky.

I love you - as you are getting off the bus at the stop near your apartment.

I love you - a taxi horn blares as you sprint across the crosswalk.

"I do." You say as he stares at you. "I love you. I love you and I think you know."

"I do know." His eyes shine, but there's worry brewing in them too.

"I love you," It comes out a little fiercer this time; a little stronger. You are assured and fearless in this.

Being in love with Richard Grayson should scare the ever-living daylights out of you, but it's the only thing you're certain about.

A weighted moment of silence follows your last confession, and you stand in front of Dick Grayson in the doorway of his apartment at 11:35 pm on a random Wednesday night and begin to wonder what the hell you are doing.

There's a split second where anxiety rules you. Where you wonder if it was actually a good idea to follow your gut instinct on this one. You wonder if you should've left it alone. You wonder if the exposure and vulnerability your confession to Dick will be worth it.

Simultaneously as quick as lightning and as slow as a sloth, Dick's hands reach for your face. His mouth swallows your gasp as his lips press against yours and he gently pulls you closer to him.

One of his hands drops from your face as your touch lingers over his forearms and the slam of the front door is the last thing you hear before you are lost to euphoria.

#dick grayson drabble #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fic #dick grayson x oc #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #nightwing preference #nightwing drabble #nightwing one shot #dick grayson one shot #richard grayson x reader #richard grayson oneshot

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demoralised · 2 years

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Slammed Rabbit

#rabbit #airride #air suspension #golf mk1 #slammed #descked #rust #rusty #cars #car #autos #classic cars #vw golf #volkswagen golf #mk1 golf

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lostintimenl · 2 years

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Abandoned cars (The Oldtimer Farm) Netherlands May 2020 (RIP) A urbex video from this cars: https://youtu.be/8yCg68RBC4g

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redcoralpot · 8 months

Note

Can you do Daryl finding out reader is trans? Early season 4, perhaps? :3

Attentu - Daryl Dixon x FTM Reader

Your wish is my command!!

Warnings: Gore, murder, violence, blood, cussing, mentions of transphobia and death, and addictions.

Word Count: 2.6K

You eagerly join in on the medical supply run, despite the group's awful luck. A confession from Bob has you feeling quite guilty about a personal matter...

It was dead.

You threw the car battery to the side, sick of the luck your supply group had. Daryl was on the other side of the room, shuffling through drawers in an attempt to obtain the right part. For an auto repair shop, it was horribly disorganized.

“Got anything?” you called over, impatient.

A grin took over your face as he tossed the find at you, catching it in a firm grip, “Nah.”

The car was not in terrible shape, not really. Some rust here and there, with paint scratched off from long road adventures before the outbreak. Your father had a similar car when you were just a child, and he was insistent that he passed on his knowledge, despite your mother’s constant objections. It was not fit for someone like you; that your hands should never be calloused from the tough ground nor covered in grease, she said. He always ended up laughing in her face.

So as he would have it, the two of you got in all sorts of trouble. Hijacking cars, picking locks, prying cabinets open with a pocket knife; all things he said would come in handy one day. Daryl seemed like he had the same type of upbringing, all rough and tumble, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him. That, or he was just really damn good with surviving.

Daryl’s footsteps creaked as he led the way out of the building, shining his flashlight on any possible threats around. Someone had to, as you weren’t keen to look after Bob found an old walker stuck under a desk, ending that misery. It was the only one left. One by one, you circled out of the building, with Bob’s silent trepidation behind you as you arrived back at the car. Daryl opened its hood again, and you both set to work.

His voice was muffled around his cigarette, “You never told us about the group you were with, before.”

You glanced up as Bob replied, “Which one?”

“You know,” he continued, when Daryl gave him a look, “when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walking.”

“Why’s that?’

“I was done being a witness. It happened two times, two different groups.”

…

“I was the last one standing, like God intended for me to see it over and over; a curse,” he shook his head, pursing his lips, “but, when it’s just you out there with the quiet, I used to drink a bottle of just 'bout anything just so I could sleep at night.”

“The run to the big spot, I only did it for me.”

You froze, a jug of clear liquid still in your hands. Daryl took it from you, completely unfazed, and managed to get a swig out of it.

He licked his lips, “You gotta keep busy somehow.”

“No, I did it so I could get me a bottle, a bottle of anything. That’s what got Zack killed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl peered at him, “why don’t you get in there and try the engine? Should be the red and green wires, it ain’t rocket science.”

Even as Bob walked away, you stayed silent. Your fingers burned as you rigged the working car battery back in, but never as much as your thoughts. The other man nudged you, urging you to take your hands off as the engine roared in front of you. He clapped his hands and brought them up to his mouth; a sharp whistle rang through the air. Bob’s alcohol troubles seemed to be forgotten by Daryl, since he gave you a rusty smile while you slammed down the hood.

“Nobody coulda’ known, and you ain’t gonna be standing alone. Not anymore,” he reassured Bob.

You huffed, swinging a few plastic bags of gas in the back seats, ducking to join them. Tyreese and Michonne got the rest and the three of you squeezed together with the luggage, closing the door. With that, you left the burdensome place behind.

The ride to the college was short, but Bob still parked a little ways out, and the group set off to walk the rest of the distance. You passed most of the buildings on campus; dull brick that plants jumped at the opportunity to outgrow after a year of inactivity.

“Looks like the building we want is up ahead,” Tyreese stated.

For the first time since Bob’s confession, you spoke, “Are we splitting up? We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Is that safe?” Michonne questioned, and Daryl eyed you.

“I know I can cover myself, if I end up alone.”

The brunette scoffed, and you shifted a glare at him, “You know I can, too. You’ve seen me.”

“I think,” Bob uttered, “it’s a good idea.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll shoot if I run into any trouble. Meet me back at the car.”

Outside of the Learning Resource Center, you split from the group, sneaking close to the ground. You heard the rest shuffle in the opposite direction with a soft “C’mon, c’mon.”, and let out a shaky breath. Two pairs, then three pairs of footsteps faded away.

The lights of the wing flickered and let out fading sparks as you padded along, dust pillowing up from wherever you stepped. God, the outbreak sure did a number on this place. Shadows grew as abundantly as the plants, but never dulled the smears of blood along the walls, floor, and shattered glass. It cracked and snapped under you, somewhere behind you, and you hissed as you looked at the walls alongside you. There were several doorways leading to different rooms, most likely supply closets or classrooms. Carefully, you dipped yourself into the nearest doorway, a heavy feeling on your back. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest and your stomach had a sick pit of anxiety as you thumbed through the biggest drawers. There were plenty of jars, containers, and vials, but none of them had what you needed. You read all the labels once, twice, the text in messy handwriting or tiny fonts.

Testosterone, in its liquid form made for injections, should be a clear liquid. You knew that much from what your provider told you, and from your own studies. Any colored liquids, or any with particles floating inside, you discarded from your search immediately. You were taking too long, you started to think, or were you? You didn’t know if you were gone for ten or if you have been here for thirty.

Once again, you slid back into the trashed hallway, trying to make your way towards the next doorway. The only things you could hear were your quick breaths and a creak, most likely from the forgotten building. A set pattern was in your mind as you dove into the room, and the haze of adrenaline made it hard to think. Walkers, as the prison liked to call them, were not your biggest concern. Even before the outbreak, it was dangerous for you to step outside; to live your life. If you passed by the wrong person, your face would be on the hot topic of the community for the week after. Getting caught was not an option.

You blinked, trying to clear the thumping in your ears. The vial’s label looked like a foreign language, though you knew it wasn’t, so you peered closer at it. A gust of hot air hit your neck, and again. Hot air. This place was cold.

Your fingers scrambled for the knife at your side, it was there, wasn’t it? You slashed before you could think. Hair scratched your fingers; your knife dug into a warm crevice. The hot air turned into a raw, groaning noise. The hot air stopped.

You pushed the body to the ground and your blade was released. The blood trickled hot down your wrist. Instead of the red you expected, it was a sludgy, filthy brown. It dripped in slow droplets on the floor beside your shoes. This was the first opportunity to look at the thing, and what a sight it was.

The knife had caved in a part of its skull, which itself was like a rotten, stomped on pumpkin. It oozed and dripped the same muck over the tile, muddying the disfigured face underneath. It made Osbourne’s stage trick look like simple child’s play to anyone who witnessed the act. Its eyes were still open; bulging out in that manic, hungry way only a madman got before the outbreak. You looked away from the mess, your breakfast seizing in your throat, and you busied yourself with getting more testosterone vials in your bag. The most important thing was that it was not human, not anymore.

Stuffing your full hand in your bag, you made a beeline for the doorway.

You should have learned your lesson.

A weight tumbled over you and knocked you to the floor, breathless. It screeched, rabid, like some sort of fucked up dog. If a dog hadn’t eaten for a month, that is. It stunk, too. It stunk so bad that you thought you might die from suffocation first.

It clawed at you, gnashing its yellow teeth. Your hands were pinned underneath the mass and you heard your knife land across the floor with a clang. This was going to be it. The end. It’s funny, isn’t it? Dying searching for your lifeline. You almost giggled at the irony.

The teeth were close to your neck, aiming to kill. To eat until you were nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones. You had to do something, and soon. The only part of your body you could move were your legs, and you tensed them up. You were going to survive this, you were going to get back to that car.

Three.

You struggled to prop your shoulder up, knocking the danger away from your neck. Its eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. As empty as a corpse.

Two.

The walker got more desperate to bite you, wiggling around harshly on top of you. You tried your best to keep your face far away from its own, but it successfully nipped the edge of your nose. This was going to hurt.

One.

Its final noise was a gurgling one, close to your ear. The weight flopped to your right side, stilling its frugal attempt to destroy you.

“You got yourself covered, huh,” a voice remarked.

You wheezed, “Christ.”

“What were you doin’?”

“Shit.”

Daryl stepped over you, pulling his arrow out of the corpse, “I’m serious.”

You finally got your legs under you, and the first thing you did was back a good distance away from him. There was no getting out of this, you both knew that Daryl would know if you lied to him. Yet, he was one of the last people in the prison you felt comfortable telling. Daryl was a classic redneck, with a bigot older brother and a taste for mysteriousness. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up like a wildfire. You would have much rather told Carol or even Michonne, if you had to choose.

“You know what Bob said.”

“Yeah,” he stated, “but you ain’t an alcoholic. I know that much.”

“I’m not, but that wasn’t the point. I only came on this run for one thing, and it isn’t medicine. It’s testosterone.”

“Why do you need that? You’re strong enough without that steroid shit.”

“I don’t get as much as you do naturally.”

“So a medical condition?”

“Kind of.”

“Even if it was, that don’t explain why you had to sneak away from the group to get it. What’re you hiding?”

“I’m transgender, Daryl. I wasn’t born a boy like you,” you murmured.

There was a parade of footsteps down the hallway, and Tyreese burst through the door, the others close behind. He looked spooked, with sweat dripping down his disheveled face. Michonne and, speaking of the devil, Bob looked no better off.

He exclaimed, “Jesus, there you two are. We gotta go, now.”

“What, why?”

“Walkers. Tons of ‘em. Let’s go!”

You gladly took this chance, shoving past Daryl to dart out into the hallway with the others. Everyone else was rushing, but it was a minute before you also heard footsteps behind you. The infected corpses swarmed the building, even though it wasn’t like that before, and it made you wonder what the hell released them. Your group ran up the stairs with walkers not too far behind, and those trapped banged on whatever surface they could reach.

“There was a ledge near the fire escape,” Michonne hissed, “we can go through there.”

No one responded unless a quick nod could be considered one, and you were off. Michonne went first, then Tyreese, you, and finally Daryl. Your legs were shaking, and you paid Bob a glance. He tensed up, seemingly trying to gauge the distance, before jumping. He was barely right, and landed a little too close to the edge, teetering off. His arms flailed and an army of bodies from below swarmed up to grab his heavy bag. You rushed to catch him, attempting to pull the man up, but he refused to let his backpack go.

Finally, you ripped both the man and his bag away from the grasp of the walkers, panting, “What the fuck were you doing? What’s in that bag that could possibly be so important?”

“He’s right.” Daryl took the bag from Bob, zipping it open.

Bob rushed to stop him, but it was too late. Daryl dropped the backpack as quick as he picked it up, and he seized Bob by the collar.

“If I ever catch you puttin’ a bottle before a need, I’ll feed you to the walkers myself. You hear me?”

You froze as Daryl let the shorter man down, pushing him as he did so. Everyone else shot him a disappointed look or a glare, and Michonne waved her hand. You were all to keep moving; the run was over, and on an especially sour note.

The group arrived back to the prison safe and sound, the most daring of injuries being bruises, or small cuts. Tyreese and Michonne left to do their own activities, while Bob left to lick his wounds. This retired Daryl and yourself alone, to an awkward silence. With nothing else to do, you picked at a particularly nasty cut on your forearm. It was starting to look infected.

You cleared your throat, “Do you have anything left in your bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I use some?”

“Nah.” Daryl tossed you his bag.

Carefully, you peeked inside. There wasn’t much left, some disinfectant spray and vials of a clear liquid. No, that couldn’t be, could it?

Testosterone. At least three good vials of it.

You raised them up to your face, not believing your eyes, “Daryl, where the hell did you get these?”

“Grabbed them from that drawer you found the others in,” he refused to make eye contact, “after you left.”

“Why?”

“You might’ve needed more than you got.”

That… meant a lot to you. You had expected him to at the very least ignore you, or even worse, disgusted by you. What were the chances he would grab extras for you, just in case? Instead of yelling or hitting or kicking you out of his life, Daryl did that. If you were being honest, this was one of the weirdest coming out stories to date, but nothing can really beat zombies being included.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Nah. I’m a little confused, though.”

“On the topic?”

Daryl sighed, “Yeah. Wasn’t educated that much.”

“Well, if you want, I could help with that.”

Just for a second, he looked you in the eyes. In that moment, you didn’t see hate, anger, or anything negative. Only a sharp, beautiful glimpse of curiosity.

“Yeah.”

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maxwell-grant · 8 months

Note

so with the show gone, what's your headcanon on the ventures's future? have the creators mentioned anything about it?

A few things in passing but not too much. Namely just that Dean is gonna lose his hair and that Hank will eventually step foot in Mars as an adventurer. I think Doc and Jackson said as much that they want to keep the door open for future stories in case they do get to come back, and that they'll always have new things they'll want to do, but anyway yes okay, post-show headcanons:

Doc burns through Jonas Jr's fortune and for the most part remains the same, but he eventually achieves a true breakthrough of his own: a permanent solution to hair loss. It comes with a few little side effect mutations but for the most part it does work and Doc is, reasonably pretty happy that for once he gets something to his name that he actually made and isn't something horrible done to him. "Reasonably happy" is as happy as Rusty is ever allowed to get, and he dies a few weeks later by something predictably stupid, like auto-erotic asphyxiation.

It's shitty, Dr Orpheus cries over it, but everyone kinda saw it coming.

Most of Doc's assets get seized and the boys actually don't get much, he forgot to put them in the will because he made it back when he still had the clone farm. Rusty's last wish is to be cremated so nobody gets to clone him, and for his ashes to be scattered at Spanakopita, which has become a big White Lotus-esque resort island since Doc's last visit, built by Giorgo almost entirely off the Venture fortune. On the boat ride to Spanakopita, (WHITE LOTUS SEASON 2 SPOILERS) Sgt Hatred dies exactly like Tanya did and nobody bothers to fish his body back up.

Eventually some Rusty clones will pop up over the years, one of which is gonna be on that offscreen Rusty that went on the Cleveland Time Machine adventure with Billy. Once they leave Rusty's science basement, Billy and Pete White will never make it to the big leagues, but they'll pretty much be together until the end, and they are gonna go on some real weird adventures, like freaky Doom Patrol stuff, St.Cloud is gonna get up to some shit in the future once he bumbles into becoming rich enough to warp space-time around him just by existing and turn into the world's first Level 100 antagonist by the least amount of effort humanly possible. Actually the whole world is gonna get a lot weirder in the future, when stuff like the cloning tech and anti-gravity music boxes bleed over into general public use.

At some point the Earth will be menaced by the return of General Treister, who has absorbed enough cosmic radiation to become Galactus (this one was mentioned in the artbook as something they'd play around with, if they ever brought Treister back). He will be stopped from devouring the planet by a joint effort between Hank Venture, the Guild and the OSI, and Hunter Gathers will sacrifice herself in the process, passing the OSI's leadership to Shore Leave, who will bring SPHINX back every few months just so he has an excuse to interject SPHINX! into sentences again for funsies. Brock essentially becomes the OSI's equivalent to Red Death: basically retired, but he goes on assignments a couple times per year or gets brought onboard for decision-making, some part of him actually does kinda like this life and he stands by the friends he's made in it. He keeps touch with the Ventures but for the most part he flies solo. At some point he will have enough illegitimate children across the world for them to start their own super spy group.

Hank becomes an adventurer, and for the most part he just remains Hank as always. He makes a lot of strange alliances all over the place, he doesn't resort as much to his entourage of personas but some still come up on occasion (the double life of Enrico Matassa is one for the history books), he reforms Shallow Gravy with Dermott (who is totally 100% getting kicked out of the OSI) and Gary and HELPeR and Scare Bear playing the triangle, for the most part he lives up to the idea of being more "Rusty Venture" than Rusty himself ever was and he becomes like the first major Venture adventurer who's not some kind of monster. He completely and totally blows out any chance at settling down into normalcy, but he lives an exciting life. 50/50 on him either dying young doing something incredibly stupid and careless, or somehow stumbling his way into full-blown Highlander immortality just as 21 foresaw.

Dean I think stays in New York full time and is another 50/50 on him: he's either gonna succeed in having a normal life, or he's becoming a villain, I'm taking the fandom side on this one, villain Dean is not the most exciting idea in the world but it has some legs to it and I can't see him being anything else if he's gotta be a part of that binary whether he likes it or not. In the former, I imagine he finishes college, maybe gets a degree in something lowkey, probably changes his name and settles down with somebody and stops answering most calls, basically makes it like Professor Van Helping in that his life is okay and that's just how he wants it. Villain Dean I think happens in largely a similar way to how it happened to Dr Girlfriend taking over the Guild: not something they wanted or planned to, but it's the best way to keep things stable and keep themselves afloat amidst the chaos that surrounds them whether they want it or not. Maybe he finally listens to King Crimson and it breaks his brain into mad science a bit, as it tends to do, or maybe he invokes his blood right to appoint himself Sovereign but otherwise keeps hands-free of the Guild, and only does it so the Guild leaves him alone and he can boss other villains into standing down. He's gonna have freaks in costume trying to get him for the rest of his life so, fuck it, when in Rome or something.

At some point in the very near future Mantilla takes over the Peril Partnership and guts it to make ARCH a real thing, and maybe in the future ARCH kinda replaces the Guild at the forefront of supervillain institutions, with the Guild having the final word in matters of diplomacy and the old guard and ARCH as the new high-tech face of things. She never succeeds in getting to be besties with Dr Girlfriend, but she does hit it off nicely with Sirena, who takes over after Wide Wale and fires basically everyone that was still around after the Morpho saga. The Order of the Triad actually does succeed in making it pretty big, with comparatively few players but some very powerful additions like Lila, Red Death's daughter, and some of Jefferson's old buddies. Definitely not Triana though, she's got better to do than run with her dad's crew. Somehow HELPeR winds up joining and gets married to the Pants Golem.

Gary is gonna keep on being Henchman 21 up until the moment The Monarch dies, at which point he might actually undergo another big transformation of the self and will probably just outright become a sidekick to the heroes. He's never going to truly be a hero or a villain himself, he gave those a try and he's pretty firmly the kind of guy that only comes to life when someone else tells him what to do, so I imagine he's gonna bounce around until he finds something he finds fulfilling, will probably go on plenty of adventures with Hank. Really by this point he's already an honorary Venture, with The Monarch out of the picture so goes the pretense. Sheila, I think she just runs the Guild for as long as she can, probably reformulates it into something more sustainable by the end of her run. Sheila's arc in the show is about her climbing the ranks and moving away from her role as a number two, and distancing herself more from The Monarch because of it, and she's not going back to her old life so I think she's just fully going to remain The Sovereign up until she gets too sick of it, possibly moves into politics at Radical Left's suggestion and hands the Guild off to Phantom Limb. Maybe even becomes President of the United States for a bit, if anyone in the cast is becoming president it's really gotta be her. Or maybe not since she's overqualified, but still, if she does, in the process she hands the Guild to Phantom Limb, who basically makes it a drinking buddies gentleman's club and is too retired and rich and old to care much about anything anymore.

The movie ends with a pretty firm statement that The Monarch is just going to keep on being The Monarch no matter what and that he will in fact never stop trying to arch Rusty, and he's had like a million chances to kill Doc by now and didn't seize any of them so really yes he will just keep doing this until one or both pass. And I'm definitely thinking Doc goes first, Malcolm is torn between celebrating and flipping the fuck out that Doc DARED to not let The Mighty Monarch kill him, and for a brief moment he's completely and totally unsure as to what the fuck is he going to do with his life. He's like this close to genuinely trying to turn his life around and try to be a Blue Morpho-esque hero again if only because he and Gary had some good times and, y'know by this point he hates the Guild more so than the OSI, but then the Rusty clones show up and, you know what, fine, I can work with this, THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH IS NO MATCH FOR THE ACID CUMSHOT OF VENGEANCE, DOCTOR VENTURE, MUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! and then he crashes his new butterglider into a cliffside Wile E.Coyote style and he dies like two weeks into a new plan.

Gary cries, Sheila's heartbroken, but again, they and everyone totally saw this coming.

#replies tag #venture bros #the venture brothers #the venture bros #adult swim #doc hammer #jackson pollock #rusty venture #the monarch #dean venture #hank venture #brock samson #henchman 21 #dr girlfriend

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 11 months

Text

Clementine Kisses

Chapter Seven of the Through the Scope Series | Chapter Eight

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.8K

Chapter Overview: You wake up in a strange bedroom and investigate

TW: smut !! oral (f receiving), f in v, p in v, depictions of breasts but without their size

Notes: now i know this isnt a gif of frankie, but i am the law of the land and i want to use it. okay LMAO we finally made it to the smut hehe i mean i feel like yall knew this was coming tbh,, i havent written it in a while so i might be a bit rusty, but im still pleased with how it turned out. its just so much fun to write. as usual ... my asks are always open & happy reading <3 (oh and listen to lemon boy by cavetown bc it was on repeat while i wrote this chapter)

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

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Your head is spinning, but your body is so comfortable. When did your shitty mattress get this soft? Without even having to open your eyes you can tell that the sun is up. You must have forgotten to close the blinds when you got home last night. Wait a second…you don’t remember coming home. Still choosing to keep your eyes shut for fear of seeing a stranger next to you in bed, you hoist the covers up and over your head. Maybe if you just pretend you didn’t do anything stupid last night it will become a reality.

You inhale deeply, slightly wincing at the throbbing in your head, and your eyes pop open. It may be pitch black under the sheets, but you are starting to see things more clearly. You know this smell. It’s a smell that has haunted the deepest corners of your mind since you first encountered it. Since you first encountered him. It’s musky, but not in a dirty way. It fills your nose and soothes the anxiety you felt creeping its way into your belly. You breathe in deeply again. There were subtle hits of…tire rubber? Well he works in an auto body shop so that checks out.

You decide to hold your breath to see if you can hear anyone breathing softly beside you. A few seconds go by with the only sound being the steady beat of your heart. Hoping that you correctly assumed that you’re alone, you peel back the covers to reveal a foreign sun lit room. You look beside you and breathe a sigh of relief when you see that the right side of the bed has been left undisturbed. As much as you wanted to have sex with him, that was definitely something you wanted to remember. Using your elbows as support, you scoot your body into a sitting position and lean your back against his headboard. Looking at the nightstand beside the bed, you see three things: a glass full of water, two tylenol pills, and a small slip of paper. Without thinking twice you pop the painkillers in your mouth and chase them down with the now room temperature water. Nothing has ever tasted so refreshing. You trade the empty glass for the piece of paper. Aloud you read what it says.

You fell asleep in the truck. I’ll explain everything in the morning. On the couch if you need me. -Frankie

He had drawn a little smiley face next to his name. You laugh quietly to yourself as you set the note back down on the small table. Looking down you see your shoes neatly placed in front of it. There is a shirt you don’t recognize folded and carefully placed on top of them. You reach down and unfold it in your lap.

“Hmm.” You run your fingers over the faded design on the front of it. “Fleetwood Mac. You have good taste in music, Frankie.”

After giving the room one final once over to make sure no one is inside you shimmy out of yesterday's shirt and bra and dawn the one left out for you. Then you throw the rest of the covers back, climb out of bed, and take off your jeans. It wasn’t your fault he didn’t have any shorts for you. His shirt comes to rest a few inches above your knees as you start quietly tiptoeing around his room. You know snooping is wrong, but you just can’t help yourself. Your still socked feet guide you over to a thin, vertical bookshelf that sits directly in front of the side of the bed that you slept on. Dust has started to collect on the shelves and the books themselves. You run your fingers across the spines of them until you see one that peaks your interest.

“What do we have here, Frankie? A Helicopter flying handbook?”

You slide the heavy duty book from its seemingly perpetual resting place and crack it open. A lot of the pages are dog-eared and highlighted to high heaven. You close it and set it back where you found it. As you look closer you see that the majority of the books he has relate to helicopters, aviation, and the mechanics of flying aircrafts. A pang of sadness and realization shoots through you as you realize that you know so little about him. You know so little about what he did when he was on missions, fuck, you didn’t even know that he knew how to fly. But you want to. You want to know everything there is to know about him whether it be big or small or beautiful or ugly.

Moving over to his dresser, curiosity building, you see a group photo. You pick it up and you mentally name Frankie, Santi, Will, Benny, and who’s that? A gruff looking man smiles and has his arm around your coworker. He appears older than the other men he’s standing with. You’ve never met him or even heard the guys talk about him before. Right as your mind starts to pick apart who the fifth man in the photo could be, the sun reflects off something else on the dresser and catches your eye. You set the photo down and look for the culprit. When you find it, you feel your knees get weak. Sitting on top of a familiar looking post-it note there is a beer bottle cap. You gasp to yourself as you pick it up. This must have been the cap of the beer that he opened for you when you attended the fights with him. You thought you had seen him slip it into his pocket, but you figured that it was just because that was an easier alternative than leaving to throw it away. He saved it as a memento and kept it by your number. Two things that another man would consider trash, he kept and cherished.

The smell of coffee tickles your nose and you can hear faint clanging coming from the kitchen. You decide that you have been hiding and snooping long enough, so you set the cap down and make your way to the door. The room you were in appears to be on the left side of the hallway. You walk quietly down the hall and notice that the walls are barren. The noises get louder as you close the space between yourself and the kitchen. His house’s layout makes you walk through the living room, which has the front door, before you reach the kitchen. There’s no door when you approach so you’re able to see Frankie engrossed in his task. Well, his back to be more precise. He has on a tired looking t-shirt and some boxers. One side of his hair is sticking up in a way that causes you to stifle a laugh. For a man that slept on the couch last night, he seems to be quite chipper. His low humming only makes that fact more apparent. You get comfortable by leaning against the shared living room and kitchen wall, but it’s short lived. The man in front of you turns around and bursts both of y’alls bubbles of ignorant bliss.

“Oh!” He’s holding a mug in each hand. “Good morning! Or I guess it’s technically the afternoon now.”

“Good morning to you too.” You follow him when he beckons you to join him at the kitchen table. “So…do I want to know how I ended up here?”

Frankie watches as you sit down across from him at the table in his shirt. If he’s being honest it makes his cock twitch to see you like this. He is in awe at how beautiful you look after waking up. Sure, your hair is wilder and your mascara is smudged, but fuck if you aren’t a breath of fresh air. He finds himself getting irrationally jealous that his bed was the one that got to hold you while you slept. He wanted to wake up to that face in the morning. Every morning.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He slides a mug over to you and scratches the back of his head.

“If waking up in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in and then being greeted by a cup of coffee is bad, then I don’t ever want to end up in a good looking situation again.”

His shoulders relax when you say this, as if he was anxiously waiting to see how you would react to the situation. “Well, Pope and I tried to drop you off at your apartment, but you didn’t have your house keys in your tote. So, this was the next best option.”

“Oh my God! I knew it seemed lighter than usual when I left the gym! Damn, Benny for rushing me last night.”

“Your bag is over on the entryway table if you want it. It’s got your phone.”

“No, I’m alright.” You say before sipping your drink. “I’m in good company.”

He looks at you bashfully before indulging in his own cup of coffee. You take the cozy silence as an opportunity to look around his kitchen. It’s oddly reminiscent of yours. No art, no decorations. Save for a small basket of fruit on his counter. The only room that has given you a glimpse into his mind has been his room.

“Did you,” He follows your eyes. “Did you want an orange? I can never get around to eating them in time and it would be a shame for them to go to waste.”

“How about we share one? I’ve never been very hungry when I first wake up, but I’ll make an exception.”

He stands just enough to give himself the extra length to reach the fruit. You take it from him when he offers it and start peeling. When you finish, you split it in half and offer one side to him.

“I told you that you enjoy taking care of people last night.” You eat one of your citrus slices.

He tries to look nonchalant as he mirrors your actions. “Maybe there is some sense to all that star stuff you like. Tal vez eres una estrella.”

“And what makes you think I’m a star?” Your stomach feels like it's made of knots.

“Well…you have this brightness about you.” You can see it in his eyes that he’s struggling with telling you what he's thinking. Not because he doesn’t want to say it, but because he doesn’t know how to. “I seem to see you most often after the sun has already gone down, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know that you’re there when the sun is still up. Sometimes, I get lucky enough to see you during the day.”

You breathe in a shaky breath as he presses forward in his explanation.

“I find myself getting sucked into your gravitational pull whenever I’m around you.”

Both of you have unconsciously started to lean towards each other.

“And you’re…”

“I’m what, Frankie?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” It comes out shakier than you intend.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he hears your reaction to his confession. “I’ve been in awe of you from the moment I met you and every moment after, mi estrella.”

“My star.” You repeat what he just called you in spanish. You have to do something to distract from the intense feeling of bawling that suddenly consumes you.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He stands up and cups your face in his hands.

“Say you mean it.” You say looking at him.

His deep pools of chestnut trace your face as he stares back at you. “I mean it, mi estrella. Every syllable.”

You stand, his hands still in place, and kiss him. You finally kiss him. There is no way that you could have waited any longer. His lips mold with yours hungrily. As he opens his mouth to you, you can taste coffee and sweet oranges. You can’t help but moan into him when he slides his hands down your body to cup your ass and pull you tight against him. His teeth catch your bottom lip and pull on it gently. He groans when your own hands snake their way up his chest and wrap around his neck. You intertwine your fingers in his thick curls, grateful that you now have unbridled access to them without his cap.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.” His chest heaves against your body and you can feel him hardening against your bare leg.

You open your mouth for him again and tilt your head so you can deepen the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth and you eagerly let him. The sounds he’s making while he palms your ass are sinful. You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of the sounds he will make while he fucks you. He scoops you off the ground and your legs wrap around his waist as he sets you down on the table. The cool wood sends a shiver through your body that makes him smile against your lips.

“I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.” He sounds like he's in pain.

“That makes two of us.” You gasp as he starts to work his way down your neck.

Desperate to quell the growing ache in between your legs you grind your core against him and feel him shutter.

“You want this just as badly as I do, huh?” His breath is hot against your skin.

“I want it so bad.” You bring his face back up to yours and sloppily kiss him. “It’s all I can think about.”

His hand answers your prayers when he starts to rub circles on you through your underwear. He swallows your wanton cries with his mouth. You feel him laugh against you and you already know the cause of it.

“You’re so wet for me and I’ve barely laid a finger on you, cariño. How is that?”

He slides your underwear to the side and easily slides in a finger. You have to lay your head on his shoulder as he curves it up inside you and hits that sweet spot.

“I would have-” Your breath is stolen for a moment when one finger hastily becomes two. “I would have let you do this to me at the bar. Would have let you make me come with your fingers while everyone sat around us.”

“Fuck.” He whines into your hair. “You’re so filthy. Not caring who’s around or who could see what I’m doing to this sweet pussy.” He removes his fingers from inside of you and you whimper at the loss. You watch, mystified, as he places them in his mouth and licks each one clean with greed. “Lay back for me. I need to taste the real thing.”

His eyes are glazed over with lust right now. The ache in between your legs is so painful and you are desperate for reprieve. You immediately do as he asks and lay your back down on the kitchen table. You take the liberty of lifting your shirt up and exposing your breasts to him. The way he is looking at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world. His eyes wash over your body and you can’t help but squirm underneath his gaze. He leans down and takes one of them in his mouth while he forcefully cups the other. Your back arches when he catches your nipple between his teeth. Never one to neglect, he works his mouth to the other one before he trails his lips agonizingly slow down your body. He peppers kisses right above the start of your underwear and you can’t help but buck your hips up towards him.

“Patience is a virtue.” He chides looking up at you through hooded lids.

“Please, Frankie.” You plead with him. You hope he can see how badly you're hurting. “Please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore.”

He smiles to himself as he shifts his attention to what's right in front of him. His thumbs hook into the fabric and he slowly starts to pull them down.

Ding Dong! Ding Dong!

You both freeze and hold your breath to see if the sound was imagined. When its unholy ringing comes again, he rests his forehead on your stomach.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m legitimately going to fucking kill them.” His beard tickles your skin as he speaks.

“Who-who is it?” You’re trying to catch your breath.

“The guys.” He doesn’t move his head from where he laid it to rest. “They are here to watch the basketball game.”

“Open up, Fish!” Benny yells as he raps on the door. “I know you’re in there, you bastard! Your truck is in the driveway!”

Frankie all but growls as he pulls your underwear back up and helps you sit up straight. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that Benny’s a dead man. You reluctantly hop off the table as Frankie tells them he will be there in a minute.

“Why don’t I answer it?” You gesture down to his now very strained shorts. “You can change while I handle them.”

“Oh fuck me.” He rolls his head back.

“That’s what I was trying to do! Now go, go!”

You push him towards his room and start to head for the door. Two steps in and you feel a strong hand grab your arm and pull your body back. He captures you in a desperate kiss before he releases you.

“This isn’t finished.”

“Patience is a virtue, Frankie.” You wink.

He sends you to the door with a spank and heads into his room. You scurry to let everyone in as another round of banging starts.

“Hey guys! Long time no see.”

They don’t look the least bit shocked to see you greeting them at the door. Pope must have filled them in about the events of last night on the way over. They all greet you with a tender kiss on the cheek and lug their various bags inside the house. You tell them that Frankie is just finishing changing and that he’ll be out shortly.

“How’d you sleep last night, hermosa?” Pope sets four cases of beer on the kitchen table. The very sight of it causes heat to rise in your belly again.

“Oh umm good? I slept good!”

“Yeah I guess that would explain why your hair looks like it was caught up in a tornado and you have a crazed look in your eye.” Benny snickers.

“Consequences of last night's actions at the bar.” You shrug leaning back on the sofa.

“There he is!” Will walks up to Frankie as he enters the room and pulls him in for a hug.

When they break apart his eyes immediately fall on you which causes the rest of the men to follow suit. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how little clothing you have on.

“Why don’t I put on some pants?” Your cheeks are burning under all the attention and with the knowledge of what almost happened.

“You don’t have too.” Benny offers casually as he lays takeout boxes down on the table. “It’s good practice for when you’re in the ring.”

“Now I’m definitely going to put on pants.”

You hush the guys as they hoop and holler at you while you head to Frankie’s room in search of yesterday's jeans. If you didn’t know they meant it with love, those would have been the last sounds they uttered.

“She looks mighty relaxed here, Catfish.” Frankie is shocked that Will is the first one to address the elephant in the room. Usually he stays out of silly things like this, but you must be an exception. “Well, except for when Benny decided to poke the hornet's nest with that comment about her hair.”

“Her hair? What about it?” He looks behind him where you disappeared. “And keep your voices down.”

“Be serious, man.” Pope cracks open a beer. “She looked so frustrated when we walked in. Like she’s a string that’s wound too tight and is this close to snapping.” He emphasizes his point by snapping his own fingers.

“I didn’t think she looked upset.” Benny sounds so confused.

“Not frustrated as in upset, you fuckin’ dolt.” Will looks at his brother with genuine annoyance.

Much to Frankie’s horror he watches in silence as understanding washes over Benny’s face when all the pieces click together in his head.

“Catfish, I’ve never known you to be a man that leaves a woman unsatisfied.” Benny remarks.

“Well that wouldn’t have happened if y’all had come just a little fucking later.”

“That’s probably my fault.” Pope looks at him sheepishly. “I was anxious to see what unfolded after you dropped me off.”

Frankie can’t help but chuckle at his friend's excitement. “Nothing ‘unfolded’ after I took you home, hand to God. She was dead to the world when I brought her inside and tucked her in. She didn’t even wake up until 30 minutes before y’all arrived.”

“Now swear something wasn’t happening while she was awake.” Pope smiles knowing damn well he has Frankie cornered.

“I uhh-”

“Okay I’m presentable looking now.” You walk into the room and immediately notice Will, Santi, and Benny fighting back laughter while Frankie flounders in front of them. “What the fuck have y’all done now?”

“Just some good ol’ fashion teasin’, hon.” Will waves you over. “You’re going to stay and watch the game with us, right?”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” You start.

“You’re not!” Frankie is quick to say.

“Yeah! We want you to hang with us!” Benny voices enthusiastically.

“All these beers aren’t going to drink themselves.” Pope waves his hand dramatically over the booze. “Plus, your car is still at the gym. It looks like you’re stuck with us.”

“You got me there. I guess it’s only fair that I listen to y’all talk about basketball since y’all listened to me talk about the stars.”

“Atta girl!” Will pulls you into a side hug while the rest of the boys cheer, Frankie included.

***

You watch happily on the couch as the men around you take turns yelling at the television and then at each other. Thankfully, you knew how basketball worked so you were more than capable of keeping up with what was going on. You and Frankie sit right next to each other on the couch the entire time. Throughout the game they would all jump up and cheer when their team made a basket, but the second you sat with your legs crossed and had your knee touching Frankie, he happily realized he could better encourage the players from a sitting position. After the game ends and all the food is eaten, you get questioned about how you usually spend your Sundays off.

“It used to be similar to this. When I was living with Robbie back home,” You laugh when you notice the raised eyebrows from Will, Frankie, Pope.

“Robbie is a girl. Calm down y’all.” Benny explains.

“Anyway, when I was living with Robbie back home, we would pile into one of our beds with wine and snacks to watch shitty reality TV. We definitely had our fair share of times yelling choice words at the screen and contestants.”

You’re met with immediate disbelief that reality TV could invoke those kinds of emotions. Instead of verbally pleading your case, you take the remove from Frankie and use it to open up Hulu. You find your favorite show and your favorite season and hit play.

“After a single episode y’all will be eating your words.”

When it ends Will is too angry to speak, Frankie is asking you ‘why that dude with the buzzed hair choose the girl in the yellow bikini over the girl in the pink bikini?”, Benny is fully convinced he would dominate at the show, and Pope is begging to watch the next episode. Completely surprised they all loved it, you play the next episode and snuggle deeper into the cushions. You rest your arm on the back of the couch and play with the ends of Frankie’s curls. Electricity shoots through you each time you feel his body tremble under your soft touch. You all only realize how late it's gotten by the time the season is halfway over.

“Shit, I gotta be up early tomorrow to talk to some vets at the VA.” Will says as he stands.

Pope and Benny follow his lead and stretch as they do it. You pat on Frankie’s leg and get up as well. Picking up the trash that has collected on the coffee table, you take it to the kitchen to dispose of it. It doesn’t take Will long to expertly gather up both his things and the men he brought with him. You and Frankie walk them out and send them off with sweet goodbyes and promises of doing this again soon.

“See you at work tomorrow!” Benny calls back to you from the driveway.

As soon as you close the door, you can feel the energy shift in the room.

“I thought they would never leave.” His voice is gravelly.

When you look up at Frankie, he’s already staring down at you with the same look he had in his eyes earlier this afternoon.

“I could barely hold it together with you teasing me like that. Did you enjoy it? Feeling me suffer under your fingers?”

He’s already got his hands on your hips and is pulling you flush against his body. You let out a low whimper as his mouth finds its home on yours. Your smile against him is answer enough to his question and he nips at your bottom lip in response.

“Now it’s my turn to make you suffer. To drag it out until you’re begging me to stop.”

He lifts you off the ground and you find yourself in an all too familiar position with your legs around his waist. You can feel him start to walk somewhere, but you can’t be bothered to look as you suck sweet red marks under his jaw line. Hearing him moan loudly only adds fuel to your fire that was never properly put out earlier. Each time he takes a step, the buckle of his belt rubs against your throbbing clit. You wriggle your body against his as best you can to generate as much friction as possible. When the light behind your eyelids fades, you know exactly where he has taken you. You feel him come to a stop and detach your lips from his neck and admire your work. Those rosy marks will definitely be there in the morning.

“Hi.” You whisper as you turn your attention to his face.

“Hi.” He says in the same hushed tone. “I’m going to give you an out. I should have done this this afternoon, but I-I got so caught up in you that I couldn’t think properly. If you don’t want to do this, tell me right now and we can pretend like it never happened. No hard feelings. I just don’t want you to do something you regret tomorrow.”

“Frankie,” You reach up for his hat and throw it to the floor so you can run your hands through his hair. His eyes flutter as you touch him ever so tenderly. “I don’t want an out. I want you.”

His eyes water ever so slightly at your words. Like it was the first time he had ever been truly craved by another person in his life. It makes your heart crack at the thought. You lean in and capture his lips. They are so pliant against yours. It feels like they were made for you and you alone.

“Do you want me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then show me.”

He tosses you down on the bed and the plush comforter cradles your body. In an instant each of you are ripping off shirts and haphazardly unbuttoning pants. You look up at him, only in your underwear, and take all of him in. His strong arms, broad shoulders, a stomach that you can’t wait to feel rub against you. The lower your eyes go on his body, the harder he gets under his boxers. You squeal when he wraps his hands around your ankles and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. He never breaks eye contact as he kneels down in front of you. He starts slowly at first, kissing you through the fabric barrier. Adorning your thighs with his tongue and soft nips from his teeth. Your quiet moans fill his ears as he finally removes your last stitch of clothing. He chokes at the sight of your weeping cunt before him. You spread your legs wider, beckoning him to take a taste.

Your cries bounce off the bedroom walls as he buries his face in between your thighs. His tongue works in ways that you never thought possible. You ball up the sheets beside you in your fists as he laps at you relentlessly. Breath stolen with each wicked sound that pours out of his throat. His hand removes itself from your thigh and climbs its way up your writhing body. In an effort to remain tethered to the earth you grab on tighter to him than you thought possible.

“Fuck, Frankie,” You’re drunk off of him. “You feel so good.”

“And you taste even better.”

He takes your clit in his mouth and your back arches as two thick fingers glide inside you. If this is his idea of suffering, you wouldn’t mind spending eternity in hell. Your legs start to tremble, but he is unwavering. Drinking you up like you were the first sip of water he has had in years.

“Come for me, mi estrella.”

He holds your hand through your climax. The two of you moaning in unison as you drench him. He doesn’t detach his mouth from you until your body has ceased its shaking. Only when you're struggling to catch your breath, splayed out on the bed, does he retrace his path back up your body with his lips. His beard is glistening with your slick as he lowers himself to kiss you. The taste of you is prominent on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth. You wrap your arms around him and pull the rest of his weight on top of you. You can hear him growl in your ear when you start to move your hips underneath him.

“Take them off.” You mewl. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

He pushes off the bed frantically and sheds the last of his clothing. God, he was much bigger than you originally thought. You move your body upwards on the bed so you can lay on a pillow. You watch, mouth watering, as he starts to crawl his way back towards you. He licks his palm and uses it to stoke himself. The profane performance in front of you causes your mind to go blank. He lowers himself in between your legs again and you can feel his tip at your entrance. You can only mutter incomprehensible words as he sinks himself deep inside you. You wrap your arms back around him to keep yourself steady as you feel your walls stretch around his length.

“You’re so fucking tight around me, cariño.” His face is inches from yours. “I’ve got to move, okay?”

You answer him by bringing your lips up to kiss him. Your whimpers are muffled by his mouth as he sets his pace. Each stroke is more detrimental than the previous one. Your nails bitting into his back only serves to motivate him as he continues.

“You’re so big. I can feel you everywhere. Frankie.”

He sits up just enough to allow himself room to rub your clit. His face fluctuates between concentration and bliss.

“Are you going to come for me again? Come for me all over my cock?” His fingers rub tight circles and you can feel yourself quickly approaching.

You nod in response to him.

“I can’t hear you. Use your words.” He demands.

“Yes,” you pant. “I’m going to come for you. Only for you.”

Frankie is trying to keep himself from finishing before you do. He wants to make sure you at least finish twice before he even considers it. He brings the hand he was using on you up to his mouth and spits on it before connecting it to you again. The sounds that are coming from you are making it increasingly difficult to stay focused on his task. He looks down at you while he continues to pound into you and work at your clit. Your body gleams with sweat, your chest is heaving, your lips are swollen from him kissing them, and your eyes…your eyes are on him. He falters for a split second under your gaze. No other woman has ever made him nervous in bed the way you have. Never has he worried that he was doing too little or too much. But with you, he wanted everything to be perfect.

Frankie adjusts your hips so he can hit that sweet spot. He knows he found it when your eyes go wide and your jaw goes slack. He doesn’t change a thing about what he is doing.

“I’m gonna come,” You sob.

You clench down tightly around him as you’re thrust into your second orgasm of the night. It only takes three or four more pumps until he too is consumed by his own pleasure. You feel him spurt hot ropes inside you and sink deeper into the bed. When he’s done, you feel a slight sting as he pulls out. He crawls beside you in the bed and ghosts his lips over yours.

“I’m going to get a towel to clean you up, alright? Are you going to be good here by yourself for a sec?”

“I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.”

He smiles down at you and kisses you quickly before disappearing into the bathroom. You rest your eyes while the faucet runs faintly in the background. He’s quiet when pads into the bedroom, but you feel the bed creak beside you under his weight. The towel is damp and warm against you. You sigh contentedly as he takes his time in cleaning you up as if he is sad to see the evidence of him being washed clean from your skin. When he finishes, he sets the towel down on a nightstand and pulls the covers over both of you. His arms pull your tired body against his and envelop you in his warmth.

“That was worth the wait.” You laugh.

“I would definitely say so, but hopefully we won’t have to wait so long for the next time.”

“No, I don’t think we will.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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