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#yeah he’s not as unhinged as frank

sugarr-circus · 1 year

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i hate when people make ray toro into this sweet, shy dude in fanart and fan fics. He’s not this shy awkward dude. He’s the lead guitarist for mcr. He’s unhinged. He’s silly.

#being the lead guitarist for mcr explains enough about him #mcr #ray toro #yeah he’s not as unhinged as frank #but ray toro learned to play guitar purely by ear #and you have to be fucking unhinged to do that #controversial opinion?

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this-is-a-name-dont-worry · 2 months

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things that seemed reoccurring this update:

- Meat

- peas

- jelly

- Hibernation

- Eddie's absence

- Acting out a script (Sally mumbling asking if it's her cue and Howdy changing the script of the narrator in Homewarming storybook, characters general interactions with the narrator, different moments in the video, like the Sally and Frank ad break or the song a barely silent night, where the two literally fight over who get to sing, Sally mentions she wrote the lyrics, and Frank says she already has a song. yeah all of these are easy to see as meta goofs in the original material, but it's the fact there's so much of it this update) (of course all this wrap up with the end of the video where Eddie and Frank are obviously acting off script)

- Being alone (Eddie not having any news of anyone and not even seeing anyone outside (which is interesting as the story says that Sally was up in a tree near his home and saw him fret over having nothing to do), Wally saying it's so quiet during Homewarming and it's just he and Home for a while (potentially the show putting out a christmas special and then being on break? can a show do that?), and in the normal website material, the end of "An ode to hibernation", Frank saying "Where all that's left is me", the "me" being a "...me?")

- Welcome Home being used to sell stuff (cigarettes, medicine, eggnog, cereals, and the cookbook lists ingredients that are a specific brand)

(I'm putting under read more my rambling thoughts so you can just reblog the list without having to see them)

so I can't really make sense yet of all the food stuff. Maybe there are cultural elements/expressions I don't know that explains it? But I still find it very interesting how fucking unhinged that cookbook is yet the commercial and the website treat it normally. The cookbook is overall extremely interesting, because some of the recipes seem to actually be written by the characters; Barnaby who only presents you weird hot dog dressings with pictures but no recipe (and all jokes), Frank who lists not just the ingredients but also the material, and overexplain each steps (at least overexplain compared to the other recipes. it's actually interesting to know why you do x or y), and Julie who turns her recipe into a game at the end, and felt a bit harder to follow? anyway.

The cookbook, the Homewarming tradition of hanging a ham in the tree, Santy Claus being said sometimes instead of Santa, the ham for Santa? Once again, the christmas commercials being so casual about some of the weird stuff it says and presents? This almost feels like an alien who only has a blurry grasp of Christmas and what humans enjoy made the cookbook and the live commercial.

Sometimes, Welcome Home feels like it never actually aired and produced things, but we're making it retroactively exist. Something is making it exist. Like a retcon of the universe, "What do you mean you never heard of Welcome Home? No, of course it always existed and was very popular, look at all this old material we find!"

So maybe whatever is making it exist doesn't fully get humans and accidentally creates things that are weird to prove its existence. Like a cookbook that tells you a single pea in a buttered plate is a classic meal, or that of course you give Santa ham on Homewarming! (tbh almost getting an AI weirdness feel)

But in total contrary, in its story, Welcome Home also feels like it always existed, but got somehow completely wiped from people's mind, as something caused its sudden stop, and its characters gained consciousness of what they are and their world. As an existential dread fell on them one after the other, slowly realizing something isn't right. As Eddie felt anxiety and nervousness over no one being there or contacting him, to then having the story acts lightheartedly about it, the narrator saying things have been solved but he doesn't feel it, and suddenly Home is staring at him.

Both "It never existed but the universe is being retcon into it existing" and "it existed but something terrible happened that erased it from peoples mind" seem plausible. If two theories contradict each other, that means there's a third one that needs to be found.

Maybe it existed. Maybe it truly was popular, but something corrupted it, leading to its disappearance. A disappearance so big it stopped to exist. And now the thing that corrupted it is trying to crawl back, make it exist again, but it's making it come back completely off.

Anyway.

Also, I think the show may have been on hold during the Holiday season, "hibernating", and the character who got some self awareness realized that something was off. They're alone because there's nothing new, so no one is there bringing life to the neighborhood.

#welcome home #anyway there is an existential nightmare going on that's for sure #also at one point writing my rambling I thought about metaphor for capitalism #the show gains succes and so there's a push to make money out of it. capitalism is corrupting it until it goes in shambles.#now a few decades later banking on nostalgia to make profit is what big things do #bringing back the thing from your childhood to show it again but it's off because what brought it back is not love for the thing #it's being brought back because of capitalism. the thing that corrupted it in the first place is trying to bring it back.#sorry i still ramble in the tags :x

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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Security Details: Chapter 2 [frankie morales]

Frankie’s long-time friend enlists his help. He's more than eager to accept the job. The problem is that he's in love with her.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

pairing: francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: abusive relationship (not between frankie and reader), murder, violence, BAMF frankie, protective frankie, possessive frankie, soft frankie, mutual pining, yearning, reader is not named but has a call sign (fox), frankie is dumb but he's got the spirit, angst, smut, fluff, partners to friends to lovers, happy ending, frankie spends most of this fic in his feelings, telltale signs of a fic written by a hopeless romantic, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex, consensual somnophilia, english and spanish dirty talk, frankie going feral to keep his girl safe, possessive sex, blood and injury, undefined age gap

tags and warnings for this chapter: unrequited love becomes requited, unprotected piv (don't follow my lead), oral sex, frankie eating pussy like a king, blood and violence, frankie is unhinged, protective frankie, possessive sex, consensual somno, creampie, breeding kink, frankie morales fucks

word count: ~ 9k

chapter 2: oh, but i'm singing like a bird about it now

It takes him two hours to tell the entire story of what happened in Peru. It happens over dinner: the most disgusting canned ravioli he’s ever eaten and the most tolerable canned green beans. They sit opposite one another at the tiny two-person dining table, basking in slats of orange sunlight that filter through the closed blinds. He can’t risk anyone seeing her here now that she suspects someone is following her.

“That’s…” She blows out a breath, poking some beans with her fork. “Jesus, Frankie. I’m sorry. That sounds like a really shitty few weeks.”

Sorry? All the shit he’s just confessed to doing for some pathetic fucking bags of money, and she’s sympathising? He must look bewildered enough to make her giggle, if a bit hysterically. “It’s just…” She drops her chin into her palm. “Two hundred and fifty million.”

He stares at her for a moment. The golden light on her face and the way her eyes glimmer. “Yeah.”

“And you got on the boat with five.”

He’s beginning to understand. “Yeah.”

“And…” She bites down on her lip. “You signed away your earnings.”

He doesn’t think either of them are able to pinpoint what causes the laughter, but soon they’re both in tears, choking and wheezing over something that is probably not funny at all. Tears are streaking down their faces and the tiny home is filled with the sound of cutlery clanging as they shake uncontrollably. Their minds are not their own, and when the laughter ebbs, they are left smiling at one another. It feels like it did before, for a wink.

“What would you have done with it?” she asks.

He sips his beer—the fridge is still stocked from his last stay here. “Two years ago, it would have been an Aston Martin or a lifetime’s supply of cowboy boots.”

“And now?” She’s drinking, too, but she dug around the stores for a bottle of red wine and poured some into a mostly-clean mason jar.

“Now…” Frankie sighs. “Lifetime’s supply of diapers and baby food.”

“I don’t know, Frankie. I like your cowboy boots.”

“Nah, see, now I know you're lying.”

“What the fuck are those?”

“What?” Frankie looked down at his boots. “You don't like ‘em?”

She covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn't shroud the shaking of her shoulders. “No. No, Frank, I don’t.” She touched her hand to her heart. “I looove them.”

“Don't be mean, Foxy,” piped up Santiago from the back. “Those bastards were paid for with blood money.”

She gasped. “Don't tell me…”

Santiago hoisted Frankie’s arm into the air and whooped. “Divorce does wonders, folks!”

Frankie flushed hot while Fox bit down on her lip. He felt dirty—wrong—for being glad about the split, for wanting the woman in front of him for far longer than he ever wanted Lisa. He felt like a cheater. “Cálmate,” he grumbled to Pope.

She just laughed, rubbing a knot out of his shoulder. “If we're going to set a good example for your daughter, we have to teach her honesty. I think your boots are hideous. And yet”—she swigged her beer and kissed him on the cheek—“you somehow pull them off. You must teach me your ways.”

Frankie watches a car speed by through the blinds and makes sure it disappears from sight. “You ever notice him acting strangely?”

“He would miss dinner or come to bed late,” she says, “but I assumed he was working late, like he told me. Or cheating.”

Frankie frowns. “You wouldn't have cared?”

She scoffs. “Please, Frank. Of course I would care. It’s not like he would let me leave. I knew he was a recreational user, but I started to notice calls on the phone logs and missing links in email chains to and from a man named St. John—Matt said he was a higher-up at his company, but I think it's an alias. Started to feel like he was hiding something more than just another woman.” She rubs her brow. “Had a lot of thinking to do while I was… away. And things add up.”

“He got put away,” says Frankie. He only speaks to remind himself of the truth. He won't hurt her again.

“Only because of this.” She points to her face. “I know it sounds paranoid—”

“I believe you,” says Frankie. “Like you said, you've never steered me wrong.”

She smiles. “We should sleep. You drove all day, and I had to listen to your music all day.”

“Hey.” Frankie points at her. “Driver picks music, Foxy. Don't insult Metallica.”

“Go to sleep,” she says again, disappearing back into the hallway where she'll stretch out in that twin bed. He putters around in the kitchen, scrubbing their plates a little too hard, arranging the cushions and blankets on the couch with a little too much force. Lying with his eyes fixed on the yellowed popcorn ceiling, the old ache in his back throbbing up his spine, Frankie loathes this house. He detests the colour of the walls and the way the floors would creak under your weight even if you weighed eighty pounds. He hates the uncomfortable furniture.

He hates that she has to be here.

He hates himself for letting his head get stuck so far up his own ass he never mustered up the courage to tell her how he loved her: that her smile makes him ache, that he craves her presence the way he used to crave nicotine, that she's it for him. He hates that she's been wasting her time with assholes who only hurt her while he's been wasting his time yearning but not acting. If he's too much of a coward to tell her, he'll show her.

He’ll show her exactly how worth it she is. He’ll make sure she knows that he'd die for her the way she nearly did the day she took that bullet.

They're used to waiting in a profession like theirs. She's accustomed to hours and days upon rooftops and inside inconspicuous vans. She's used to the way it makes her joints creak with disuse and her eyes sore from rarely blinking. They've been in this safe house for a week, and they're out of food.

“No.”

“Frank—”

“No, Fox.” He’s frowning in frustration. It's a different frown than his concentration frown, which is altogether different from his needy frown—the one he gets when he's neglected. Her favourite grumpy dog. “It's too risky.”

Her bruises have mostly healed, along with the cut on her lip. But he'll never forget them. He’ll never forget seeing her walk into the kitchen in Santiago’s home, the terror that flooded him.

“Everything’s risky if I’m being stalked,” she reasons. “I can't hide forever, Frankie. Especially not if we don't have any leads.”

His nostrils flare, and she knows she's in for more arguing. “I can go. You should stay here.”

“I know you can, Frank.” She gestures toward the windows. “Has anyone followed us here?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” he begins, “but—”

“I’m getting cabin fever.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I know you are, too. That's why we're arguing.”

He huffs. “We’re not… arguing.”

She smiles. “Good. Isn’t it better that we don't split up, anyway?”

He gets pissed off when his friends are right, sometimes. Whenever he's arguing with Santiago about something easily Googleable (she'll do just that—look it up and wait patiently with the phone screen turned away until they're finished their shouting match), he'll grind his jaw and sulk for a bit when he's in the wrong. Then, he'll slap Santiago good-naturedly on the cheek and they’ll move on. Being wrong about such trivial things leads to being wrong in the real world. Making the wrong call. Getting someone hurt.

He's always been a bit of a worrier.

But he doesn't get mad when she's right. Because she makes it sound so sweet, so gentle, and all he can do is laugh. Of course she's right. He was stupid to argue with her in the first place. It's much safer if they travel together. He can keep her safe. He can.

He fucking will.

“Get one of my sweatshirts,” he says. “Don't take off the hood.”

She rolls her eyes but does as he asks. Indulging him. He will earn the right to be indulged again. The sweatshirt is his, an old and too-large grubby thing, blue (his favourite colour), and it swallows her. He waits until she crosses the room to collect his wallet and plants himself by the window, rubbing a hand down his face and splashing some cold water over it for good measure. Jesus. Get yourself together. Fucking asshole.

They slip into the truck and he pulls out of the driveway after making triple-sure no one lingers nearby. She draws a knee up to her chest so she can rest her chin on it, always detesting the feeling of her feet on the ground. It’s as if she can taste the tremors in the ground on her tongue and needs reprieve from them.

“Those jeans aren’t yours,” he says after a too-long silence. He hopes she isn’t put off by him memorising the articles in her closet.

“Matt’s,” she says idly. “Got blood on mine. I felt like I wanted to fuck him over in some small way. Taking his pants probably wasn’t the best method.”

He says nothing, but he sets his jaw and turns into town. It’s small enough that it borders on a hamlet, really; there’s a single Food World and a gas station, which are connected to one another. He can see every single home from here, stuck in the middle of nowhere on this lonely country road. It’s almost pleasant.

“What’s your favourite piece from my closet, Frankie?”

Shit.

She says it teasingly, a smile tugging on one corner of her mouth. It’s the kind of smile she gets when she’s trying not to, biting down on her bottom lip. He can’t quite grasp the depth of his own want, the way his chest lurches and his fingers twitch toward her. His body knows him before he does. He wants to lunge across the truck bench and put his mouth on hers, slide his hands up her—his—sweatshirt, and feel her: her strong, soft, capable body, her scars and bruises he’s memorised in their years together. He wants to hear her gasps and whimpers, different from any cries of pain he’s heard from her lips before. He wants to make her feel good. And she would feel so fucking good.

“You really wanna know?” he says.

She’s already looking at him when he parks at the Food World. “Yeah, I do.”

“That blue sundress,” he tells her, “the one you wear for the Fourth of July every year.”

Her brows lift a little in the middle, stretching the scar on her nose, and she’s so adorable sometimes it makes him hurt, makes him forget that she’s killed people with those fingers twiddling in her lap, makes him keep talking even though she already fucking knows what her dress looks like. She’s the one who wears it.

“It’s got these… I don’t know, these fuckin’ bows. Yeah, they’re bows. On the shoulders. You have to re-tie them when they get loose. Your face scrunches up when you concentrate, the way it does when you’re on a roof, watching a target through your scope.” Frankie watches her eyes scan his face, every inch, every freckle, like she’s trying to memorise it before a test. “It kinda—sorta flutters when there’s a breeze, y’know? It’s… nice.” He clears his throat and turns his head away, looking through the windshield. “You look nice in blue.”

Recalling the way her hips curve in that flowy fucking dress, the way she glows and shines and makes everyone shield their eyes from the glare, Frankie knows why his favourite colour is blue.

And Christ, the way she looks at him after his humiliating admission… The weight of her gaze, the slow blinking, the way her lashes brush her cheeks, the sheer power she imposes upon him when she watches him like that. He feels like he’s the biggest and smallest thing in the universe. He feels like suffering too long under that look will turn him to ashes.

“Frank,” she says, a name shoved out, dreamlike in quality. “If you’d told me you liked it so much, I’d wear it every day.”

He lets himself laugh. “Even in winter?”

“I have snow boots and a parka for a reason.” She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Haute couture, no?”

He needs to get out of this truck. He needs to get out before he does something he’ll regret. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s make this quick.”

The Food World is mostly deserted. There are two cashiers, one drumming his fingers on the counter and the other resting her chin in her palm. People mill about the aisles, mostly in similar dress to theirs, sweatpants and sweatshirts and ratty jeans. Muzak crackles through the overhead P.A. systems. Nothing immediately prickles at his instincts. Frankie lets her walk ahead, lingering behind her. He doesn’t like people at his back, never has: an old soldier’s itch. Even waiting in lines makes him sweat a little above the brow. She’s never been that nervous, but she understands. She reaches backward every so often and squeezes his hand to make sure he’s still with her.

From here, he can’t exactly help but look at her ass in those too-big jeans, the flare of her hips, her legs. His hood is secure atop her head, morphing her into a stranger to the world, no longer the beautiful beacon with the cuts and bruises on her face. Frankie, in his own jeans and his grey T-shirt and his olive green button-up, cap snug on his head, looks just as unassuming—save for the permanent frown on his face.

“We need these,” she says when they reach the empty baking aisle, though he isn’t sure why they’re in the baking aisle. Until he sees her hold up two boxes of cake mix. Chocolate and birthday confetti.

“We do not need those.”

“Cat,” she says, her voice dropping low, nearly a fucking purr. Does she know what she’s doing? What she does to him? “You are too grumpy to function. It’s your birthday in a couple days. What if we’re still in that stupid house because of me? You’ll have no cake to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate getting older,” he says, gently plucking the boxes from her hands. It makes her eyes widen, a deliberate, dirty goddamn move, until she schools her face to look like she’s about to cry. He flicks her on the nose. “And that… is a rotten play, Fox.”

Her pouting mouth makes him want to pounce, to shove her up against the shelves of boxed mix and wipe that look off her face with his mouth. His fingers. His cock. God, he needs to get a grip.

“You aren’t old, Frankie,” she says softly. She reaches for him and gently pries his fingers, one-by-one, from the box of chocolate mix. He lets her. “Your life deserves to be celebrated. We’ll do chocolate, okay? It’s understated.”

But he feels old. He remembers the first day she was introduced to the team: her fresh-faced and bounding with energy. He, mid-thirties at the time, was hesitant to accept a new member of the team. He and the guys had already gelled, known one another for years in Basic before they were slapped together, and Frankie didn’t know what to make of the sniper, the stunner. But she slipped in, made them laugh and silenced any doubts with that perfect fucking aim, and made him feel like an asshole for ever thinking she wasn't the perfect choice. She's always the perfect choice.

Your life deserves to be celebrated.

“Okay,” he relents. “Chocolate. Now get out of this aisle before you convince me to buy whipped cream.”

She beams up at him and it's worth giving up his pride. “And don't give me any of that shit about this being your fault,” he says, guiding her toward the produce. “It's his. You know it.”

“It was my decision to rope you in, Frank. You're the only one I trust with my life like this.”

It's such a vulnerable, soft thing that escapes her mouth. Absently, his hand finds her waist, squeezes. She looks up at him, her face obscured by half a shadow thanks to the hood, and he's worried he's gone too far. But her lips part, her breath leaves her in a sigh, and she whispers, full of conviction: “I mean it.”

Frankie tries to rein in his breathing, shifts the cyclic stick back toward the space between two walls, his lungs. Overrides the spin-out by looking in her eyes. “I know you do,” he says. “I know, baby.”

She brings his knuckles to her mouth and kisses each one. He loses control again. Fuck, he's not even scanning his surroundings. He's lost himself in her, in that gentle smile she gives him. There's solidarity in that smile. Forgiveness, almost. “For the record,” she says, “it wasn't a hundred guys.”

Just like that, he wants to slap himself all over again.

You've been fucking around with a hundred other guys because you wanted me? Tell me how that makes sense, honey, because it doesn't make a goddamn inch of sense to me.

He hates himself. He hates himself so much, and he'll never be good enough to—

She's laughing.

Why the fuck is she laughing?

“You have a tendency to get mad,” she says, still snickering a little. “And when you get mad, you run your mouth. I was hurt and drained and fucking humiliated from being the bitch dumb enough to date him for two years. And what you said hurt. But I shouldn't have walked away.” She shrugs. “Wasted so much time already.”

He shakes his head, vaguely unable to comprehend what she's saying. “How…” He clears his throat. “How can you say that? I was a fucking asshole. I called you—”

“You didn't call me anything.” She picks up a lemon and inspects it. “How do you feel about lemon meringue?”

“I've never had it.” He grasps her wrist. “What are you saying, Fox?”

“I’m saying that we've both been idiots. How have you never tried lemon meringue?”

“Mom never made it.” He slips his hand under her hood and cradles the back of her head. Look at me, he wants to say. Don't stop looking at me. “I’m sorry, Fox. I’m sorry for everything I said. I pressured you. I was so angry for what that dickhead had done to you, and I was so desperate for you, I didn't give you the space you needed. I am… so. Fucking. Sorry.”

He shakes his head and shifts his thumb to trace the edge of her jaw, eyeing the nasty bruise. “You took a bullet for me. You and your infinite fucking wisdom. Jesus, you’re perfect. Knowing how much the world has burned you… It kills me, baby. I never wanted to hurt you, too, and I did. Don't forgive me. Please.”

Don't forgive me until I’ve earned it. I’ll never earn it. You're too good for this world, Foxy. You're too good for me.

She lifts her hand to his, her fingers curling gently around his wrist. She hasn't stopped looking at him, her breaths coming a bit shorter, a bit bruised. “Frankie,” she whispers. “There's someone watching us by the doors. Don’t look.”

His stomach plummets. He threads his fingers through hers and keeps her tucked to his side as they bypass the produce and head straight for the canned food aisle. “Grab what you need,” he says. “Make it heavy.”

A good makeshift weapon: a bag full of cans. He doesn't have his gun on him. It’s in the glove box. Fuck. She begins to swipe canned corn, beans, and ravioli into their reusable bag and he never lets go of her hand. “Relax,” she says, hoisting the bag up onto her shoulder and rubbing his arm in soothing lines. Up and down. Up and down. “It's okay, Frank. You're with me.”

He wants to believe her, but he's panicking. “Got everything?” he asks, trying to keep his posture casual even as his mind shifts gears. Keep your eyes open. Be ready. Keep her safe.

For the love of all good things, keep her safe.

“I’m ready,” she says easily, not a hint of her anxiety translating to her face. “Could’ve used that lemon, though.”

“If you want to bake for me so badly, honey, just tell me,” he says, not looking at her, keeping his head on a swivel for the someone she was talking about. “Describe him to me.”

“Tall, white, wearing all black,” she says quietly. They make their way toward the checkout. He wants to grab her hand and run to the truck, but they can't exactly smuggle out a bag filled with clanking metal cans.

She reaches the counter first and smiles at the man behind it, immediately rushing to place all their items on the belt. “The man in all black,” she whispers to the man, never once dropping her smiling façade, “he’s got a gun. Please call the cops. I think he's following us.”

They both crowd together to shroud the cashier from view as he carries on bagging their groceries at the same time he reaches under the counter and presses the panic button. “How will you be paying?” he asks, all-too easily.

Frankie looks behind him. The man, not facing them, rings out a single banana at the opposite register. The woman behind it looks polite but faintly rattled. He gathers the girl at his side a little closer, tucking an arm around her waist and slipping his hand into the pocket of the sweatshirt she wears.

“Thank you,” says the cashier when she hands him a folded handful of bills. Frankie guesses he's thanking them for more than the money. “Have a great day. Stay safe out there.”

They both nod their thanks and walk as briskly as they can out of the store without drawing suspicion. Frankie doesn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he still fumbles with the keys in his rush to get her in the vehicle.

She's got one foot still planted on the side step when she hazards a glance toward the doors of the Food World, and screams, “Frankie, down!”

He ducks at the same time he drops his shoulder to tackle her to the ground. He can't quite manoeuvre them quickly enough to prevent her from slamming hard into the ground; he watches her slam her shoulder against the asphalt at the same time the gunshot goes off. Frankie lands hard on his back, but they're both scrambling to get behind the truck. There isn't time to lick their wounds. The cans have spilled from the bag under the truck. One, filled with baked beans, nudges Frankie’s foot and rolls to a stop.

He keeps his hand pressed against her back as they move, grounding himself in her. She's still alive. He's going to keep it that way. “Fuck,” she says, daring to peek around the truck. “It’s him. Plus another guy at our eleven o’clock.”

“Get in the bed of the truck,” he says, handing her the can. “Smash the back window and crawl inside. Get the gun from the glove box. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods, clinical in her analysis of the situation. Her face is grim, but she knows it’s their only option. Frankie unlatches the tailgate and pushes at her thighs to help her up while keeping her body as low as possible. She cracks the window with the edge of the can, but it takes three total hits to break the glass. It seems only one of the men is armed, the one who had followed them into the Food World. The other is making his way around the vehicle to flank them. Frankie ducks low to avoid one shot in particular, and he can hear it whizz past his ear. She’s inside the truck, crawling toward the glove box and wrenching it open. She flicks off the safety, leans out the broken window, and aims for the man closest to Frankie: the one holding the gun, who’s currently trying to kill him.

It makes his ears ring. The shot fires hardly a foot away from his left ear, but he knows who’s fired it, so he doesn’t flinch. Next to him, he hears a body topple and flips onto his back. She hops out of the truck and checks to make sure the man is dead before she circles the truck to accost the other.

Only he isn’t there.

“Frank?” she says, not meeting his eyes, still scanning her surroundings. “Where—”

It happens too quickly. Too quickly, even, for Frankie to bark a warning. He can only watch in terror as the man springs out from behind the gas pump and tackles her to the ground. She loses her grip on the gun in the tussle, her head smacking hard against the pavement. Visibly dazed, eyes unfocused, she reaches blindly for the man’s throat, but he pins down her arms at her sides, his thighs bracketing her writhing legs as she tries, unavailingly, to kick him in the balls.

Frankie doesn’t think when he acts. Terror and rage flood him. They are thick and cloying in his throat. They cloud the reason. The methodical soldier flees.

He’s bigger than the man atop her. He’s also angrier. His body barrels into him, knocks him aside, sending them both rolling across the ground. Frankie doesn’t reach for the gun. He doesn’t even try to. He just balls his hand into a fist and breaks the man’s noise.

Blood sprays, splattering the man’s face and Frankie’s knuckles as he yelps, a gurgled, helpless cry. But Frankie doesn’t stop. He can’t. He won’t. He punches, again and again and again. The face is a target, a pinkish round thing with eyes and a crooked nose and a mouth. The nose splits at the bridge, blood seeping. The whites of the eyes stain red. Blood vessels snap. Lips swell. At some point, the target stops crying, stops moving. He’s piloting, he’s in control, he’s so fucking out of control he can barely see.

Cyclic stick. Window panes. Rotor blades. Scope. Rooftop. Stars. Laughter. Her.

“Frankie.”

The target is red now. Blood and skin and bone. His own split knuckles, beginning to hurt. His senses sharpen at the sound of his voice, but he doesn’t stop. Only slows down. He can’t stop. What if he gets back up?

What if he hurts her again?

Faintly, he registers her stumbling toward him, hands and knees, desperate. Clawing at him. “Frankie,” she says. “Frankie, he’s down. Please. You’re done. It’s done.”

Finally, he pitches backward, as if someone has thrown him off the body beneath him. It’s the only way he can imagine stopping. He wants to go back for more, but her hands are there: one on his chest, pressing against his heart and calming the erratic beating, and the other cupping his face in her palm, like he’s something to be cherished.

“You did it,” she pants. His hands fly backward, slapping against the asphalt to keep himself from tumbling onto his back. She’s still holding him.

There’s a thin dribble of blood on her temple. It’s minimal. It’s nothing. But his hand flies to the nape of her neck. “You’re bleeding,” he croaks.

She laughs again, a bit raspy, a bit hysterical. “So are you.”

“He…” Frankie swallows, thick, smoke and fire and fear. “I didn’t see him.”

��Neither did I.” She kisses him on the forehead. It’s gentle, so gentle, and when it’s over, she rests her forehead on his. “Hear that?”

He does. Sirens. The police have arrived. “Means we need to get up,” she says. “Are you all right, Frank? Can you get up?”

She shifts back to help him stand, but he blurts out, “Wait. Wait.”

Panic flitting across her face, she returns to him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head vaguely, not really feeling it, his vision sharpening to her. Her eyes are her mouth and her mouth is her nose and her nose is her ears. She’s whole and she’s here, in front of him, and he needs her to know.

“I love you,” he says.

The smile creeps up slow, but when it arrives, it knocks the breath from him. “Sounded just as good out loud as it did in my head.” Her fingers find the collar of his button-up, and she grips it hard. Her eyes bury him deep in the earth. “I love you, Francisco. But you knew that.”

“Wish I knew it sooner,” he huffs, leaning in so he can finally, finally, kiss her the way he’s wanted to for so long.

But a shadow looms over them, and a policeman awkwardly clears his throat. “Sir, ma’am, are you able to stand up?”

One policeman was all the department could spare, apparently. She and Frankie rose to greet him, explaining the situation as best they could. The man, unconscious but not quite dead on the ground, did not help Frankie’s case, but the cashier corroborated their story, having seen the entire affair through the windows of the Food World.

They were questioned for too fucking long at the station. They were supplied with a bag of ice for his knuckles, and another for the gash in her temple, as if to make up for keeping them there for ten hours. The bloodied man confessed, once he woke up from his Frankie-induced nap: a lackey for a trafficking ring who was enlisted to kill her for getting too close. Frankie, too.

He drives them back to the safe house instead of St. Augustine. Frankie has too much to do, too much to say. He can’t stand any more car rides in total silence.

“So,” she sighs when she follows him inside, “that was a total fucking—mmmph!”

With a grumbling sound from deep in his chest and a faint shake of his head—why fucking wait?—Frankie crowds her, the door closing at her back, and slants his mouth to fit hers.

Her hand flies up to cup his cheek, keeping him close, the other at his back. His strong back, his broad shoulders, the scruff of his patchy beard. Fuck, she can feel all of it. Frankie keeps it gentle, holding back, his hand finding a home at the back of her neck. He just kisses her.

She smells like oranges and blood and… fuck, like him, still wearing his sweatshirt. And kissing him. His head is spinning, his chest tightening, her perfect fist wrapped around his heart, squeezing until it pops. He wants it to. He wants to die here. He's finally here, and he's kissing the girl of his dreams. Love taps at the barricade of his skull, knocking at his ribs, asking to come in. He opens all of him.

“I love you,” he says, grinning against her mouth. “Fucking love you.”

She laughs breathlessly when their teeth clack together, but neither of them can hold back their smile. “You saved my life,” she says, lifting the cap off his head so she can tangle her fingers in his hair, too-long since its last cut. “The scales are balancing, Francisco.”

He laughs, too, somewhat delirious from the taste and the smell of her, nudging his nose against hers. “Can you feel it?” he asks, placing his palm over her years-old bullet wound.

“I feel it everywhere,” she says, angling his head so he can't help but look her in the eye. Good. He wants to see all of her, all the time. “Tell me again.”

He puts his forehead to hers and kisses the tip of her nose. “I love you. Te amo. Can’t fucking help it.”

She scans his face, eyes pleading. Outside, a bird chirps. He's surprised to discover that life exists outside the two of them.

“I want you to show me,” she says.

And he will. God, he will. She is the air he breathes. He kisses her like it, dipping his head low to catch her mouth again, harder and firmer, opening up her mouth for him. He slides his tongue against hers and swallows every needy sigh she loosens from her chest. His hand slides from her hip to her back, splaying his fingers underneath his sweatshirt and pressing her to him.

“Frankie,” she whispers. The force of such a gentle plea tears at him, rends all his limbs apart, and catches on what's left of his restraint. A fish hook. It tugs until he bleeds, an open wound for her.

He pulls away just long enough to grasp at the sweatshirt. “Take it off, Frankie,” she says, breathless and panting. He does. He'll do anything she asks.

It lands in a heap by the door. Underneath, she's wearing the shirt she wore this morning, a simple white tee, and he grunts in frustration. “Too many clothes,” is vaguely what comes out of his mouth as he tugs it up over her head and revels in the way her pupils dilate. He may as well go the whole nine yards, he figures, unclasping her bra and bearing her to him. Her back arches and her tits press up against his chest, keen and wanting.

He stares for a moment, his cock an aching and persistent presence in his jeans. He doesn't know what to do first. He's obsessed. He wants to possess her, be possessed by her, sink into her until it's unclear where either of their bodies begin. “You're fucking perfect,” he says.

“You can take a picture if you want,” she teases, pushing up against him and lifting her arms around his neck. He really fucking loves the sound of that: a small printed picture he gets to look at whenever he can't have the real thing. “But kiss me first.”

He finally gets his mouth on her again, sated and not altogether. His calloused hand finds her rib cage, fingers brushing the swell of her breast. He's too rough for her; she's delicate, smooth, perfect. He’s got a pilot’s hands.

“Jesus. You’re so soft,” he grunts into her mouth, kissing her until her lips are bruised. He shifts to the corner of her lips, her Cupid’s bow, the gentle curves of it that fascinate him. He finds her jawline and traces it with his lips, enjoying the way her breathing begins to go shallow as he moves to her ear, biting the lobe before sucking and licking at the spot below it.

“Frankieeee,” she mewls, grinding against him. He makes a gruff noise into her throat as he breathes her in deep, breathing in the scent of her the way a drowning man sucks in air at the ascent.

“I know, baby,” he mumbles, slipping his hand down to her jeans and toying with the button at the same time he kisses her shoulder.

“Want to undress you,” she says, pushing her hips up against his hand. “Please.”

Frankie’s never heard begging sound so good. He nods against her skin and pulls away, only to hoist her up and wrap her thighs around his hips. He swells a little with pride at the needy whimper that leaves her at the show of strength. “Bedroom,” he says into her ear, nipping at her lobe again.

She nods frantically. He lowers her onto the bed and she lifts herself up to grab at his shirt. He laughs at the eagerness, but it sobers to hot and heavy arousal at the sight of her concentration, her devout eagerness to get his clothes off. He helps her shrug him out of his button-up and lifts his arms for her as she takes off his shirt. Her lips part, her pupils dark and wide, and he's stunned. Stunned by her blatant desire, her inability to hide it. “Never thought…” She trails off, chest heaving.

“What is it, baby?”

“Never thought I’d get this,” she says earnestly, thumb stroking his jaw. “You.”

He kicks off his shoes and socks, holding her firm around the waist. She stands on her toes and kisses him, deep and true. “You've got me,” he tells her, breathing it into her mouth. “I’m yours, baby. I’ve always been.”

“Frankie.” Her lips are on his jaw, licking at the patch of skin that breaks his beard, then his throat, tasting and licking him the way she wants to. “I love you so much.”

He curses. She's revelling in him, and he loves it. He can't let go of her, can't stop himself from parting his lips and squeezing his eyes shut at the way she lavishes his throat with her mouth. She begins to make her way down his chest, sitting down on the bed so she can travel all the way down to his navel. His breathing is jagged, torn at the edges. He needs her so badly. She needs him so badly.

“Baby…”

She hums, busy pressing kisses to his ribs, fumbling with his belt, the button, the zipper, at his jeans.

Frankie bends down and notches his hands at the back of her thighs, half-tossing her farther up the bed. He pulls off jeans and boxers and briefly allows himself to grin at the sight of her sucking in a breath when his cock slaps against his stomach, hard and leaking. He isn't an idiot. He knows he's big. And it feels fucking good to know she wants him.

He crawls up her body and tilts her chin up so he can kiss her. “I want to taste you,” he says. She gasps when he cups the heat of her through her jeans.

“Please,” she says, writhing against him. Frankie yanks those godforsaken jeans down with little mercy, and she chokes out a laugh. “You really hate those things.”

“They're his.” Frankie tosses them across the room. “I want you to walk out of here forgetting he ever touched you… His fucking hands on you.”

She grounds him with a thumb brushing over his chin. “I’m yours,” she says. “Yours, Francisco.”

He grabs her ankle and locks it around his hip, forcing her legs to spread wide. The wet spot on her pink panties is unmistakable. “Mine,” he says under his breath, pressing his palm against her clit through her underwear. She whines his name. “Fuck, honey. You’re mine, huh?”

She nods, lifting herself into her elbows to watch him peel her panties down her legs. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I am. Please…”

Frankie’s cock twitches at the sight of her glistening core. He shifts onto his stomach and, without warning, spreads her folds with two fingers and flattens his tongue against her slit. “Ohhh!” she cries, thighs trembling at the first touch. “Fuck… Frank…”

He flicks his tongue against her clit and presses his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the ache in his cock. Her moan is long and low, her hands grabbing, needy, nestling in his hair and holding on. He groans at the taste of her, the sweetness, nectar and sharp tang, so wet for him. For him.

Frankie can't get enough. She tastes so good, and she moans so loudly for him, out here in the middle of nowhere, that he can't find it in himself to pull away from her cunt. Instead, he wraps a hand around her thigh as the other presses down against her belly to keep her still. He licks her clit until she's quivering and shifts to her entrance, circling it with his tongue before plunging inside and lapping up the slick that pours from her. She cries out with pleasure when his thumb circles her clit.

“Your fingers,” she pleads, brows drawn up in the middle. “Want your fingers.”

Her face, flushed and needy, might make him come on the mattress. “You want my fingers, baby?” he says softly, still swiping her clit while his lips occupy themselves with kissing her inner thighs, the so-soft skin there.

“Wanna know how it feels… to be one of your helicopters,” she says with a breathless laugh.

He hums, bringing her clit into his mouth and sucking hard. She screams his name. “You're not a machine,” he says.

“You fly them like you wanna fuck them,” she gasps, writhing as he suctions his lips to her clit again.

He smacks the side of her thigh. “Only wanna fuck you. If you'll stay still.”

“Oh, please.”

He can't tell if it's a genuine plea or her smart mouth, but he wants to see her come so badly he doesn't respond. He dives back in, sucking and lapping at her clit as two fingers trace her hole and sink in to the knuckle, prodding at her front wall. “Fucking wet,” he mumbles against her, but it's lost in the vibrations that make her cry out from the stimulation.

“F—fuck, Frank, I…” Her eyes are unfocused, but he keeps his on her nonetheless. “I’m gonna… fuck—!”

He presses his fingers up against that spongy spot and laps at her clit while she comes, drenching his fingers in her hot slick. “Fuck,” she croaks, her body melting into the mattress. “That was…”

“Not over.” He sits up and leans over her, locking her leg around his hip and kissing her deeply. She’s boneless and pliant in his arms as he manhandles her hips up onto his thighs, sliding his cock through her wetness. She shivers. “I need you, baby,” he rasps. “Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Want you inside me, Frankie,” she says. “Fuck me, please. Make me yours.”

It's all he needs. Frankie pushes the head of his cock past her entrance and squeezes his eyes shut at the hot tightness of her. “Jesus.”

“You're big, Frank,” she says with a strained laugh. “Fuck, you're so—big!”

He pushes more of himself inside and groans at the unrelenting grip of her walls around him. It's airtight, it's wet, it's fucking heaven. He's died. He must have.

“I can take it,” she moans, her foot pressing at the small of his back, trying to pull more of him inside her. “I can, Frankie.”

She's so determined, so adorable in the way her brow scrunches, and he's so in love. He pushes inside until their hips are flush together and feels embarrassed by how good it is, so soon. It's been too long since he's buried himself inside a woman’s body, and hers is sending him fucking soaring. “Fucking… Hold still, honey. Can’t—fuck, you're so tight. Don't move. Just give me a second.”

She grins, head falling back into the pillow. “Can't… do that… to a helicopter.”

Frankie pulls out halfway and thrusts inside her sharply, hissing at the spark of pleasure that ricochets off his spine. “Smartass,” he grits out, relishing in the way she blindly reaches for the bedsheets and curls them in her hands.

“Frankie, honey, fuck me,” she says, rocking her hips against his.

He does. Of course he does.

Frankie begins to move inside her, establishing a rhythm that gets her moaning under him. He fucks her the way she wants; he fucks her to make her his, forever. He gets so deep inside her he feels his head prod her womb, and it doubles him over.

He drapes his body over her and humps her like an animal, kissing her until their mouths can barely fit together with the harsh thrusts that shift her body up the bed. His lips latch onto her jaw, nipping at it, then her shoulder, holding her body with the reverence it deserves, fucking into her until she's crying on his cock.

Frankie lifts her legs up onto his shoulders and bends her in fucking half. “Fuck!” she screams. “Frankie!”

“Hold on, baby.” She brings her hands around her thighs, and the angle deepens deliciously. He fucks her hard, biting the flesh of her calf, grunting about how good she is, how good she takes him, wrapped around his cock.

She drinks it in, swallowing thickly. “Wanted you… so long…”

He's punching the breath out of her, and he gently unwinds her hands from her thighs so they fall back down around his hips. He hooks a foot in the crook of her knee and rolls them over until she's on top. He places his hand on her belly. “Feel me?” he says, bucking his hips up into her.

She chokes on whatever she was about to say and lets her head fall back. When her eyes meet his, they're lidded, lashes spidery on her cheeks and her gaze heavy with lust. “I feel you,” she says. “Fuck, you're so big. So deep.”

He plants his feet on the mattress and holds onto her hips, grinding her against him. She shudders, grasping his shoulders, when her clit rubs up against his navel. “No fuckin’ idea,” he grunts, “how long I’ve been picturing this.”

“You ever dream of me?” she asks, her hair falling over her shoulders. The one and only deity he’s ever believed in. “I dreamed about you,” she confesses, squeezing her breasts in her hands. Frankie can’t believe what he’s seeing or hearing, even though he’s balls-deep inside her. “Touched myself thinking about you. Thought about you taking me… Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

He takes two handfuls of her ass and bounces her hard on his cock. She yelps, nails digging into his shoulder. “That feel like a dream, baby?” he says. “You have any idea how crazy you make me? Every time you fucking touched me, smiled at me… Jesus, eres tan… so beautiful.”

“Frankie,” she moans. “It was so hot watching you beat the shit out of him for me.” She glides long and slow up and back down his length, guided by his hands bruising her hips. “Fuck, you’re so strong.”

Frankie is lightheaded from the admission. He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her down to him by the back of her head, baring his teeth against her cheek and he fucks up into her. It’s deep and she’s helpless in this position, taking his cock and clinging to him with cries of his name. “You like me protecting you?” he rasps into her ear. “Like me getting all bloody for you?”

“Fuck—yes!” she gasps.

“Show me how much you like it,” he says. “Ride me.”

And oh, she rides him. It's like she's possessed, a feral little fox, lifting her hips until he's barely inside her and twisting on the way back down. His vision goes white with the feeling of it. “Fucking… Muy bien… No puedo… Baby, you're so good.”

She rocks on him, grinds, bounces, until he's seeing stars burst behind his eyes. It's good. It's really good. She just keeps going, riding him hard, the shitty mattress squeaking under their bodies. He squeezes her tits in his rough hands, pinching her nipples. Her moans turn to whimpers.

He sits up and pulls out of her abruptly. She protests vaguely, but she’s so cockdrunk she can barely form words as he flips her onto her stomach and secures a pillow under hips. He has the perfect view of her ass from her, her head turned as far toward him as she can manage, cheek pressed into the mattress. He places a hand on the small of her back. Frankie slides into her from behind, and her moan is so loud, so desperate, that he begins to fuck her without mercy, without abandon.

“Ohhhhh… Frank—fuck, I can’t… fuck!”

“Yeah, you can,” he coos, grinding deep, pressing up against her front wall. Her ass arches up against him. “Are you my girl?”

She nods frantically, her cheek scratching the mattress as the force of his thrusts rock her entire body. “I’m your girl. I’m your girl.”

“Nobody fucks with my girl.” He pounds her so hard the room echoes with the sounds of his hips slapping against her ass, the squelching of her wet cunt around him. “My—perfect—girl.”

“Fuck. ‘M gonna come, Frankie,” she moans, face-down, fisting the bedsheets.

He can feel it. She’s squeezing the life out of him, trapping him inside her, begging for his cum. “Where?” He barely manages to push out the question.

“Inside,” she pleads. “Fuck, inside me, please. I want your cum.”

He can’t refuse her. He doesn’t want to. “I’ll give it to you, baby. Come for me.”

She stiffens and shudders, moaning his name and pulsating around his cock. He works her through it, thrusting shallow and urging himself toward his own peak, until she collapses onto the mattress and mewls like a fucking cat. “I love you, Frankie,” are the words he hears.

He does, pushing himself all the way inside her until he can’t even see his fucking cock anymore. He drowns her cunt in his hot cum, spilling deep and groaning her name, all while her pussy flutters around him and urges more, more, more out of him. When he finishes, he collapses on top of her, a canopy over her back, his lips finding her shoulder. He can’t muster the energy to pull out of her, let alone move, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“My big strong man,” she giggles.

He huffs against her skin, moving to the crook of her neck, where he buries his face. “Fucking Fox.”

“Yeah, baby, you just did.” She’s still giggling, and it’s infectious. He grins into her throat, laughing until he’s wheezing.

“Jesus Christ,” he manages, certain he’s smearing tears of laughter all over her. “We should probably eat dinner.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Can you move? Because I’m not. And I can’t.”

He’s still chuckling. “I’m on top of you, baby. ‘Course you can’t move.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” She reaches around his head and scratches her fingers at the nape of his neck. He purrs against her. “We’ll eat when we wake up. Go to sleep, Frankie. I’ll be here when you open your eyes.”

He shifts off her slightly, pulling out of her as he moves onto his side to look into her eyes. He tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s matted with sweat and his manhandling. “I love you,” he tells her, just because he can. Because she loves him, too.

She grins, sleepy and worn. “Wake me up,” she whispers, her fingers lovingly tracing the grey in his beard, “whenever you’d like. However you’d like.”

He can’t help but squeeze her ass where his hand rests on it. “You serious?”

“I’m always serious, Francisco.” Her eyes flutter shut, and he doesn’t say another word.

He lets her sleep and watches until he follows.

He blinks awake to her hair tickling his nostrils, her soft back flush against his chest. He's seen her asleep before, memorised the way she looks when her lips are slightly parted and her even breathing gently rustles the hair in her face. He's so familiar with it. But he's never seen it so close, never felt the way her warm naked body curls gently into his, never been able to smell the lingering scent of citrus and sweat that clings to her. He's never been able to lean in and kiss her shoulder the way he does now.

She's yours.

Frankie is aware of his hard cock, slotted against the cleft of her asscheeks, needy for a wet, hot place to bury itself inside. He's aware of the way her body looks so tempting, so sweet. As his brain comes slowly to life, he becomes aware of the words she said last night.

Wake me up however you'd like.

He bites back a groan when she shifts in her sleep, her ass rocking back against his erection. Frankie reaches between their bodies and swipes two fingers through her folds. She's wet. No, she’s fucking soaked.

I dreamed about you.

Maybe she still does.

Still slick with his cum and her own arousal, she’ll take him so easily. It's blinding. Frankie's mind goes hazy with need, his body acting independently of his mind. He lifts her thigh and hooks it back around his hip, slotting his cock at her entrance. In her sleep, she hums, and the gentle sound rattles around in his head as he slides his cock inside her until he bottoms out.

He has to let out the rumbling sound that tears at his throat, so he buries his face in her throat and begins to fuck her from behind, pushing out little breaths of exertion into her skin.

“Mmmmmfrankie,” she mumbles, her eyes still closed, body still limp and malleable.

It’s deafening. She grips him so tightly, her walls sucking at him, begging for him. Frankie kisses the spot below her ear, sloppy and desperate, coaxing her awake with each languid drag of his cock.

“Frank,” she gasps, her eyes cracking open, her head turning, her lips seeking his, desperate and fuzzy with desire.

“Needed you, baby,” he groans, fucking her harder now that she's awake. She whispers his name, her voice crackling with sleep, still not coherent but grabbing greedily at his cock with her cunt. “So fucking good. Wet for me even in your sleep, huh? Muy hermosa, can't take you anywhere.”

She whimpers, head resting on his shoulder, lifting her arm just to bring him closer to him, fingers threading in his messy hair. He gravitates to her, lips on her ear, her jaw, her shoulder, every-fucking-where. “Gonna… gonna keep me locked up here?” she says, throat clicking with drool. “Fuck me whenever you want?”

Frankie grinds, making her cry out, gasping with the effort of taking him so deep, pressing up against the spot he knows will make her crumble. Stardust on his fingers. “Maybe I will,” he muses. “Nobody can fuckin’ touch you that way.”

“Frankie!” she screams, but it's muted, croaking with disuse. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

She's a mess around him, debauched and so beautiful, pinching each knob of his spine with the pleasure it gives him to see her break because of him. It’s disarming.

He hooks her leg higher, securing his arm around her thigh, pulling it back, fucking her harder. Deeper. He's so deep he knows it’ll take. It’ll fucking take, and—

It won't. She's got an implant. But fuck, Frankie imagines, rutting into her like a fucking monster, pressing up against her womb and giving her a piece of him that connects them forever. He reaches around her body and rubs her clit because he's about to come, and she comes first. She has to.

She does. Crying out his name, grabbing at him with her needy hands, she soaks his cock. Fucking soaks it, her slick sticky on his thighs and making it oh, so easy to take her harder, deeper still. The sounds are filthy and obscene and wet, and he tangles his fingers in her hair to pull her head backward. She's squirming and squeezing around him, begging for him to come inside her.

He does. Spurt after spurt of hot cum finds its home at the deepest part of her, and there's so much it dribbles out around his cock and mingles with her own wetness. Frankie groans into her ear as he comes, rocking shallowly, not stopping until he's given her all of it. The slick noise as he pulls out makes his cock twitch even more, but they're both tired, spent, and in need of a shower.

“Oh my God,” she mutters into the pillow, panting. “I can't walk.”

Frankie chuckles, sliding off the bed and tugging on her ankle. She protests with a little whine. “You're cute, baby, but don't be lazy. Gotta clean you up.”

“Don't wanna,” she says, wiggling her ass at him, giving him a glimpse of the cum slipping out of her hole, the mess he made of her body.

He covers her body with his and bites the flesh of her asscheek. “Frankie!” she squeals.

“Get up,” he says, giving the bite mark a gentle smack.

She finally turns over and, pouting, follows him into the bathroom. “You think it's over?” she asks him, locking the door behind them even though nobody else is in the house. Force of habit.

Frankie turns on the shower and places his fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature. “If it isn't,” he says, “we’ll figure it out.”

She smiles up at him. “You need a haircut, Francisco.”

“Lost my favourite hairdresser for a bit,” he says, pulling her naked body up against him. “Made some mistakes.”

“Maybe she'll take on her favourite client again,” muses his girl, brushing his hair away from his forehead with her fingers. “We waited so long, Frankie.”

Her voice holds melancholy, the drip of knowing misery that they've wasted years yearning. But Frankie kisses her forehead and cradles the back of her head. “You and your infinite wisdom, baby. Don’t you have something for me?”

She laughs, and it's like the bells at midnight. “I’m fresh out,” she whispers, resting her cheek against his chest. “But maybe my wisdom is that I love you. It’s the best choice I’ve ever made.”

THE END.

#pedro pascal fic #kiwisbell's fics #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fluff #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

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fandomchokehold · 3 months

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Musical Songs I Think The Boys™ Would Do a Burlesque Number To

*obviously these are only ones I've listened to, I wasn't a theater kid and don't really know much about plays and musicals, please don't be weird or mean in the notes 😭 and YES as a huge ABBA fan I know all the songs in Mamma Mia are just ABBA songs*

also this is way longer than I intended so there's more under the cut

Solos

Astarion - "Sweet Transvestite" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

this one is pretty obvious and expected but like !!! yeah !!! that's just him !!! he'd do the full routine, coming up in the elevator, throwing the cloak off to reveal the slutty lil outfit he has on underneath, throwing his drink at the audience while Gale Brad is talking, lounging on the throne, and then leaving mysteriously in the elevator OH BABY !!!

Wyll - "Land of Lola" from Kinky Boots

he would absolutely slay this routine, the lyrics are practically about him - "with arms as hard as steel" "with the moves of Fred Astaire" "I'm black jesus, I'm black mary, but this mary's legs are hairy" ??? I need this man to absolutely let loose and I NEED to see him in those cunty thigh high boots 👏 RED 👏 IS 👏 HIS 👏 COLOR !!!!

Gale - "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

I honestly just think he'd be really good at playing the part of the "innocent shy reserved man who does a complete 180 after being exposed to pure unbridled sexuality"; we all know he's not actually like that it's fully an act because he knows he has the looks of a tired english professor but the soul of a whore I just- you don't know how badly I need to see him doing a slightly desperate unhinged strip tease on stage on a garrish four poster bed OKAY ?!?!

Halsin - "Toxic Love" from Ferngully

I need him in his pretend villain era, I think he'd be cartoony like if he's gonna work a stage he's gonna werk a stage m'kay; he is actually using this performance to raise awareness about the climate crisis and donate the money he makes towards more accessible clean energy and environmental conservation efforts and would love to provide more info and resources while still in his g-string to all interested parties in the lobby of the venue

Duets

Astarion & Gale - "Planet Schmanet Janet" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Dr. Frank N. Furter, Gale as Janet; we all know this is a trademark Astarion ruse to get to chase a scantily clad Gale around menacingly and torment him in front of an audience, I mean c'mon who wouldn't want to do that 👀

Astarion & Wyll - "Does Your Mother Know?" from Mamma Mia

Astarion as Tanya, Wyll as Pepper (I had to look that up apparently his name is Pepper); I feel like Astarion would identify with Tanya on a spiritual level, they're both wine aunt cougars who love luxury, and after seeing that Wyllstarion interaction where they flirtatiously talk about their age gap this song just really is about them huh

Astarion & Halsin - "I Can Make You a Man" + "I Can Make You a Man (Reprise)" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Dr. Frank N. Furter, Halsin as Rocky; tbh this is just so Astarion can show off the "bounty of nature's gifts" that have been bestowed upon him and Halsin just finds how this twink is climbing him and swinging on his outstretched arm like a jungle gym too amusing to not participate

Gale & Wyll - "Horny Angry Tango" from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

either of them in either role; this is purely for the theatrics and to show off their actual ballroom dance skills, Gale is going to be the one getting dipped though

Gale & Halsin - "La Seine" from A Monster In Paris

Gale as Lucille, Halsin as Francoeur; I can't lie it's purely for the height difference that's totally canon and I didn't make up in my head, the contrast between Gale "Lil 5'8" Wizard" Dekarios and Halsin "The 6'5" Bear" Silverbough is just *chef kiss* 👌

Wyll & Halsin - "Lay All Your Love On Me" from Mamma Mia

either of them in either role; they're lowkey almost fucking on stage, Wyll chose it for the drama and Halsin went along for the overtly sexual choreography

Group Numbers

"Lady Marmalade" from Moulin Rouge

Astarion's favorite and Halsin's least favorite for the same reason: it's extremely flashy and dramatic

"Rose Tint My World" which transitions into "Don't Dream It" from Rocky Horror Picture Show

Astarion as Janet for "RTMW" but Frank for "DDI", Wyll as Columbia, Halsin as Rocky, Gale as Brad, with special guest Elminster as Dr. Scott during "Don't Dream It"

"Haus of Holbein" from SIX

tbh I don't have an explanation for this one I've really only listened to the corsets part and think it's kinda cunt, idk they'd all slay in corsets

"Big Spender" from Sweet Charity

ok just imagine any of them doing Fosse choreography

"Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)" from Mamma Mia

ok just imagine there's stripper poles-

"Cell Block Tango" from Chicago

with special guests Minsc and Volo; no one knows how they got here, Minsc is a bit too uncoordinated but he's got the spirit and Volo was recording everything from the audience for research purposes but saw they were short a character and thought to himself "what better way to learn than through participation?"

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greenhaired-gremlin · 3 months

Text

rewatching Hazbin Hotel

ok i'm on ep 3 already so we're starting there

THE WAY ALASTOR DOES THE O_O WHEN ZESTIAL APPEARS 🤨 what's going on there

Frank my love

ROSIE HEHEHE I LOVE HERRRRR

Zestial needs a lore drop soon pls. there's something going on with him istg

WHEN VELVETTE (yes it's actually spelled that way, captions) THROWS THE HEAD, ALASTOR GOES "Mmm, tasty"

I love Vel she's such a little bitch. the way her outfit and hair changes everytime she appears is so IJBNSJBDCJSBN

Alastor definitely considered eating the exorcist head, ffs he tasted it

The way Vel leaves Alastor alone tho

Rosie somehow stole the show even though she hasn't said a thing??? like she's just in the back like O_O and she's so bjsjhdbhs i love her

Respectless gets better everytime (if u havent look at Vel's notifications in the background of the "backbone of the vees" part, theyre hilarious)

Carmilla is amazing she has so much personality and shess rlly well-developed

JUSTICE FOR ZEEZI?? I JUST NOTICED THEIR NAME AND IM IN LOVE

"ReCeNtLy-" STFU AMAZON PRME I DONT CARE

okay we dont talk about angel enough in the scene at the bdsm club. he's trying so hard and yeah he's not a great person but i can see him trying to change

Husk sneaking out the door is my favorite thing

SPOILERS DONT READ IF U HAVENT SEEN EP 6 (skip the ~ until the second ~)

there are so many signs about vaggie? like holy shit

Zestial has something going on i'll bet money on this he's so manipulative (beginning of whatever it takes, calling Carmilla "old friend" and saying she can trust him)

Chaggie is so pure im sobbing

i love niffty in this ep she's so unhinged i love her

the Eggbois <3

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bieachella · 1 year

Note

jealous frank !!

this is so rushed sorry anon

it’s not unusual for frank to go ghost for a few days, longest he’s gone was two weeks, but that was before you started seeing him.

he began calling every now and then. it was always

“how you been, baby?”

or “i’ll be back soon, princess.”

fuck, you missed him like hell.

you shouldn’t have gotten attached.

you decided that sulking over his absence was only going to plague your mind with the worst cases scenario.

you were going out tonight.

you slipped on your tightest mini skirt and shortest top and the glossy red lips were the cherry on top.

you hailed a cab and directed the driver to a bar that had recently caught your attention.

once you arrived you surveyed the crowd, looking for anyone that would make you forget about frank.

your eyes met a cute brunette boy, his tall frame towering over the bartender.

he flashed a smile and started walking towards you

“buy me a drink?” you smiled, beating him to it. your playful demeanor caught him off guard, and he chuckled, admiring your quick wit.

"ah, you got me there," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "but only if you promise to tell me your name."

the night seemed to go on forever, the boy was cute, he seemed to like you, like a lot.

his eyes flickered upwards when he heard the bell above the door jingle.

you turned your head and it was frank

fucking frank.

he flashed a toothy grin like he hadn’t been gone for the last week.

“you know him?” the boy asked you

“yeah, she does.” frank wasted no time slipping a hand over your waist and pulling you close to him.

you couldn't help but laugh

your jaw was practically unhinged.

“no, she doesn’t.” you said, removing his hand from your hip and averting your gaze to the boy

the boy looked the two of you up and down, “fuck that.”

he turned his back and made his way over to his group of friends.

“who was ‘at, baby?” frank said with a playful expression on his face

you couldn’t help but laugh.

was he fucking with you?

“you must be fucking joking.”

“baby, c’mon. don’t be like that”

you glared at frank, trying to contain your anger and frustration. his sudden appearance had disrupted what had been a promising night. you took a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure.

"dont be like what, frank?" you asked, your voice laced with irritation.

you scoffed, crossing your arms. "you disappeared for a whole week without a word. no calls, no texts, nothing. and now you show up here like nothing happened?"

his expression faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "look, baby, i had some stuff to take care of. you know how it is."

"no, i don't know how it is," you replied sharply.

he moves around you, now towering over your small frame.

as he looms over you, his imposing presence sends a chill down your spine. the way his broad shoulders seem to engulf everything in front of you only amplifies your feelings of vulnerability.

he leans in, trying to find your lips, but you turn away.

he seems fine with, attaching his lips to your neck instead

"let me make it up to you, princess," he mumbles into your skin.

you want to push him away, be mad at him, but the heat pooling in your stomach makes you want him, want him to fuck you in front of everyone.

you find the strength to tug at his hair and look him in the eyes.

"here?" you say with sex dripping from your lips

it's not long before he has you pushed up against the elevator in your apartment, leaving open mouthed kisses all over your neck.

"that boy fuck you while i was gone?" his voice, low and husky, sends shivers down your spine as you struggle to catch your breath.

despite the urgency of the situation, a flicker of amusement dances in your eyes.

"no, he didn't, frank, please touch me," you manage to respond, your voice a breathy whisper.

he exhales sharply, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "you lyin' to me, baby?" he says, his lips grazing your earlobe. the sound of his voice sends a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

"no, no frank," you couldn't think straight with his hard cock pressing into you.

the bell rings and he presses you against the wall, his body flush against yours.

you both stumble out of the elevator, you couldn't open the door fast enough because he has your front pushed up against it.

he tugs at your tight mini skirt, tossing it somewhere you wont find later.

he nips at the bare skin, skilled fingers finding the wet patch only growing wetter by the second

"barely even touched you, baby," he murmurs

"all wet f'me, huh," he says, trailing kisses up to your leaking cunt

desire flooding your thoughts "mmmmmhm, frank, fuck me, please,"

"dont worry your pretty little head, baby, ill take care of you," he says before moving your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your wet folds.

"im the only one who'll ever see this pussy, princess," he says in between laps, "understand me?"

"fuck, yes." the words stumble out of your mouth

you feel the familiar heat forming in your belly,

fuck, you're so close

frank pulls away, leaving you wanting.

the sudden loss breaks a small whimper out of you

you don't even register the moments before his cock is teasing your hole

"tell me how much you want it, baby."

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle smut #the punisher #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle x female reader

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amhrosina · 1 year

Text

Waltz of the Vigilantes (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Frank is sort of unhinged in this one and reader is sort of into that. Let’s just say Frank is thinking with his other head for the majority of this fic. Also, if you’ve read The Punisher vs. The Cat, Mister (the cat) makes an appearance in this one. As always, a big thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for beta reading and being so great! <3

Request: hi friend! can you do a frank x reader where she’s a vigilante and she’s all graceful and acrobatic and shit and they haven’t been together that long, so one day he’s over at her place and finds out she used to be a ballerina (he finds pictures or something)? can be smutty if you want to…

Summary: Frank and Reader can’t keep their hands off each other after a unique date night involving taking out mobsters, stealing booze, and taking body shots.

(Warnings: SMUTTTTTT, canonical frank stuff - i.e., guns, knives, physical fights, vigilante!reader, alcohol, body shots lol, reader’s cat is a cockblock, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk)

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Frank had suggested taking out a small group of mobsters together for date night, but it wasn’t wrestling a man twice your size to the ground as he repeatedly called you names and reached for his gun in the same breath. You’d had the element of surprise for about three seconds before the guy was shoving you back, and the only thing you could do to avoid losing your edge was use the momentum of his push to swing yourself onto his back. You wrapped your legs tightly around his neck, and he crumbled to the ground as you squeezed the life out of him with your thighs.

Gunshots echoed off the walls in the next room, and you looked up just in time to see Frank bash the gunman’s head into a shelf on the wall. He glanced in your direction, no doubt checking that you were okay, and grinned when he saw the position you were posed in. You were still kneeling over the man you’d just killed, panting like you’d just run a marathon. You couldn’t help it – the man had a shit ton of stamina, and you weren’t used to being so hands on during your patrols.

“Can you do that to me later?” Frank called, chuckling.

You couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on your face. Even when he’s in the middle of beating mobsters to a pulp, he can’t keep his mind out of the gutter.

“Only if you’re good.” You teased, brushing your pants off as you stood. “Is that the last of ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Frank nodded his head toward the back exit, “Take what you want. I’ll keep watch.”

The den, which fronted as the back office of a laundromat, was littered with contraband. Guns, knives, drugs, imported alcohol, and medicine was scattered around the room, stacked in varying heights and covering most of the available surfaces. You weren’t particularly interested in any of the low-level things they were no doubt selling on the black market. You had plenty of your own guns and knives, and drugs weren’t your thing.

The poker game you’d interrupted was left half-played on the table, cards splayed along the green felt of the tabletop. You dragged your finger along the soft fabric, eyeing the stacks of poker chips in front of each chair. There was at least a quarter of a million dollars in each hand, but you knew none of the cash would be here. They may be idiots, but they weren’t that dumb.

You searched the overturned cards for a familiar face – one that would tell the police exactly who’d taken care of the pests of Hell’s Kitchen – and smiled when you found her: The Queen of Hearts. You slipped the playing card between the fingers of the man you’d killed and stuffed a single poker chip in your back pocket.

Soon, the public would know just how close they were living to a group of men who not only trafficked drugs and weapons, but also women, and the Queen of Hearts would be considered responsible for it. To the police, you were a menace without a conscience, but to the public, you were the only one protecting them from certain death.

When you joined Frank in the back alley, he looked you up and down, chuckled, and then looked you up and down again.

“You didn’t see anything you liked?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Eh, all I could find was this.”

You raised the bottle out in front of you, giggling. On your way out the door, you’d thanked whatever guardian angel was looking out for you, because there, ripe for the taking, was an unopened bottle of Patrón Platinum.

“D’ya wanna take shots of it off me when we get back to mine?” You winked, handing the bottle to Frank before stuffing your arms in your coat.

“Only if you’re good.” He smirked.

When you slid through the fire escape window of your apartment twenty minutes later, Frank was hot on your tail, pawing at the waistline of your pants. You turned, facing his broad shoulders and chest. He was so goddamn pretty, and you couldn’t help the broad strokes your hands made across his body. He smirked, lifting you onto the kitchen counter with ease, before pressing himself between your legs. His head was mere inches away from yours, and the urge to kiss him all over his pretty face became overwhelming.

Your ears perked up at the sound of the tequila bottle sliding across the granite countertop. You’d almost forgotten about your amazing find earlier.

“You mentioned body shots.” Frank smirked, brushing your lips with his. Not just a taunt, a dare, too.

“The shot glasses are in the cabinet behind me.”

You arched into his warmth as he reached above your head. The clink of two glasses being pinched together reverberated across the dim kitchen, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t have any limes.” You murmured, watching him twist the cap off the bottle. “I do have salt, though.”

You reached behind you, procuring a saltshaker as Frank huffed a laugh. He poured the clear liquid into the shot glasses while you readied your neck, and when he finally swiped his tongue across the line of salt on your throat, you choked out a moan of indescribable pleasure. Fire followed the wake of his tongue from your neck down to your pounding core, causing you to squirm against his hard body.

He tilted his head back, maintaining eye contact with you as he tipped the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes raked up his body, eyeing the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way he didn’t flinch even though you knew the liquid burned as it went down. His focus on you was primal, his eyes already darkening with lust. Your lips parted, breath hitching as he lifted the second glass up to your face. You gulped the liquid down greedily, doing your best to mimic his stoic reaction, but your nostrils burned, and you snorted out a giggle as you scrunched your face up.

Frank let out a loud laugh as you buried your face in your hands, embarrassed that you’d just snorted in his face. You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising and could almost guarantee that your face was stuck in an expression of horror.

“What a way to kill the mood.” You pointed out, giggling again. Frank patted your thighs in a reassuring gesture before gently pulling you down from the counter. Your cat, Mister, appeared in the doorway, trotting across the linoleum and meowing loudly as Frank did his best not to step on him.

“Shit,” you gasped, “I have to feed him.”

You gently pushed past Frank’s broad body and swooped Mister into your arms, cuddling him against your chest. Frank made a show of grabbing the bottle of tequila and saluting Mister as he made his way out of the kitchen and towards the door to your bedroom.

“Where are you going?” You quirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you filled the cat bowl with food.

“Only a coward can’t admit when they’ve lost.” Frank replied, matter-of-factly. His large frame disappeared through the door, and you rolled your eyes.

“Men are so sensitive, Mister.” You shook your head. He let out another loud meow between bites.

“Except for you, my sweet angel. You’re perfect.” You fluffed his fur and headed in the direction Frank went, ready to finish what you’d so embarrassingly interrupted earlier.

You found him sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched over a photo album that you’d been looking through earlier and forgotten to put away.

“You didn’t tell me you were a popular kid in high school.”

You cringed, reaching for the album, but Frank was faster and taller than you, so your efforts were futile. He held the album up in the air, laughing like a maniac.

“Or that you danced!”

“Frank!” You whined, standing on your toes.

“You were so young! When was this?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You groaned, jumping in the air, still unable to reach the album above you.

“Were you any good?” Frank swung around, turning from your reach and cradling the album in his arms. He turned to the next page where three, shiny first place ribbons were taped together above a photo of you holding a trophy almost as tall as you. His eyebrows shot up.

“You were good. You were really good.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, cringing at the thought of him seeing photos of you when you were younger. That felt like a lifetime ago, and the girl in those photographs felt like a completely different person.

“You got any videos?” Frank asked with a toothy smile.

You crossed your arms and huffed. “I most certainly do not.”

Frank’s grin widened. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and held your hand out. He chuckled and placed the album in your arms before tapping the top of the album with his finger.

“I like learning things about you.” He paused before continuing. “Even if I have to accidentally snoop to find them out.”

“You do?” You could feel the heat returning to your cheeks. He always managed to make you feel like a bashful schoolgirl, even when he wasn’t trying to.

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head once in confirmation. He lowered himself onto your bed, and after a moment, added, “No wonder you’re so,” he paused, clearing his throat, “bendy.”

You grinned widely as he tried to subtly look you up and down. In a single sentence, he’d managed to heat the room up to 100 degrees, and suddenly the ache in your core was impossible to ignore. The heat in his gaze traveled over your body, lingering on the base of your hips, almost as if he could see how wet you were. It burned through you.

You lurched forward, straddling him so quickly that you heard his breath hitch in his throat. You brought your lips next to his ear, noting the way his skin broke out in goosebumps as you breathed on to his neck.

“You wanna know a secret?”

Frank’s hands made their way around your thighs, gripping them with brute strength as he tensed.

“Yeah, baby.” He murmured with a barely discernible nod.

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Frank’s entire being froze before a wide grin spread across his face.

“You took out a sector of the mob, choked a man out with your thighs, and you weren’t wearing any underwear the entire time? I don’t know if I should be horny or jealous.”

You smirked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “Why not both?”

He grunted as you ground into him, and apparently decided he’d had enough, because in a swift, fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, placing you on your back as he inched his way down your body. He pulled the waistband of your pants down, revealing your unclothed pussy, and bit his bottom lip, groaning at the sight of it. He’d never get tired of seeing it – touching it – tasting it.

“Baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

He looked at you with a mixture of awe and lust, and you instinctively spread your legs wider to give him easier access. He licked his lips, falling to his elbows and hovering so closely above you that you could feel the tickle of his breath against your clit.

He ran a finger through your slick folds, playing with the wetness that he found pooling there. When he lightly brushed over your clit, you couldn’t stop the yelp from coming out of your mouth. He huffed a breath, sending heat over your clit, which morphed your outburst into a sultry moan.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You were lying flat on your back, eyes rolling into the back of your head, and pointedly not looking at how incredibly hot he was with his head buried between your thighs, but you could hear the smirk in his voice as he teased you.

“Frank.” You whispered, lifting your hips closer to his lips.

“Yes, dove?” He played coy so prettily, especially as he pressed a gentle kiss to the apex of your core.

“T-touch me. Please.”

“All you had to do was ask, pretty girl.”

Before you could offer a retort to his incredulous sarcasm, his tongue was between your legs, and you couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone offer a verbal response. He mapped out your core with his tongue, circling your clit with an expertise that still surprised you, even though he’d proven to you many times how skilled he was with his mouth.

“Oh sh-shit, Frank,” you whined, arching your back.

He attacked your mound hungrily, like it was his last day on Earth, and you were his last meal. His tongue swiped over your entrance, coating his mouth with your intense wetness. He smiled as he prodded the hole with his tongue, determined to drink as much of you as he could.

“You want my fingers, baby?” He prompted, emphasizing his question with a subtle suck on your clit.

“Fuck yes, Frankie. Please.” You whined, tears pricking behind your tightly closed eyes. You were already so close. As soon as he pushed his fingers into you, you’d be-

You were clenching around his fingers before you could finish the thought, erupting into an intense orgasm that had you crying out. He pumped his fingers in and out of you while he sucked on your clit, drawing out the pleasure in your body. For a moment, you couldn’t figure out where your pleasure began and ended, only focused on the way Frank seemed to know exactly how to lengthen your orgasms beyond what you were used to.

It’d been that way since you’d slept with him the very first time, and you had half convinced yourself that it was a fluke until he did it again thirty minutes later. Frank was a talented man, and you probably didn’t even know the half of it yet.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He mumbled, still pumping his fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace.

You were a panting, incoherent mess underneath him, and he loved it. He reveled in watching you come apart, and if he had it his way, he’d do it to you repeatedly, all day, every day of the week.

He continued pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, entranced by the slickness you’d spilled all over his fingers. The way your pussy fluttered around his hand, combined with the noises you were making as you inched closer to a second orgasm, were enough to bring a man to his knees.

“Frankie,” you cried, breathing erratically, “’m gonna cum.”

“Good, baby.” He breathed, beginning to arch his fingers towards the spot that would send you toppling over the edge. “Cum for me, sweet girl. Wanna feel it.”

The knot deep in your belly began to unravel at the sound of his gravelly voice commanding you to cum. When his fingertips brushed over the spot deep inside of you, you nearly screamed, completely falling apart underneath him. Your eyes rolled back as he finger-fucked you through the earth-shattering orgasm. Your legs, which he’d propped on his shoulders for easy access earlier, shook fiercely.

He pressed gentle kisses onto your calf and ankle as you slowly came back to Earth, a soothing gesture that grounded you more than he knew. When you were finally coherent enough to open your eyes, he slowly stood from his stooped position, lightly setting your legs on the mattress.

In a firm, but still somehow soft motion, he turned you on to your front, and you instinctively knew how to arrange yourself after that. Without prompting from him, you bent your knees underneath you, preening forward to rest your forehead on the mattress. You arched your back, clenching your toes in anticipation as he shuffled around the room.

The sound of the condom wrapper being split open made your pussy flutter in delight, and Frank chuckled as you subtly shook your hips in eagerness.

“Ready, sweet girl?” He asked, running his hands over your bare ass before lightly slapping it.

You had to stop yourself from mumbling the words ‘I was born ready’. You were, but it sounded desperate, and you couldn’t give him all the power here.

“Please, Frankie.” You mewled, slowly swaying your hips, “Please fuck me.”

He pressed into you, sliding until he was completely surrounded by your pussy. You both groaned in unison as he stretched you out, waiting until you pressed yourself back against him – your way of saying move.

He thrusted into you in a steady rhythm, drilling so deeply that you had to clench the comforter in your hands. Sex between the two of you had always felt right, like a deeper connection was being made every time you allowed vulnerability to squeeze its way into your relationship. It was a give and take, a push and a pull, a dance between two people who were so right for each other, even though they frequently did morally wrong things. You were convinced you’d never had proper sex until you met Frank, and he was more than happy to prove that to you.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grunted, digging his fingers into your hips. “So. Fucking. Wet.”

He thrusted after each word to emphasize his statement. You preened at the animalistic pace he set. The air was filled with breathy moans and skin connecting with skin, interspersed with Frank’s quiet grunts as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.

When you arched your back even further, pushing your upper body into the mattress to give him even deeper access, his thrusts faltered. He paused for a moment, and then began thrusting into you harder and faster than before. It didn’t take long before he shuttered against you, cumming so hard that he nearly collapsed on top of you. He just barely had the wherewithal to catch himself, and he spent at least a minute and a half standing in that hunched position, panting over you.

When he pulled out, you shuttered, turning over so you could watch him walk to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, and you tried not to get caught staring at his god-like body as he moved toward you. Frank was a confident man, but the way you gazed at him sometimes made him nervous. You stared at him like he was your endgame, and while that idea actually tended to excite him, the way you drooled over him made his cock twitch, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to satiate your lust.

“Hell of a date night.” You breathed as he wiped you clean.

He grinned, tossing the towel in the hamper before flopping down onto his stomach, watching you with gleaming eyes. You met his gaze, turning your head so that your noses were inches apart.

“Thanks for the date, handsome.” You grinned.

“Anything for you, baby. Did you have fun?”

“Too much fun. I want to do it all over again.” You brought your finger up to his nose, lightly flicking it.

“Oh, I think that can be arranged, sweetheart.” He teased, matching your smile.

“You think so?”

“Definitely.” He smiled a genuine smile, and you melted.

So goddamn pretty.

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @megmastersgf @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop

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saintmurd0ck · 2 years

Note

I THINK I'M STILL ON TIME FOR THE SLEEPOVER BUT how do you feel about "you won't hurt me." With Matt and Frank? Figured I'd give you a little poly fun 😉 if I'm too late, ignore this lol

AMANDA. this is fucking perfect oh god. i'm sorry (but also not) for the monster you've created with this ask. >:)

(this scene/sex position/sex thing (idk what to call it lmao) may or may not happen in my threesome series sequel (okay but it definitely will)..... and i thought i'd write it into this one in lieu of traditional DP because i'm absolutely unhinged today and yeah i need this so badly)

let's have a sleepover at mine!

two's better than one | frank castle x f!reader x matt murdock

Frank jolts upwards from where he is in between your legs, mouth glistening with the sheen of your arousal. “You what now?”

Your head tips back with a groan as Matt picks up Frank’s slack by slipping his tongue inside you, spreading your thighs apart as he feasts on you like a starved man.

“Red.”

Matt hums against your pussy, ears cocked towards Frank’s voice in response.

Frank reaches down to fist his cock, elbowing Matt in the process. “Did ‘ya hear what she asked us?”

Matt’s head pops up a second later, smirking at your whimper as he leaves one last kitten lick on your clit. “Yeah Frank, I heard.” He rubs an idle circle on your inner thigh before directing his words to you. “You sure about that, angel? S’that really want you want?”

“Forget it,” you grumble, carding your fingers through their hair, pushing their heads back down to where you need them most.

Frank resists the movement easily, arms going taut as he braces the edge of the mattress with both hands. He presses a kiss to your outstretched knee, voice softening. “What if we don’t fit? What if… what if you get hurt?”

“Aw, look at Castle gettin’ all soft on us,” Matt smirks, growling as he nips at your skin. “We’ll make it fit, won’t we, angel?”

“You won’t hurt me, I promise,” you murmur, running your fingers along their jaws, stubble tickling your fingertips.

Frank moves to kiss your knuckles, lips grazing so gently his breath is shaky. “You really want it, huh?” He pauses, nudging a finger at your entrance, where you’re dripping with the thought of it. “The both of us, stuffed in that tight lil’ hole of yours?”

You’re a whining mess as you hear him sound out your desire... what you’ve asked of them. “Please.”

A shudder runs through Frank’s body as he hears the desperation in your voice, then again as he notices Matt’s darkened expression; the wicked grin that now stretches across his entire face.

“Go on then, darlin’. Be a good girl and take it.”

#frank castle #matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader x frank castle #frank castle x matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader x matt murdock #frank castle smut #rhi writes 💻#daredevil #the punisher #x reader #saintmurd0ck let's have a sleepover #rhi's mutuals 💗#rhi responds 💌

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atmilliways · 10 months

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Wrong On The Money (17)

part 17 of ?? | 760 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” Steve asks, and Eddie answers the question while wondering, Why the hell do you want to know?

17.

There isn’t a lot of time to think for a while. All of them crash in Max’s trailer, away from the windows while they rest, in case the police roll by looking. There’s talking and drawing up battle plans, and crawling through an RV window for his time to shine.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” Steve asks, and Eddie answers the question while wondering, Why the hell do you want to know?

It all makes his head spin, makes him feel manic and unhinged and wanting to push it just to find out where the boundaries are. He flirts, and for some reason Steve’s reaction is confused when it should by all rights be venomous.

He has some time to himself on the drive to the War Zone. No one interrupts him from zoning out and going back over the past few days. Over the times Steve has gone out of his way to help explain what’s going on, because everyone else goes a mile a minute and is used to this shit, apparently. But the former King of Hawkins High seems to have an eye for when Eddie is foundering and needs a refresher, like whenever anyone talks about some girl named El.

“Everything was way easier. . . . We had this girl. She had superpowers—”

“Superpowers. Yeah, you mentioned her.”

No matter how many times he goes over it, Eddie doesn’t see how it makes any sense. Unless Steve is trying to unsettle him by contrasting how much easier things used to be, and without said powers they are totally screwed? But . . . no, Mr. Team Player wouldn’t do that and risk freaking everyone else out too. Probably. Eddie wants to scream.

He’s not even going to touch the fact that he’s thinking of him as Steve instead of Harrington now.

As soon as everyone but Eddie, Dustin, and Lucas has unloaded from the RV for a firearms and bludgeoning object shopping spree, Dustin turns to him. “So you agree now, right?”

This kid. Eddie rubs at his temples, trying to stave off a headache that’s already well set in. “Dude, I’m having a really long weekend. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“About Steve,” Dustin replies, full of freshman boy exasperation and earnestness. “He’s a badass. You agree now, right?”

Somehow, Eddie had thought he would be spared the ‘Steve’s so great, Steve’s so awesome’ talks now that he's trapped in this utterly insane evil apocalypse situation with the guy. But no. He had overestimated Dustin.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie snaps, already wound up tighter than he ever knew he could be and falling back to reflex. “I’m sure it’s real easy to be badass when you know you have daddy’s money to fall back on.”

It’s not the first time he’s said something like that about the rich, popular, snobby crowd. Jeff, Gareth, and Frank all would’ve laughed. But Lucas’s head shoots up across the RV, and Dustin’s face twists up in a weird mixture of disappointment and borderline disgust.

“Not cool, man.” Dustin puts his hands on his hips—and oh god, Eddie had seen Steve hit that same pose back at Skull Rock. “And you know that Steve’s asshole dad cut him off after he graduated, right?”

Eddie just. Stops.

Because . . . that can’t be true.

Steve Harrington wouldn’t let anyone blackmail him with a useless threat for money he doesn’t even have. Even if it were somehow true, you can’t get water out of a stone and you can’t get that much cash out of a guy subsisting on a job at the Family fucking Video. By process of elimination, it’s impossible.

Right?

He looks at Lucas, who nods in confirmation. “It’s true. That’s why Steve worked at Scoops Ahoy until the mall attack, to like—” the boy does air quotes “—learn some responsibility.”

Some responsibility. Steve, the guy who had been keeping monsters from killing a small group of young nerds for the past two years. Jesus H. Christ. The spring winches even tighter, until something goes twang.

Filing ‘the attack’ away instead of ‘the fire’ for later consideration and hyperventilating, Eddie’s wide eyes snap back to Dustin. The kid scowls back, waiting for an answer.

“How,” Eddie says, sounding like air leaking out of a goddamn balloon, “the fuck would I know that, Henderson?”

This is it, the straw that broke the camel’s back. Dark wizards and death curses and the Vale of Shadows he can handle, but known quantity Steve Harrington turning out to be a complete fucking conundrum is just too much.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie fic #steddie #stranger things fic #eddie munson #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #so basically everything in this fic (except vecna) is dustin's fault

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gerardpilled · 1 year

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literally stop being an mcr fan then! why can you forgive gerard but not lynz? everyone will pretend they support the idea of allowing someone to learn and grow and change but then they'll see a woman and go oh no not her she's irredeemable like? the double standards are ridiculous

It’s so crazy… I’ve seen countless people say that she needs to explicitly apologize for her actions and yeah I guess that would be nice. I just think it's a more complicated and nuanced situation than it might seem. Her apologizing for being in msi and participating in complicit racism would implement a lot of people and make them guilty by association. It would imply everyone including the sound guys who worked shows would then be connected to "having worked for a racist band" and could seriously complicate relationships - both working and not.

Also, I sometimes really don't understand why this is a discussion worthy of so much time other than reflecting on the atmosphere that allowed such a band to rise within the scene? (I think there's a real meaningful conversation to be had about the excusing of racism from a lot of people within the alt music scene even today.)The band hasn’t toured since 2014? Acts like Marilyn Manson - who among all his other crimes also used racial slurs as shock value - is actively touring. And for the double standards - Frank fucking toured with msi in 2013 like why not cancel him for that LOL!!! Or god forbid, Gerard for working with Jimmy Urine in 2018.

Even forgiving Gerard for saying he’s Japanese while dogpiling Lindsey for saying she’s partially Indian when she doesn’t even know her birth dad is wild to me. The tweets are very similar to each other - and neither of them have apologized? I've seen people start excusing Gerard's tweet, extrapolating info like "he must have taken a DNA test" well, there's no proof of that, and why not extend that benefit of the doubt to Lindsey? Like yes, she shouldn’t have said it but Gerard shouldn’t have either! I also just can't help but think there are more important issues oh my god!!! I've seen people - both Indian and East Asian alike - express discomfort with both Lindsey's and Gerard's actions, and I completely understand that! I just only ever see Lindsey's held to such irredeemable levels, and that's usually by white people who I personally feel are overstepping their role. I just can't help but think some white people do not have meaningful, real life, conversations with the demographics they are supposedly advocating for.

I am definitely not the person to absolve her of her sins or excuse anything she’s done and people she’s hurt, but do people (and I mean primarily other white people who - from my experience - are mainly the ones posting hate about her) realize she has probably been the most clear and explicit about her anti-racist learning curve? Out of anyone even remotely connected to mcr, she has posted and done more direct funding and outreach for Black organizations than anyone. Yes, that’s Twitter activism and doesn’t exactly amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but if people who hate her judge her off of her internet footprint, why not use the same to realize maybe she has learned?

I recently tried to see if she had acknowledged any of her faults publicly- and to my shock - she has!

I’m not saying this is the best response to every thing but I also never saw this mentioned ever before.

I truly think some of the worst stuff she’s done is publicly support Jimmy Urine after the allegations came out but again everyone who just spreads that as a fact completely misses the context of her ex friend spreading unhinged rumors about her for like a year before those allegations came out. Jessicka Adams accused Gerard of sexual misconduct and started claiming that Lindsey was in cahoots with a man who accused Jessicka of sleeping with him when he was underage. Truly unhinged stuff.

If I was Lindsey and my ex-friend was doing that, purposefully targeting people close to me, I also might immediately assume she was behind those against the lead singer of my old band! She should NOT have voiced her suspicions publicly, and I do think that was wrong, but it’s not like she doubled down on it since? I know a lot of people would like to think they would act differently if they were in her shoes, but really think about it! If allegations that arose online came out against a man you called a friend - who you let watch your daughter - would you immediately publicly turn against him? She should have apologized when it became clear the allegations were not unfounded, but even when the news first broke she was liking tweets which better explained her mindset. Also last I heard, they are no longer friends at all.

Again with the double standards though. I've seen no noise around Mikey’s wife publicly defending wife abuser Johnny Depp (a person she does not even know) when he won his trial? Or the fact that Gerard was also very good friend with Jimmy and most likely shares a similar opinion as his wife?

I've also seen people say things like "well she should have known because of all the signs" I think this a dangerous oversimplification. What about the band No Devotion? Everyone loves them here. They formed after their old lead singer was exposed as rapist with multiple situations of him sleeping with young girls on tour. Why didn't those guys know about it?

I also just feel like using this case a justification to hate her alongside stuff like "she made a mikey hate blog!!" (she didn't) just feels so wrong to me. It’s like people are happy this happened to a woman because it gives justification to hate Lindsey. I see no attempts to support this Jane Doe with tweets of support or some kind of fundraiser. It's always just rooted in hatred of another woman.

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mariamariquinha · 15 days

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Writing Update

This post is out of respect for everyone who has been following me since I started sharing my stories here. I'll leave it pinned on the profile so don't worry!

Versos de Placer

I'm already well ahead of the last chapter, but I haven't touched the story in months for reasons of: I'm very tired. At some point I will finish it (I still need a good ending) and until that happens, I have no news about it. As soon as I have it, I'll let you know!

(i don't know why i used this gif but it somehow always makes me aware of how unhinged he is lol)

Bossa Nova

This one is closer to being published, but also without a date. Once I finish Versos de Placer, I'll be more comfortable just focusing on it and IT WILL BE THE LAST 'LONG FANFIC' AROUND HERE (at least for a loooong time). I'm experimenting with some ideas about it, revisiting what I've already done and what the next steps will be, but you can count on more Benny!

Narcos

When you go to my profile, you will see that Javier Peña and Steve Murphy are marked 'no longer writing for', and that is… the truth. Maybe in the future I'll come back to them, but I need the right idea and the right mindset, as this particular fandom is curiously complicated. Their stories are still available!

Requests

I'll close them here. Yeah, well, there's not much of a secret, so just understand that I don't have the constant writing capacity to meet demands in this regard. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to believe in a story instead of just writing it. I'll leave this in my bio too!

AO3

Since the end of last year I have been studying the possibility of starting to work more with AO3. It's a platform that I know little about, so I want to make sure I know how to use it before I start producing there. You will also find out when this will happen.

Last but not least... New characters

Everything I did outside the box (with Gurney, Dave York and Mike Duarte) were more writing experiments. I'm always open to doing something like that, as is the case with James Wilson (which I've been maturing and CONSIDERING), but for now the only characters I write for are:

Alfie Solomons (Peaky Blinders)

Horacio Carrillo (Narcos)

Will Miller (Triple Frontier)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

Benny Magalon (Den of Thieves)

Frank Castle (The Punisher)

Some always appear more than others, but they are all still in my orbit! Who doesn't love a mix of ambiguous police officers with ex-military men who need therapy and a dash of divorced university professors?

If you have any questions, my DM and ask box are open! 😉

#updates #writing

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haruhar-u · 2 months

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matchup for @averagetoyakinnie

I match you with…

Adam!!!

-ok if im to be frank he may judge you a bit during your meetcute

-however once you warm up to him (how long it takes may depend on wether you’re an angel or demon). I think you two would really get along

-he would like to joke along with you with your memes because after all he is the original dick.

-you could be like unhinged together

-despite your mischievous side I think you would balance each other out quite nicely, with you sometimes using your therapist dad friend side to get him to chill out

-As a date or hangout I can see you two playing instruments together, Adam on his guitar and you whichever of the 6 you prefer

-he would want to model the outfits you design so badly. Like you’re telling him his fucking boyfriend made that fit. Fuck yeah

-I feel likely during the pining phase he’d get the nicest gifts he could find in heaven to impress you (he still does albeit not as often)

-he would try to take interest in your art. He wouldn’t fully understand it however he’d be like telling everyone around (Lute is the main victim of this) that his boyfriend made that and he is super proud

Runner up: Husk

I hope you enjoyed it ^^. Also I apologize if Adam is ooc this is my first time writing for Adam or Hazbin at all actually

Matchups are open!!!

#hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel matchup #Luka plays Cupid

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dorothleah · 4 days

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Y'all I am so passionate about this I got my COMPUTER in the middle of doing laundry to sign onto tumblr.com and share this deranged parallel in my mind ok ok SO KASTLE RIGHT? I'm obsessed, thanks a lot to my friend megan (ily megan). So I was in the shower and I was humming Ivy by Taylor Swift, as you do. And it hit me like a brick WALL that this is THEIR. SONG. absolutely 1000% and let me demonstrate (this will be a long post please forgive my ramblings I am SO excited) How's one to know? I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones In a faith-forgotten land In from the snow Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow Tarnished but so grand I'm gonna start with the fact that Hell's Kitchen is easily a faith forgotten land. This song is, in my head, from Karen Page's POV where canonically in the comics, she marries Matt, or in the Netflix universe, at least dates him. She meets Frank, his touch TARNISHED but SO GRAND. And the old widow goes to the stone every day But I don't, I just sit here and wait Grieving for the living Karen KNOWS what it's like to kill someone. To lose them. She, just like Frank, GRIEVE for the living. Oh, I can't My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you

Okay this is what started it for me. Karen being this protective person who yearns to be understood and loved for who SHE IS. HER PAIN fitting in the palm of rough, calloused Frank Castle's hand, but her hand is promised to Matt. But she still goes to him, as she now cares so deeply for his wellbeing, that it causes his "ivy to grow" and cover her. I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed He's in the room Your opal eyes are all I wish to see He wants what's only yours

The second verse hits hard, with that fatal flaw of Frank's, his idea that he cannot be happy, in love. That isn't in the cards for him anymore. Like he's cursed. Clover blooms in the fields Spring breaks loose, the time is near What would he do if he found us out? Crescent moon, coast is clear Spring breaks loose, but so does fear He's gonna burn this house to the ground How's one to know? I'd live and die for moments that we stole On begged and borrowed time So tell me to run Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become And drink my husband's wine This is where I stopped my laundry and just sat. What would he do if he found us out?? If Matthew Murdock found out Karen loved a man who kills others? We know Matt does not like the way Frank does things. The beauty of this secret deep rooted love is reminicent of spring, of renewal after loss for them both. LIVE AND DIE FOR MOMENTS THAT WE STOLE. ON BEGGED AND BORROWED TIME. That's it that's them. Because Frank will tell her to run, or just sit and watch her and Matt happily, because he believes he cannot give her what she deserves. Lastly: So yeah, it's a fire It's a violent blaze in the dark And you started it You started it So yeah, it's a war It's the fiercest fight of my life And you started it You started it Do I even have to say it? Frank is the absolute violent blaze. But I can see Frank saying SHE is the fiercest fight of his life and she started it, flipping the script. This part goes for them both. I am done. I apologize for my unhinged behavior, and I hope someone enjoyed this ridiculous ramble. <3

#frank castle #karen page #kastle #the punisher #marvel #daredevil #matt murdock #taylor swift #evermore #ivy

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joesmemes · 1 year

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THINGS SAID IN THE GROUP CHAT SENTENCE STARTERS

Assembled by @sheenathehyena.

I gave you a beach house now be normal

It's just so fucking ridiculous it circles back around to being poignant

I'm fine but what an inconsiderate toolbox

the fucking white boi who is trying to "find himself" that you meet all of once at the beginning

Yeah you want me to shoot my baby batter all over you cover you with almost - children

YOUR PLANET'S HOPE IS SONIC THE HEDGEHOG'S TRANS ASSHOLE

Not sure how to feel about talking to actual fucking yakuza members for entertainment purposes

On a scale of Balan Wonderworld to Silent Hill, how are you dealing with your trauma?

Roses are red, violets are blue, singular they is older than singular you

Concerned Ape noises

You ever think about the fact that [name] really said "the birds work for the bourgeoisie" & they were right

My patience for slipping over improperly spilled blood has run out.

If you can see the bones of your whipped pupil, you failed.

You know the healer's oath: Only do moderate harm to those who cross you.

Man I don't know if lack of shame is a blessing or a curse.

Parsooth m'lady but would you be so kind as to partake of the exquisite past time of role playing?

So they aren't DENYING the piss kink

uhm you need to be more of a doormat…..your boundaries are making me uncomfy 😦

That's HARLEQUIN NOVEL descriptors of sex

where is my mouse arrow? where is it holy fuck

fetishize urself ig

It's always people with feet fetishes or fat fetishes that be so open about it

Look at this unhinged mother fucker

Fuck you I hope your pice of shit family burn in a dumpster fire

Sorry you had to overshare about a tough time with some random chick in school but it's not relavent to my cat at all.

We're at a sword store and it's full of exactly what you'd expect.

Nobody was reading Lemony Snicket going "teehee they made Count Olaf bitch sauce"

Wikipedia I love you but your donation pleas sound like a lying teenager begging for money online

There's no right way to look at the guy that tossed his baby off a cliff and say "I think he needs to look cool for a minute there" is all I'm saying

Okay, wonderful. GREAT, take them all. Please leave immediately

one time I ran a server and I was being weird so I changed literally everyone's nickname to Frank

AKGHDLK I'm gonna SOB they asked if they could share their ticklefics

heavy meals always make me HONK MIMIMIMIMI

I found a fucking book of Mormon lmafo

lemme go take a dump and ill set it up

THREE. THREE TIMES. HE'S BEEN ARRESTED FOR INSIDER TRADEING THREE FUCKING TIMES.

tell her it was you who farted, establish dominance

I have been hoarding vidya games for the three of us to play like a dragon

Nearly had a heart attack because I was poopin and saw blood but realized it was my period

Ok we need to get a big cardboard box and a vaguely feminine scarecrow dressed as a boyfriendless girl

Puts my head in your lap like a cat

Some Filipinos wanna buy your titty mousepads

the chris chan trials are about to be the depp vs heard trial for people who had unrestricted internet access at a young age

Now u will screenshot us talking shit and put it in the callout 😭

GUYS I NEED PROOF THAT [name] IS GAY TO STICK IT TO A 19 YEAR OLD ALT RIGHT IDIOT

🙂 our fursona is gonna b friends with sonic

I both love and hate [name]’s writing. How they go from ancient purple prose to “oh shit oh fuck”

i guess you could say…. this was a triumph

#rp meme #sentence starters #inbox meme #roleplay memes #resources #rp meme blog #starter set #starters

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a-nice-egg-offering · 8 months

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Dee and Dennis feel more mature in a way that the others aren’t this season. I noticed kaitlins acting choices were different this year and I couldn’t put my finger on what way exactly but I’ve realised Dee seems like more grown up. Obviously she’s still crazy and rapey but there’s definitely been a shift. And Dennis is no where near as unhinged as he has been, he kind of felt like season 1/2 Dennis this season like more level headed and reasonable - again more mature. Mac has changed but it’s been gradual it’s hard to pinpoint which season the shift happened in but he hasn’t rly become more or less mature it’s a different kind of change that’s happened with him. Charlie’s the same as hes always been, obviously more unhinged than s1&2 but it’s been consistent for the last 10+ years so not rly notable. And frank has just been deteriorating since season 2. The twins however are different this year specifically. And I don’t mean mature as in more emotionally intelligent God knows none of them can be described as that they continue to be awful petty stupid people but the twins seem older which at first u might just be like well yeah they are nearly 50 but it is strange bc these are characters that have acted like they’re in their early 20s for the last 25 years so it is kind of jarring seeing them sort of begin to act their age like why now? Maybe no one else has noticed it and ur all gonna be like what are u on about lol but idk it makes me wonder about where they’re going with the show.

#iasip #trash twins

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