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alexandralyman · 4 months ago

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Frankie Morales x Reader fic

A little "friends with benefits" Frankie fic for my partner in crime @meanderingcaptainswanmusings - who loves Frankie Morales like I love Dave York!

Summary: You and Frankie are friends. Just friends and nothing more. But after a bad breakup with your dickhead ex and a failed attempt at a Tinder hookup, you find yourself on Frankie's doorstep one Saturday night in a bodycon dress and fuck-me heels. Turns out, Frankie is more than willing to oblige. After all, what are friends for?

8,221 words, rated E for general sexytimes and Frankie's skill with his mouth. AO3 link here

Hope you Frankie fans enjoy!

Frankie With Benefits

You step out of the Uber, muttering your thanks to the driver while closing the door with your phone already in hand to give him five stars and a good tip despite your foul mood. It wasn’t his fault that your date was such a disaster after all, plus he didn’t try to make small talk and played good music instead of some douchey podcast. You can still hear the faint Cuban rhythms as he drives off into the sultry Florida night, it’s both hot and humid as per usual and the contrast between the ice-cold AC in the car to the nearly triple-digit temps outside is a shock to your system that distracts you from noticing something is off until it’s too late.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

While the building in front of you is very familiar, it’s decidedly not your apartment complex. Your plans of changing out of your tight dress and fuck-me heels into some ratty old pjs and killing the bottle of wine chilling away in your fridge while you delete Tinder for good because men fucking suck has just been thrown a major curveball. You open Uber back up to check your ride history and squint at the screen through the false eyelashes that took forever to put on, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you must have tapped on the wrong destination when you left the bar in such a rush while telling your date where to shove it. That’s the only explanation as to why you’re not currently looking at your front entrance.

You’re looking directly at Frankie’s house instead.

Fuck.

Standing at the end of his driveway feeling very self-conscious in your bodycon dress with your driver already long gone, you go to book a new ride so you can slip away before any of Frankie’s nosy neighbors start to wonder about the woman loitering on their quiet little street in an outfit that’s decidedly not “family friendly.” Or worse, before Frankie sees you. A minute ticks by, then two, and no drivers pop up, not even with ridiculous surge pricing that you’ll gladly pay just to get home.

“C’mon, c’mon. Ugh!”

You finally give up as the streets nearby stay frustratingly empty on the little map, stuffing your phone into your purse with a sigh and turning to face Frankie’s house. His living room light is on so he’s obviously home and not out with the guys tonight, you can see the soft yellow glow through the curtains like a beacon offering safe harbor after a shitty evening.

It’s Frankie. If you can’t be alone in your apartment drowning your sorrows in grocery store wine, there’s really nowhere else you’d rather be.

“He needs to resurface his driveway,” you mutter under your breath as you carefully pick your way up the asphalt towards his front door. You’re certainly not wobbling with every step because you wore stilettos that make your butt look great but you can’t actually walk properly in. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You manage to make it all the way without breaking an ankle, knocking and wondering if it would be less embarrassing to head barefoot to the bus stop at the corner instead of admitting why you’re here. But before you can kick them off and make a break for it Frankie answers, blinking in confusion when he sees you standing on his doorstep in a dress with a neckline that plunges more than an Olympic diver and shoes that cost half a month’s rent, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to scratch behind his neck as he takes you in with those dark, expressive eyes of his. “Um…did we have plans tonight, or something?

He stares openly at your cleavage for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to your face with a sheepish look. If it was any other man you’d be annoyed, but Frankie has never ogled or leered at you in all the time you’ve been friends, and you did just show up unannounced at his door with your tits on full display, after all. You don’t mind if he takes a peek, someone might as well get to appreciate them tonight.

“No,” you reassure him. “Can I come in? I just bailed on a shitty date and must have accidentally picked your address when I ordered an Uber instead of mine. I tried to book another one to take me home but there’s no drivers around right now.”

Frankie nods. “Sure, sure, of course,” he says, shuffling aside to let you in and closing the door behind you with a soft click. You kick off your heels with a sigh because it would be rude to wear them in his house and not because they’re absolutely killing your feet, letting them tangle with his sneakers and already feeling a little better.

“Mi casa et su casa,” he adds with a gallant sweep of his arm once you’re safely inside.

You’ve spent a decent amount of time at Casa Morales since you first met Frankie a few years ago and quickly became friends with him, coming over for everything from backyard BBQs with his Delta Force buddies and their families, to movie nights on his couch just the two of you, to hauling your laundry over in his truck when the machines in your building went out of order again and he insisted that you use his instead of spending money at a laundromat. You know your way around his place. His house is small, but it’s bright and airy just like the ones you sigh over while browsing Zillow in your apartment, and while Frankie’s life can be messy at times (mainly thanks to said Delta Force buddies, Santiago Garcia in particular) he keeps his home neat and tidy and welcoming. When you go into the living room there’s nothing out of place, just a half-eaten bowl of chips and a bottle of beer on the coffee table. On a coaster, no less. The TV is still on, he was obviously enjoying a quiet night in for one when you crashed his evening in a dress that revealed more than it covered and shoes your credit card and arches were both still recovering from.

He follows you in, his presence at your back familiar and comforting despite your current “men fucking suck” state of mind. Frankie’s the lone exception at the moment.

“I’d drive you home but I’ve already had a few beers tonight. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You wave off the apology in his voice. “It’s fine, I’ll just give it a few minutes and book another ride.”

“Uh, about that….”

You turn and look at him, confused. He gives you a “don’t shoot the messenger” look with both hands raised and nods towards the TV.

“The game just finished. All the Uber drivers are going to be down at the stadium by now.”

“Son of a bitch,” you swear, closing your eyes in frustration. You couldn’t have picked a worse night to get stranded without a ride, everyone within a twenty mile radius of the stadium knows it’s impossible to get an Uber after any big event. Frankie knows it, you know it, you just didn’t plan on your date being a lying asshole and having to compete with twenty thousand sportsball fans for a lift home. That’s it, you were done with dating apps for good, if you hadn’t downloaded Tinder again you could be at home in bed right now having a threesome with your wine and your vibrator and as a bonus your feet wouldn’t hurt.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you have a few blisters. The damn shoes were just like men, looked so great at first and then rubbed you in all the wrong places.

“Sooooo,” Frankie drawls when you flop down ungracefully on his couch, eyeing you carefully from his tactical position behind the coffee table. “You were on a date tonight? I thought you said you’d given up on dating after Dickface McDickhead….oh fuck, please tell me you’re not back together with that asshole again?”

His nickname for your ex always makes you snort. Frankie was never his biggest fan. He wasn’t Frankie’s either, hating the fact that you two were such good friends. When you finally broke up with him for good, Frankie threw a BBQ the following weekend and grilled you the best steak you’d ever eaten with a huge smile on his face.

”What are we celebrating?” Santi asked when he arrived, putting down the beer he’d brought and eyeing the streamers and balloons decorating Frankie’s backyard in confusion.

“The fact that I won’t go to jail for throwing trash out of my helicopter,” Frankie said.

Santi stared blankly at him. “The fuck are you on about, Fish?”

Frankie just grinned at you over Santi’s shoulder while you rolled your eyes and grabbed one of the drinks. He even had a party hat perched jauntily on top of his ballcap, and a piñata hanging up in the yard, “for the kids”.

You took a few good swings at it with the bat he handed you while picturing your ex’s face on the paper-mache.

The mere thought of getting back with Drew, aka Dickface, makes you shudder. “No, I’m not back with him, and I’m still done with dating.”

You swipe some chips out of the bowl and tuck your legs under you, ignoring how high it makes your dress ride up your thighs with only a token effort to tug it back down.

“You’re done with dating, but you were out on a date? Little confused here.”

Frankie sits down on the other end of the couch, muting the post-game recap on the TV and turning so that he’s facing you. He’s all casual in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders when he twists, hair falling on his forehead in a mop of messy curls without his usual hat to cover them. You should feel out of place in your sexy little dress, full-glam makeup and the “effortless beachy waves” that took you an hour, three different tutorials and a whole fucking lot of effort to achieve, but you’re far more comfortable here with him than you were with the man you ditched back at the trendy bar full of wannabe influencers with insanely overpriced cocktails. Comfortable enough to tell him the truth, with a little help from the tequila in the deconstructed margaritas that you drank.

“It was supposed to be a hookup,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks go warm in a combination of embarrassment and alcohol.

His eyes go wide at that and he lets out a little cough of surprise. “That explains the dress,” he says, glancing down at it again before quickly looking back up at your face.

You wave a hand up and down yourself. “Dress, shoes, lip gloss,” you list off, not mentioning the rather skimpy new underwear that you’re one wrong move away from flashing him with. “I was tired of sitting home alone on Saturday nights, you know?”

”Hey!” he protests, and you duck your head with a wince. It’s Saturday night and he was sitting home alone until you showed up.

“Sorry. No offense, Frankie.”

“None taken, cariño. But only because it’s you.”

The casual endearment makes you feel even warmer, or maybe it’s just the Patrón you downed before leaving Mr. Talk, Dark, and Liar Liar Pants on Fire back at the bar hitting your system.

“Deconstructed margarita” your ass, it was a shot of triple sec and a shot of tequila with a hideous up charge, and they didn’t even include the lime.

You could leave it at that, suggest watching a shitty Netflix movie to pass the time until you can finally book an Uber and go home to change into something that isn’t squeezing your ribs into new and interesting positions and drink the finest chardonnay Publix had for under ten dollars. Frankie won’t push, won’t judge, you’ve been friends long enough to know that. You’ve seen each other through various highs and lows over the years, he was the first person you called when you got a promotion that you’d worked your ass off for, and when he found out his ex-fiancée was getting married you were the one who picked him up at the bar where he was drowning his sorrows and brought him home to drunkenly cry on your shoulder until he passed out.

If there’s anyone in the world who you can trust with this, it’s him.

“Those last few months with You Know Who,” you start, meaning your ex and not Voldemort despite their many similarities, “we were fighting like all the time. I knew deep down our relationship had become this flaming dumpster fire, but for some stupid reason I kept splashing water on it trying to put it out instead of walking away. And then we had the worst fight ever, and he said…he said-”

You could really do with another shot of tequila for some liquid courage right now. You settle for drinking the last of Frankie’s beer instead while he watches you carefully, tipping the bottle back to get every drop and then setting it down on the coaster with an audible thump.

“-he said I was a frigid bitch in bed and he would have better sex fucking a blow up doll instead of me. That’s what finally did it, I told him we were over. He tried to apologize and begged for another chance, but I just kept hearing it over and over again in my head and I was done. Finally done.”

A muscle ticks in Frankie’s jaw like the countdown clock on a bomb, you can see it even through the scruff of his patchy beard. He glances away for a second and you see his eyes close while he mutters under his breath in Spanish too soft and too fast for you to understand before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I take it back, he’s not a dickhead,” he says, sounding completely calm. “That’s an insult to actual dickheads. And he’s going to be lucky if he can still run his mouth like that once I’ve knocked out all his teeth.”

Even though he’s ex-military Frankie has never been one for that bullshit macho posturing, which is one of the things you like so much about him. He breaks up bar fights, he doesn’t start them. To see him now, so calm and collected but with such an intense expression and not a hint on his face that he’s kidding or exaggerating, it sends a jolt right through you. His threat to your dickhead of an ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be so sexy, but….

Damn.

You reach out and flick him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, and I really don’t want to have to bail your ass out of jail at three in the morning again, Morales.”

“Hey, that was one time!” he protests, adding in a mumble. “And it was Santi’s dumb idea.”

His annoyed pout just makes you laugh, shaking your head at how closely he resembles his namesake when he juts his lower lip out like that. Cutest catfish ever.

“So,” he drawls, after you stop chuckling, “since you didn’t go back to that asshole, thank fuck, then who was the lucky guy tonight? Or unlucky guy, since you ditched him for far better company.”

You shrug, plucking idly at the fabric of your dress. “Just someone I matched with on Tinder. I really wanted to prove Dickface wrong, you know? That I wasn’t uptight and sucked in bed. Swiped right on someone who didn’t have a douchey shirtless mirror selfie in his profile, we met for drinks and everything was going great until a text popped up on his phone while he was showing me a picture of his dog. From his wife.”

Frankie winces. “Seriously?”

The notification lingered on the screen while he frantically tried to swipe it away, not that it would do any good. You were a fast reader, you’d already read the whole thing.

“Yeah. Letting him know there were leftovers waiting for him in the fridge when he got home from work, with a bunch of kiss emojis and a ‘love you babe’. He tried to do the whole, ‘it’s not what you think, we have an open marriage’ bullshit, which sure, I bet he does, so I told him to call his wife and put her on speaker so we could clear that right up.”

“That’s my girl,” Frankie grins.

The praise flows through you like the tequila, remembering how your date went pale as a ghost while you stared him down and his immediate attempts to backpedal.

“Obviously he suddenly had a million reasons why he couldn’t, so I stuck him with the bill and left. Hope he had the decency to tip, at least.”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline rush you’ve been riding since you told off Dickhead McDickface the Second and stormed out of the bar on your fuck-me heels is wearing off. You got fucked all right, fucked over.

“I really can pick em, can’t I?” you ask, a rhetorical question if ever there was one. “Went from one asshole to another. A married asshole, no less.”

There’s a rustle of movement to your left and a touch to your shoulder that makes you turn your head to see Frankie has shifted closer to you on the couch and tilted his head to match the angle of yours while he brushes his knuckles lightly down your arm.

“Hey, do you remember that woman I went on a first date with last year who brought her fifteen year old brother along? And we were supposed to see Poor Things? Who brings their brother on a date, let alone to a movie with that many sex scenes? Really, really, explicit sex scenes?”

You do remember, thanks to the texts he sent you with increasing speed until he was blowing up your phone and you’d barely finished one before the next popped up.

She brought her kid with her?

Wait, not her kid, it’s her brother.

Dude’s like 13, what the hell?????

Okay, apparently he’s 15 he’s just “short”. THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!!!!!!

WE’RE SEEING POOR THINGS??!!!!!

WHAT?

WTF?????????

PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S ANOTHER MOVIE WITH THE SAME TITLE THAT DOESN’T HAVE NAKED EMMA STONE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, what do I do?

This is so fucking weird!!!!!!!! SHE BROUGHT HER BROTHER TO THE WEIRD NAKED EMMA STONE SEX MOVIE!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His bewilderment came right through the screen with the increasing number of exclamation points and the memory makes you giggle. You still can’t think of Poor Things as anything except The Weird Naked Emma Stone Sex Movie thanks to Frankie.

“See?” he says with a smile, “I can’t pick ‘em either. First date was over before the movie even started and I’d already spent like fifty bucks on popcorn and drinks. Still follow her brother on Instagram though, he’s cool.”

You laugh even harder at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Dating suuuucks,” you whine in your best angsty teenager impression.

“It sucks so much,” Frankie agrees. “Fuck that married guy. Wait, no, don’t fuck that married guy.”

Now you’re both laughing, so close to each other on the couch that you’re practically touching at the knees. You think to yourself that Frankie has such a nice smile, none of that closed-mouth, thin-lipped thing some guys do as if smiling is an affront to their manhood. Frankie’s smile takes over his whole face, his eyes going squinty and crinkling adorably at the corners.

“I promise I won’t fuck that married guy,” you swear with mock solemnity, crossing your fingers over your heart like a Boy Scout when you finally stop laughing. You let your hand drop to the cushion in between the two of you and close your eyes with a sigh. “Even though I really, really, really need to get laid.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you freeze, scarcely daring to breathe even as you’re sure you hear a sharp inhale from Frankie at the unguarded confession. He’s so close to you on the couch. So close.

When you gather the courage to open your eyes and meet his dark gaze the air around you has changed, heavy with the weight of what you just said. Neither one of you moves to put a platonic distance back between you like so many other evenings on this couch when you get too close, sharing pizza and drinks and conversation for hours.

Maybe it wasn’t such an accident that you ended up here, with him, tonight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asks in a voice so low and thick with promise that it makes your stomach flip and a sharp throb hits you even lower down.

“Anything?” you repeat, your own voice higher than normal. Is he really offering that?

Frankie picks up your hand from where it lays on the couch, lifting it and keeping your eyes locked while he raises it to his mouth and brushes a slow, deliberate kiss along the back that makes you shiver as every last nerve ending rises to attention and begs for more.

“Anything,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say the word.”

His large thumb strokes over the fluttering pulse in your wrist, back and forth, back and forth, while his heavy-lidded eyes stare into yours.

You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, because you definitely have. Frankie’s stupidly attractive, with those thick curls that always escape out from under his baseball caps and his Roman coin profile. But when you first met he was still with his ex, and then he was single but you weren’t, the timing never quite working out for anything between you except friendship and nothing else. Hell, by now he’s pretty much your best friend, the one you would call if you needed to bury a body knowing he’d bring the shovel. There’s no one else you trust as much as Frankie Morales, and there’s no one else you want as much as you want him, right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, saying the words you always wanted to say to him.

He shuffles closer, his other hand sliding behind your neck as he brings your lips together. It’s a little clumsy at first, your nose bumping his before he fits his mouth to yours. You feel his fingers press to the nape of your neck and the brush of his knee against your while he kisses you carefully, so soft and sweet and gentle.

At first.

Heat washes over you and it’s all because of Frankie, his kiss turning hot and hungry and demanding. You gasp into his mouth and kiss him back just as eagerly, hands fisting in his T-shirt to pull him closer. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat that you can practically feel, a sexy cross between a groan and a grunt, and pulls away from your mouth far too soon. But before you can protest the loss with more than a pout and pull him back, he’s dusting more kisses under the hinge of your jaw and along your neck, mapping a hot trail down the wide swath of bare skin your dress reveals between your breasts and nuzzling his face right into your cleavage. His hands go to your hips, bunching the fabric and pulling it up impatiently to your waist as he moves even lower. Everything happens so fast that it makes your head spin far more than the tequila and you lean back on the couch for support with your chest heaving and groping for any part of him you can reach. Frankie kneels on the floor, pulling your new underwear off as he goes and you lift your hips to help with anticipation pooling low in your stomach at the realization of what he’s planning to do.

He spreads your thighs apart and looks down between them at where you’re now completely bare and practically dripping with a rush of arousal. His gaze is dark, hungry, a look like nothing you’ve ever seen before on his face replacing his usual easygoing expression.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he says in that low voice, staring straight at your pussy. “All pink and perfect and needy for some attention, isn’t she? Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take very good care of her.”

The breath catches in your throat at that, more than a little shocked by the filthy promise in his words. No man you’ve ever been with has ever said anything remotely like that. Your nipples are firm points against your dress and you must be glistening with how wet you already are. Frankie kisses your inner thigh and mumbles, “lie back a little more for me,” while pulling gently on your hips to position you the way he wants. You’re not about to refuse him anything at this point and you slide lower, feeling your dress ride up even more as you do. While you’re not fully naked yet you feel so exposed, lying with your legs wide open on the same couch where you’ve watched so many bad movies and argued over words while playing Scrabble, because military acronyms don’t fucking count, Catfish! Now he’s nestled between your bare thighs with his wide shoulders wedging them apart and you wonder dimly why you spent all that time not doing this, his insanely kissable mouth so close to your pussy that you can feel his warm breath when he exhales. It makes you tremble with anticipation and Frankie looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question behind them. You nod, answering without words. You want this.

He licks you, a slow, broad swipe with the flat of his tongue that has your head falling back and your legs spreading shamelessly wider. Then he does it again, and again, and again, burying his face so deep that you wonder vaguely how he’s even managing to breathe. He doesn’t come up for air anytime soon, holding you firm against his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and seeking out every last spot that makes you writhe and grind against him with moans and cries that you can’t hold back spilling from your lips. It’s loud, both the noises you make and the wet sound of him eating you out like you’re a feast and he’s been starved for days. Frankie makes his tongue a firm point and thrusts it inside you while keeping you spread, the feeling so intimate and erotic that your clit throbs and you absently cup a breast to ease the ache in your stiff nipple. He fucks you with his tongue a few times before he gives you another one of those long, slow licks that go the full length from bottom to top and he zeroes in on your needy clit as if he had a map leading him right to it. You feel his lips close around the swollen bud with a hard suck that has you squeezing your breast with one hand and sinking the other into his messy curls.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to gasp, “Frankie, it’s so good. So good.”

He finally pulls back long enough to rasp, “I want you to come all over my face, baby,” before diving back in. You feel the prod of a thick finger against your dripping entrance, slipping in easily and soon it’s moving in tandem with the flick of his tongue over your clit. The dual sensation makes you whimper, tugging on his hair to urge him closer and rocking your hips. Another finger joins the first, stretching you even more and pressing along your velvety inner walls until he suddenly curls them and hits that spot, the one you almost forgot was there. He strokes it and it’s nothing but bone-melting, toe-curling pleasure that builds and builds relentlessly under your skin until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

You cry out, your climax hitting with the force of a tidal wave and crashing over you. Frankie groans, a low rumble coming from his position between your legs as he clearly feels it in the squeeze around his fingers and the rush of more hot arousal that makes you even wetter and slicker. He rubs it all over his face just like he wanted, his fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm in and out of you until it’s finally over and you’re left limp and boneless on his couch with your dress bunched to your waist and one strap hanging off your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you ended up like this, from knocking on his door ready to swear off men forever less than an hour ago to half-naked and panting from the best orgasm you’ve had since….ever. When you manage to lift your head from the cushion to look at him his expression is just as dazed as yours must be even as his lips gleam and his cheeks and chin are damp with you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving under his T-shirt like he just ran a marathon. “Fuck, are you okay? Was that okay?”

Even with the AC blasting there’s still not enough air in the room, it takes you a moment to find some so you can answer him. “Yeah….yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Okay is an understatement, you don’t even smoke and yet you’re ready for a cigarette now. You don’t even make any move to tug your dress down and cover yourself, one leg still loosely propped on Frankie’s shoulder. He rubs a soothing hand on your thigh and carefully dislodges it so he can stand up, revealing the prominent bulge in his jeans that’s now perfectly at your eye level. Your pussy clenches and throbs at the sight, he got that hard just from going down on you? He follows your gaze and smirks a little when he sees where you’re looking, brushing his hand against his fly.

“All for you, baby,” he says, and reaches to pull you to your feet. “Not on the couch though. Bedroom. I want you in my bed.”

Bed, couch, floor, you really don’t care and you’re already fumbling with his belt buckle and tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. You drag your nails along the sensitive skin of his stomach right above his waistband and relish the way it makes him shudder, the muscles contracting under your touch. When you look up again he immediately swoops down and kisses you, this time with the taste of you still clinging to his lips and your scent all over his face. It’s raw and messy, tongues and teeth and the little sound of triumph you make when you finally get his belt open. You feel him smile against your mouth while he starts to walk backwards and you have to follow him to work on your next goal, getting his T-shirt off. He’s leading you towards his bedroom, and thank God his house is a bungalow so you don’t have to waste time going up stairs. All that’s between the two of you and his bed is a hallway, and it might as well be one of those funhouse corridors at the county fair with the way you’re both bumping against the walls and tripping over your own feet trying to navigate it. Frankie unabashedly gropes your ass with those large hands of his while he kisses you, not paying attention to where he’s going and knocking pictures on the wall askew with his shoulders. You keep tugging and pulling at his T-shirt, trying to get it off and thwarted by the fact that he won’t let go of your butt long enough to lift his arms.

“Frankie,” you whine against his mouth, shoving fistfuls of cotton up his back, “off!”

He finally pulls back and yanks the shirt over his head with enough force that you’re sure he just completely stretched out the neck, tossing it aside without bothering to see where it lands. The warm expanse of his broad chest presses against you almost immediately, with what feels like miles and miles of bare skin under your exploring hands. His lips fasten to your neck and you tilt your head back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. You’ll have to cover it before work on Monday, but, fuck it. That’s what concealer is for. If he wants to cover you in hickies like you’re teenagers having their first makeout session, you’ll let him. You’ll let him do whatever he wants at this point.

“Hang on.”

“It’s the only warning you get before he hauls you up with his hands under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carries you the last few steps into the bedroom and closes the door with a kick of his foot that makes it slam shut. The sound makes you start before you grin down at him.

“Impatient, much?”

“To have you in my bed at last?” he says, matching your grin with his own goofy smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You can take the man out of the military but you can’t take the military out of the man, Frankie’s bed is made with such sharp precision that it seems a shame to mess it up.

Almost.

The mattress dips when he sets you down, knocking a pillow aside and the duvet no longer perfectly crisp at the edges. You go up on your knees while he stands next to the bed, reaching for where his belt hangs open and using it to tug him closer. It doesn’t take much work to pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting shockingly loud against the quiet of the room. You reach a hand in and feel the heat of his skin even through the soft material of his underwear, while he stands as still as a statue except for the rise and fall of his chest. He lets you touch and explore and you trace the very long and thick outline of his erection as it twitches and presses eagerly against your hand. Fuck, Frankie is big. The kind of big that’s going to stretch you so deliciously. The kind of big that you’re going to feel the day after. Maybe even longer.

And it’s all yours tonight.

His jeans are quickly joined on the floor by your dress, as you go from bodycon to full frontal. You might have been nervous about finally getting completely naked, if it wasn’t for the unexpected sight of the pattern on his boxer-briefs.

“Frankie,” you laugh, “you actually have fish themed underwear?”

Sure enough, there’s several different types of fish swimming around on the fabric, including his whiskered namesake. When you look back up from the cartoon catfish smiling jauntily across his groin you can see that his ears have gone bright red in embarrassment.

“It was a gag gift from the guys,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes, “they’re really comfortable, and well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to take my pants off in front of anyone tonight, you know.”

You rest your hands on the waistband and trace a nail along the bare skin just above, trying and failing to stifle the urge to giggle.

“Wanna put your pants back on then?” you ask, teasing the sensitive spot below his navel.

“Fuck no.”

His lips crash back down on yours again, his arms circling your waist. The Finding Nemo joke you were about to make is immediately forgotten as you blindly peel the boxers off, letting the school of fish puddle at his feet and immediately get kicked away. You wrap a hand around his cock, so long and thick that it makes you ache with the thought of having it inside you. God, you need this. You need him.

Frankie lets out a deep groan against your mouth when you start to stroke, dragging your hand up and down the length of him from root to tip and back again. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and twist your fingers under the crown, teasing out all the sensitive spots and figuring out what he likes. A hard grip, bordering on rough, has his chest heaving and his hips jerking while his cock throbs in your hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he bites out. “Like that, baby, just like that.”

The sheer unguarded pleasure on his face gives you everything you wanted tonight with your dress and the heels and the lacy underwear. You feel sexy. Desired. Powerful. Able to bring a man to his knees with your touch. Literally, Frankie’s legs start to buckle and he has to brace himself against the bed to stay upright. You keep stroking him until he finally pulls your hand away gently and kisses your open palm before joining you on the bed. He practically jumps onto it in his eagerness, making you bounce with the movement.

“Condom?” he asks, twisting towards his nightstand, “I have some-“

“I’m good,” you interrupt. You want to feel him inside you without that barrier. “I’m on the pill.”

His arm drops from where he was reaching for the drawer. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all month.”

You never would have fucked your Tinder date without a condom, but this is Frankie. Your Frankie. You trust him. He rolls on top of you and your trust only grows when he hesitates, looking down into your eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? We can always stop.”

He pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a gentle touch and you know without a doubt that if you wanted to stop he would without complaint even though he hasn’t come yet. You run your hands up his arms and feel the tension in his biceps, the strain of holding himself back. He’s braced above you, his hair a complete mess, gorgeously naked and hard as a rock, and you are one hundred percent sure about this.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, a perfect fit between your thighs. Frankie angles his hips while he leans down for another kiss and you feel the hot slide of his cock as he finds your entrance with that pilot’s accuracy of his, then the press of the blunt head as he starts to push inside. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn. And it does burn, in the very best way. It’s been months since you’ve had sex, and far longer since you’ve had good sex, your frustration had built to a fever pitch under your skin and Frankie just lit a match. You both feel it when you open for him fully, that final slide is smooth and easy and he buries himself right to the hilt.

“Fuuuck,” he bites out. “Took me so fucking good, perfect fucking pussy.”

His dick is pretty damn perfect too, in your opinion, filling you up and creating the most delicious friction when he starts to move. You pull his head down for another kiss before he buries his face in your neck and rocks his hips into yours, gradually building the rhythm while you run your hands along his back and feel the muscles ripple and flex with each thrust. It’s everything you needed and more, the thick drag of him inside you has you arching your back and crying out and it only seems to spur him on even more. He plants a knee on the bed and lifts your leg, shifting his hips so that he can go even deeper. You clutch helplessly at his sheets when the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot and make a noise you don’t even recognize, a throaty moan pulls from your throat while your toes curl and your pussy throbs.

“Frankie,” you manage to gasp, clutching both his shoulders and gripping him even tighter from the inside, “oh god, there! Right there!”

“That’s it baby,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come all over my cock.”

He leans over you, thrusting hard and balancing on one hand to reach down with the other so he can work your swollen clit. The first swipe of his fingers on the sensitive bud sends a jolt through your entire body that melts into sheer unadulterated pleasure. With a few more you’re teetering right on the edge, and then Frankie grinds especially deep on his next thrust and presses down hard with his thumb. It grips you and doesn’t let go, your second climax of the night is even stronger than the first and has you squeezing him as if you’re trying to drag him even further inside, contracting along the length of his cock while he grits his teeth and fucks you through it. When the aftershocks finally stop and you relax back into the mattress with a sigh Frankie pulls out, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips and laying down next to you.

It takes you a few moments in your post-orgasmic haze to notice that he’s still hard, his cock is practically flush to his stomach and glistening with your arousal.

“You didn’t?” you ask, confused as you glance down.

He follows your gaze with a strangely bashful look. “Not yet. I want…I want you to ride me.”

That sends another hot rush right between your legs, suddenly wanting it desperately too. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to walk afterwards, especially not in those stupid heels, but it’s going to be so fucking worth it.

Frankie stretches out fully on the bed, those long legs and broad shoulders taking up so much space on it. Luckily there’s more than enough room for you right there on his lap. You swing a leg over, hands pressing down on his chest for balance while he looks up at you with that crooked grin he always gets when he’s especially pleased about something. A sinful roll of your hips along his thick erection only makes his smile wider when he feels how wet you still are.

“Take me in,” he begs shamelessly, hips moving under you and hands roaming over your skin. “Please, baby.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s another delicious stretch, sliding down his thick erection and feeling him rub you in all sorts of interesting new ways from this angle. Once you’re seated fully you give yourself a moment before you start to move, his heart racing under your palm and his cock held snug and warm deep inside you.

Frankie’s done so much already for you tonight, this is for him. You want to give him just as much pleasure as he gave you, make it just as good for him when you start to roll your hips again to take him in again and again and again. His hands find your thighs and flex against them while he watches with a rapt expression, eyes glued to where you’re joined before looking up to take in the full sight of you riding him just as he wanted.

“Good?” you ask, gasping the word out.

“So fucking good,” he groans. His hips lift under you right as you go down on the next stroke and it’s even better, the way you just fit. You use muscles you didn’t even know you had, increasing your pace and riding him hard. The cords on his neck pop when he throws his head back against the pillow, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring with each exhale of breath. He has to be close, you can sense it in the increasingly desperate noises he makes and the way his fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady on top of him. Your breasts bounce and your thighs are burning with the effort of maintaining the rhythm but you don’t stop, can’t stop, you need Frankie to fall apart just like he’s done for you twice already. You want to see the look on his face and hear the noises he makes when he comes, adding a circle of your hips that makes his eyes close and his body jerk under you. He feels even harder now, and your legs aren’t the only thing that’s burning. Frankie is hitting every sweet spot inside of you, filling you so deep and full that the familiar prickle and spark is starting again. You weren’t expecting to come for a third time, but then again you weren’t expecting anything else that happened tonight and it’s definitely happening. Frankie thrusts up with a growl, yanking you down on him with the same motion and holding you there while you feel him pulse hot and he lets out a long, loud moan like no other noise he’s made all night. The sound and the sensation make you molten, almost there and even deep in the throes of his own pleasure he reaches for your clit and gives it a pinch that’s all you need to fall over the edge with him. With your hands braced on his chest you throw your head back and let it wash over you while you keep rolling your hips to draw out more and more of those gorgeous sounds out of him until he finally starts to soften. You collapse in a heap on his chest and his arms immediately wrap around you, lips brushing against the top of your head while you bury your face against his sweaty chest and your heartbeats slowly go back to normal.

It’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

You could get used to it.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You’re just friends.

Friends who just fucked rather spectacularly.

Fuck.

After a few moments you slide off of him to lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at him. Now things are going to be all weird and awkward and as amazing as the sex was, it wasn’t worth the inevitable end of your friendship. Silence stretches between you and creates more and more space in its wake.

“There’s probably Ubers available now,” you say at last, keeping your gaze away from his face so you don’t see his expression shift from lover to stranger. By the time the driver gets here you’ll have your dress back on and your feet shoved into your shoes and you and Frankie can start pretending this never happened. Maybe that will work.

There’s a snort from next to you. “Yeah. That’s not happening, I’m driving you home tomorrow. After we sleep. And shower. And stop at that diner on 53rd cause I’m gonna need one of those giant lumberjack breakfasts to recover from this.”

You feel yourself flush a bit, as ridiculous as it is considering you’re naked in his bed with “this” still sticky on your inner thighs.

“I’m not going to a diner in that dress,” you say, still looking at the ceiling and adding silently, “or those shoes that could double as torture devices.”

“So you wear one of my T-shirts or something,” Frankie’s voice trails away into a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. Fuck, you really did a number on me.”

Yawning is contagious, you can feel one building and you’re suddenly on the verge of falling asleep thanks to the number he did on you and the incredibly comfortable bed that you never want to leave. Best sex you’ve had in….ever, all thanks to Frankie. But you don’t give in to the urge to just close your eyes and go to sleep, as tempting as it is, turning your head to look at your best friend instead and finding him looking back at you in the dark.

He’s still Frankie. You’re still you.

You’re still friends.

“Frankie? Will we figure…this out in the morning?”

His fingers lace with yours under the blankets and he gives you a soft smile.

“Yeah. We will, baby, I promise.”

When you fall asleep you’re on your side with Frankie plastered to your bare back, his arm firm around your waist like he’s afraid you might try to sneak away in the middle of the night. The thought had occurred to you, to escape all the morning after awkwardness. Frankie isn’t just a hookup or a one-night stand though, he means so much more to you than that. So you lay your hand over his and relax into his embrace with a sigh, wondering as you drift off if he’ll let you borrow his prized vintage AC/DC T-shirt to wear home…..

….and if he’d be up for another round in the shower in the morning.

The answer to both turns out to be a resounding yes.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #my fic

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natalievoncatte · 6 months ago

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Lena tipped back the last of her scotch and savored it, letting the smooth, piquant insistence of it roll across her tongue and sting between her teeth. She’d poured herself three fingers of a thirty year old single malt from the Macallan and had tasted it every drop, letting it stay a while. Indeed she’d indulged so slowly that she was barely buzzed.

A distant memory struck her. The sting of heavy smoke in her mouth, acrid and unpleasant but as rich and complex in flavor as her single malts. The effect was ruined by her idiotic decision to breath it in rather than allow a brief visitation in her mouth before being set free into the night air. She had been thirteen and Lex had given her a puff on a cigar he’d stolen from their father’s humidor while he and Lillian were away.

“This is a Dominican,” he’d told her. “I’ll give you a Cuban when you have enough experience to appreciate it.”

She turned the glass in her hand before setting it in the sink. She thought of Lex almost every day- not the raving, incoherent loon who’d tied her to the chair or the bitter shell of a man he was when she fired five bullets into his chest, but the boy he was, about to go off to college, full of adolescent bravado that matched his genius. She thought of the man he might have been if he hadn’t let his base jealousy consume him, if he’d had enough empathy to follow a better path. Her path.

It was a hard one to walk, but-

There was a tap at her balcony door and she nearly jumped out of her skin, wheeling.

It was Kara.

Lena motioned for her to open the door and she did, stepping inside.

“Can you ever use the inside door like a normal person?”

Kara shrugged. “I went for a fly to clear my head and I ended up here.”

Lena sighed. “I was just heading to bed, darling. It’s late. Too late to watch cartoons on my couch.”

“Will you fly with me?”

Lena quirked a brow. “You know it’s not any fun for me. I really do hate flying.”

“I know but, I was just… would you?”

Lena looked at her. Kara looked back, her eyes soft, expression hopeful and fearful, inviting. It made Lena fight the urges that dogged her. She felt a need to stride across the distance between them and tuck away a few wind-tossed locks of Kara’s hair, cup a warm hand to her cool cheek, soothe the pain that always seemed to hide in her eyes, like the reflection of something dark in the gloss of a family photo.

“Okay.”

She got her jacket first to protect herself against the night chill, then wondered how to do this. She was used to Kara flying her, but it was usually after being caught from a fall or scooped from danger and whisked to safety. Casually flying hadn’t really been their thing.

She settled on looping her arms about Kara’s neck.

She hesitated. “Lena, are you sure? Your heart is beating pretty fast.”

“You won’t drop me?”

“Never.”

Lena nodded and Kara swept her arms under Lena, one arm under her knees, the other curled around her waist. Of course it was effortless- for Kara, raising a cement mixer over her head was effortless. She stepped up to the railing of the balcony and paused when Lena tensed.

Lena closed her eyes as Kara stepped into empty air. She realized that she didn’t know how Kryptonians fly; she suspected Kara didn’t know either. It just happened.

Lena kept her eyes shut. Kara flew, holding her gently but firmly. If not for the wind buffeting her, Lena wouldn’t have known she was hundreds of feet in the air.

Finally she felt the soft impact of Kara’s boots on the ground and opened her eyes as Kara lowered her to her feet.

“Where are we?”

Lena looked around. They were in a baseball diamond, probably for little league games, in a small park.

“The suburbs. No one bothers me at night if I stop here. It’s a good place to think.”

Kara walked over to the bleachers and sat down. She looked so forlorn, so terribly sad, and Lena quickly sat beside her.

Kara didn’t speak. She saw the slight tremor of Lena’s restrained shiver, and without a word unclasped her cape and swept it around Lena.

“Thanks,” said Lena. “This makes a good blanket.”

Kara smiled. “That is a blanket. Kal… Clark’s birth parents, my aunt and uncle, sent it with him to Earth. Martha made it part of his first suit. The one she made.”

Lena stared at her for a moment. She rarely spoke of her cousin, and when she did, it had an odd, detached tone to it. A kind of resentment. She sounded fond now, and familiar. Lena knew who he was, of course; once she knew who Kara was, deducing who her cousin was turned out to be a simple thing. Yet Kara had never dropped his name so casually in conversation. It was intimate. Familiar.

“Speaking of Clark,” said Kara. “He sent me a message today. He’s staying on Argo with Lois and their child. He’s not coming home.”

Kara caught herself, eyes wide. Lena waited, holding a tense breath.

“Kara, what is it?”

“I can’t remember when I started thinking of Earth as home,” said Kara. “Just like I can’t remember when I started thinking in English instead of translating my thoughts.”

Lena poked an arm out of the cape to rest a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“You’re thinking about joining them.”

Kara looked down. “I almost did before, but I was needed here. I don’t feel needed so much anymore. There’s so many more heroes now- Bruce has a whole team he’s built, and there’s Diana now and of course Barry and Oliver and… they can handle a lot of it. I don’t even put the suit on every day anymore.”

Lena felt a terrible, frigid chill. Colder than the night, colder than death. She looked at Kara, really looked at her, lit by lamplight, a golden beauty in the dark. She was so hauntingly, achingly beautiful. Lena could still remember the feeling when she saw Kara for the first time in her office, how her face must have betrayed her. My God, who is this?

“Are you thinking about going?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do. My people need every Kryptonian to come home and rebuild our culture and way of life. I have a sacred duty.”

Lena met her gaze levelly, feeling undone by it. Kara’s eyes were soft, full of an aching, unasked question.

“You keep talking about being needed, about duty,” Lena said. “The whole time I’ve known you it’s been about oaths and obligations and responsibilities. What do you want, Kara? What is your heart’s desire? Whatever it is, if you ask me, you deserve it. Whatever debt you think you owe the universe, you’ve paid it back in full with interest and gratuities.”

Kara looked away. “I know what I want, but I’m scared to ask for it.”

“I’ve never known you to be scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of hurting someone else. What if I’m wrong? I’ve always been wrong about this one thing. I don’t want to lose you by asking the wrong question.”

Me? Lena thought. Why would…

Lena’s heart raced anew. The shock felt like she’d spilled cold water from her heart, racing down her limbs. She felt as heavy as stone and as light as a feather, and the flutter in her belly made her regret the scotch.

“I don’t want to go,” Kara sighed. “This is my home now. Krypton… Krypton is gone and it probably should be. I hope Clark can show the survivors a better way. There were a lot of things my people did wrong.”

“Kara, you can’t go. Okay? You can’t. You are needed here. I need you.”

Kara turned abruptly, eyes wide.

“Why did you wait so long?” Lena whispered.

“After everything I did, I… I was as afraid. I hurt you so much, caused you so much pain. Why would you…”

“Because you get so excited when you land on Park Place,” said Lena. “Because you sing to yourself when no one is looking. Because you’re bored to tears watching documentaries with me but you do it anyway. Because you always flex your muscles when you pop a cork from a bottle. Because you save me and cherish me and treat me like a queen, and you always have. Yes, Kara, you hurt me, but no one is perfect. I’m just as guilty.”

“What do you want, Lena? What’s your hearts desire?”

“I think you already know that and you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Stay with me. Choose me,” said Lena.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I seriously thought you’d never ask,” said Lena.

Kara tilted in close. Sitting on the old faded wood of the bleachers with a blanket around her, she felt so young. She hadn’t been this giddy about a kiss since middle school. No; she’s never been this giddy ever, not a day in her life. Kara’s lips touched hers and despite the chasteness of it, she let out a soft moan.

Kara took it as an invitation and the kiss deepened, and she slipped under the blanket so they were both wrapped in it and her arms found Lena’s waist. When she tucked her head under Kara’s chin and pressed into her arms, she felt so safe, so sheltered. It was perfect, like finally finding home, and they were still there when the sun found them and Kara carried her into the morning sky.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #light angst #love confessions #they really could have just talked about it #also they could have been going at it for like #years

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httpsserene · 11 days ago

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𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫 - 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑

summary: driver, roll up the partition, please.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black!reader

3.5k words. requested. title and fic inspired by beyoncé's partition. explicit sexual content. mdni 18+ only. pwp. alcohol. one night stand. car sex. mild exhibitionism. oral sex (male and female receiving). using daniel for sexual gratification, maybe? reader has $$$. reader will ruin your life and look hot doing it. daniel "till the skin falls off" ricciardo.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. funnily enough, i have no words. enjoy reading, babes xxx

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From the moment you strolled by to reach your reserved table, his eyes have been locked on you. You haven’t decided if you want to meet his stare, there hasn’t been an opportunity to appraise if he’d be worth more than a passing thought.

Your attention is called back to the table by one of your girls, who points out a different man who’s paid for a round of shots. He’s adorable, cute even, younger than you’d usually entertain, sporting a flashy Cuban link chain and cable knit sweater with loose jeans—but his company leaves a lot to be desired. His friends barely look like men, dressed in wrinkled shirts and zippered jeans, flexing their singular bottle of Hennessy for the table on social media. You nod at him once in thanks for the shots and he tips his glass at you, understanding your meaning. He’s the second man who’s paid for your drinks tonight, and the second man you’ve had to politely turn down. The first guy was so unremarkable you can’t recall why you decided he wasn’t worth your time.

You down the lemon drop, humming at the burn as your girls cheer in the background. They decide to make their way to the dance floor and you opt to stay at the table, claiming that you’re going to order another drink before joining them.

They slink off at your excuse and minutes after they’ve disappeared, a daiquiri is brought to you by a bottle girl. Her sickly sweet voice doesn’t disguise the envious glare in her eyes as she informs you that it’s been paid for, tipping her head to point out the man who’s been quietly observing for the entire thirty minutes you’ve been seated at the table.

In this club, every woman loathes you, and every man is waiting for you to decide who gets to unclothe you.

You accept the drink, thanking her politely, stirring the daiquiri as you watch her swallow her scoff before walking away. If you were as immature as she is, you would have her fired in the blink of an eye.

You make him wait five minutes longer before turning to lock eyes with him from across the room, bringing the glass to your lips to sip the daiquiri, tilting your head to elongate the length of your neck, exaggerating the bob of your throat as you swallow. Peach Schnapps and passion fruit rum warm your chest. It’s delicious. You don’t stop sipping, maintaining eye contact with the unknown man until it runs dry. Exhaling quietly, you lower the empty glass, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip to collect the lingering drops of alcohol.

His mouth parts in incredulity, you assume, and you take advantage of the lapse of his composure to examine him. Your gaze is languid as it drifts from his brunette curls to his full eyebrows and warm brown eyes, to his strong nose, ample lips, and groomed beard, to his broad shoulders and the exposed tanned skin of his collarbone that teases a sliver of what’s certainly a muscled chest and abdomen underneath a black shirt with the first two buttons unfastened. Accessorized with a simple silver chain around his neck and an expensive watch on his wrist, you think you spot a few tattoos underneath the low lighting. Your eyes flicker downward to gauge if his pants show what he’s packing, but the distance between the two of you prevents you from being able to play your favorite (and necessary) guessing game. You huff disappointedly, knowing you're going to have to speak and potentially dance with him to get a closer view or feel, for if he meets your standards.

Ending your inspection, you drag your gaze upward to see a smirk splayed across his lips with an amused shine to his eyes. You shrug as if to say, “Can you blame me?” before smiling widely at him, the white diamond jewels on your canines flashing under the sparse light, creating the facade of sparkling fangs. His smirk fades as he matches your grin, displaying a near-perfect set of white teeth (veneers or a product of braces, you presume) and he raises an eyebrow in query.

Tipping your head toward the dance floor, he nods his agreement. You kindly turn down a few men who invite you to their table on your walk past, making false promises of joining them later in the night. Locating your girls in the mess of dancing bodies, you inform them about your potential bed warmer. A couple of them roll their eyes laughingly, a couple of them smack their teeth, and a couple of them call you a whore—and giggling, you feign vexation, correcting your title of “whore” to “slut.” You don’t do this for money, you do it for fun.

Their judgment doesn’t last any longer than it takes them to remember that their various levels of drunkenness are due to your ability to enchant various men into making sure that none of you spend a single dollar inside this club. They perform a quick check of your outfit and makeup to make sure you’re perfectly put together before allowing you to slip away to ensnare your catch.

You snake your way through the swaying crowd, taking a few minutes to locate those familiar broad shoulders. As you’re reaching out to place a hand on his back, you meet the eyes of a woman on his other side tugging his hand. Unfazed, you stare cooly, hiding your mirth within as you watch her face pale. She glances between you and the man once, before dropping her hand and stepping away, disappearing into the crowd.

He grins when your hand rests on his pec, his vision tunneling as you step around to press your chest to his, hips swaying to the music blasting from the speakers. You drape your arms over his shoulders and his hands raise to rest on your hips, his own stirring to match your rhythm with ease.

He leans down to speak in your ear, alcohol-stained breath dancing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, “Jealous much?”

Hm, you weren’t expecting an accent. Straightening up, you turn to speak close to his ear as well.

With a short, performative chuckle, you chirp, “Of her? Not a chance. Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“No way,” his laughter is contagious, and you giggle into his bearded cheek without restraint, “I reckon if f I played that game, you wouldn’t waste another second on me.”

“You would be right,” you concede, finding no shame in that, “—Is that an Australian accent, I hear?”

“You would be right,” he parrots your phraseology, “Never met one of my kind before?”

You glance downwards, ogling at the weight pressing at his zipper, and up close, a sizable print stares right back at you.

You grin predatorily, all sharp teeth and diamonds, teasingly grinding your hips forward, “Mm? No, I’ve met a couple. Can’t say any of them have been quite like you, though.”

“My name is Daniel,” he introduces himself, “I figure you at least need to know my name if we’re leaving together.”

Oh, how sweet of him. You won’t tell him that you never cared to get the names of the last four guys who kept you company. To please him, you give him your name, trailing your lips over the shell of his ear and down his well-muscled neck.

His left hand lowers to palm your ass, and you hum lowly, “My car is waiting out front if we’ve decided to stop pretending like we’re going to dance.”

Daniel’s hand pulls away to grab yours and he leads you to the club exit. Walking outside forty-five minutes after you entered, you point toward the running Mercedes Maybach waiting by the curb. Your driver moves to step out but you halt him with a wave of your hand, wordlessly telling him to stay put. This allows Daniel the chance to play gentlemen, opening the back door for you and making sure you don’t knock your head on the hinge as you sit before he follows you inside.

The door clicks shut and your lips crash together, teeth clacking with little finesse. Impatient, you bury a hand in his curls, tugging forcefully to direct his head in the perfect angle, chuckling breathlessly at the shocked groan that rumbles out of his chest. You deepen the kiss, nipping his bottom lip before sliding your tongue into the fray, licking out the lingering taste of the gin he’s ingested. He pulls you into his lap, hands fitfully roaming around the curves of your body like he can’t pick an area to settle. Offhandedly, you’re pleased to discover that his pretty teeth are not veneers, as you familiarize the shape of his mouth with yours, greedily swallowing his noises whole.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupts your pursuit, and your driver speaks, “Pardon the interruption—where am I heading, ma’am?”

His mouth leaves yours and you frown, sighing disapprovingly as you pull away. Your pout transforms into a tickled smile as the hot flush of the man underneath you deepens from pink to red, his pupils remaining flared with arousal even though his eyes are wide in embarrassment. Your red lipstick has left a faint tint; you want to see if you can turn that into a stain before you part ways.

Fuck. What’s his name? Nathaniel? Samuel? Gabriel? None of those sound right.

Tutting quietly, you start unbuttoning his shirt, “Do me a favor and tell my kind chauffeur where we’re headed.”

The flustered man stumbles through the address of the hotel he’s staying in, not petrified enough to forget his manners as he thanks your driver afterward.

“Eric,” you call out to your driver, finishing with the buttons of the brunette’s shirt, scratching stiletto nails down his abdomen with one hand while the other traces a fingertip along his nose, “Would you mind rolling up the partition and turning up the music for yourself, please?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The car pulls away from the curb, starting on the route toward the hotel. You assumed that he was humiliated or ashamed of being overheard or seen, but the notion is dismissed as he pulls you off his lap to rest in the seat, lowering himself to his knees between your legs before the partition has finished rolling up.

He cranes upward to reconnect your lips, hand braced at the nape of your neck to prevent the force of his movement from bashing you into the headrest. You hum, endeared at the mindful handling, savoring the scrape of his beard and mustache against your smooth, dark shin. Over-excitedly, his lips drift to map the sensitive expanse of your neck, pulling a shocked whimper from you at the first tease of teeth and pressure. He’s too eager to linger and continues to explore further, laving his tongue along your clavicle and nipping at your cleavage exposed by the low cut of your blouse.

His hands fist into the sheer fabric, ripping off your top and sending the buttons flying across the backseat. Need flares hungrily at the sensation of his lips suctioning on a patch of skin next to your nipple. Your mobility jolts into action, nails digging into his scalp to jerk his head back, and you assert, “You don’t get to leave marks.”

He doesn’t comprehend, distracted by the biting pain of your hold, hissing through his teeth, “W-what?”

You relax your grip, raking your fingertips through his curls apologetically, “What’s your name again, love?”

A dubious snort leaves him, “Should I be offended that you forgot that quickly? It’s Daniel.”

“Don’t take it personally, Danny,” your smile is shark-like, diamonds twinkling, red lips making it look like you’re coated in blood, “—And, don’t leave marks.”

Too horny to care about the insult of your forgetfulness, he nods to confirm he’s heard your request, pushing the hem of your skirt to bunch around your waist, thumbs digging into your hip bones. He skirts his lips along your inner thighs, breathing heavily over the fabric of your thong, already dampened a shade darker by your arousal. Daniel laves his tongue over your clothed heat, his depraved groan at the faint taste of you is louder than the choked gasp that punched out of your lungs. He tugs the fabric to the side, tucking it in the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis, revealing your beautifully swollen vulva. He licks indulgently at the petals of flesh, nose knocking against your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure spindling up your spine.

His tongue pushes inside, lapping deeply to coax out more of your flavor, the plushness of his mouth brushing against your labia. Daniel’s slurps and heavy breaths against your cunt echo around the back seat; if it didn’t sound like you were dripping wet, anyone overhearing may have assumed this was just a heavy make-out. Instead, your activities are fairly obvious, and your stuttered, debauched whimpers would expose what’s occurring in the car without doubt.

Honks sound from various directions outside, but it’s due to frustration with the stop-and-go traffic on the street. Blacked-out tint and loud R&B have yet to fail you.

He sucks your clit between his lips harshly, circling his tongue around the swollen bud, and your frame jolts, hips bucking into his face, hand flying down to tangle in his hair, keeping him buried between your thighs, and crying out sharply at the almost overwhelming wave of pleasure.

“Fuck—just like that,” you whimper, head rolling back.

Daniel’s smug chuckle dances through your fluttering folds, but he keeps his focus narrowed on intensifying his motions, burying two fingers inside your pussy as he keeps his lips locked around your clit. His digits fuck you forcefully, curling upward and ravaging your spongy walls, slick noises multiplying at the speed he shoves them into you. The friction burn from his facial hair starts to sting and the compounded sensations have you throwing a leg over him, digging the heel of your foot into his shoulder blade to pull him closer.

The knot in your abdomen tightens, thighs straining to close around his head contradicting the movement of your hips rabbiting up into his mouth. His hand leaves your hip to grasp at your knee, keeping you pried open with ease. Your squeals go quiet, back arching, eyes screwed shut, muscles cording with tension, and the rope snaps—violent, white-hot satisfaction crashing over you like an unforgiving stormy sea and spilling over Daniel's tongue, lips, and chin.

His mouth and fingers continue their assault, riding the undulation of your hips with spectacular accuracy as the aftershocks shudder through. You go boneless, falling limp against the leather seat and batting Daniel’s head away, spent. You giggle breathily, bare chest heaving in exertion and you can only think about how you’re going to need to get the car detailed tomorrow. Your lids open hooded, peering down and sneering at the self-satisfied expression on Daniel’s face.

“You must spend a lot of time between a woman’s legs to be that good at it,” you say lightly, a bit of an underhanded compliment. With your lifestyle, who are you to judge?

He shifts stiffly, tattooed hands dropping to adjust his pants, and he snipes, “Or, maybe I just enjoy doing it. And, you’re easy.”

“Did you cum in your pants already?” Your voice sings demeaningly. “Or, do you want me to return the favor and show you which one of us is really easy?”

You swap positions, his legs alluringly spread wide as you situate yourself on the car floor. His smile is goading, buttoned shirt splayed open to reveal the tanned expanse of his toned physique riddled with claw marks from your nails, his tongue out, licking up the lingering trails of your essence and you smack your teeth at the needless display. You pull him out of his pants, keeping your delight at the heavy weight of him stored inward, a smirk quirking the corner of your lips as you notice the precum that’s moistened the head. Your hand wraps around the base to hold him steady and a fresh bead blots out from his slit, “I don’t see you lasting much longer, so tell me when you’re close.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, you lick from base to tip before swallowing down the first few inches, amused at the gasped “Fuck,” he exclaims. Daniel tastes like salt and the musk of man, the weight of him in your mouth quieting an innate need screaming at the base of your skull. You moan, guttural, sliding down until your lips meet your hand, tongue cradling the underside of his dick.

You draw up slightly, inhaling through your nose, hand moving to rest on his clothed thigh before you slowly suck him down to the hilt, ignoring the urge to choke as he breaches your throat. He curses above you loudly, skull slamming into the headrest as he clumsily brushes the hair out of your face, tugging it back with a tight fist. Your lipstick leaves a ring of red around him and you pull off to press kisses on the throbbing length, admiring how the color of your lipstick begins to blend with the desperate flush of his cock.

You suckle over him until he’s wet with spit, swallowing the pre that streaks out straight from the source. His abdomen contracts sporadically and you suck him down again, knowing if you continued teasing this would end sooner than prematurely. He bucks up and you mirror the movement, lips sealed tightly around his girth as you bob your head, ignoring your gag reflex.

“Fuck, how do you look so good doing this?” He moans, and you assume it’s rhetorical because your ability to explain how is compromised.

Your technique is determined, eyes stinging at the constant intrusion as you watch his expressions shudder underneath your unwavering attention. Tears fall from your lash line as you suckle harder, tongue swirling as you struggle to pull him completely inside your mouth. Daniel’s present enough to understand your wants, and assists, using the grip he has in your hair to angle you perfectly, the final few centimeters slipping inside.

You dig your nails into his thighs to hold him steady, swallowing around him repeatedly to tighten your throat further. Daniel yelps, choking on his own spit as he stutters, “S-shitshitshit—I’m gonna—”

Swiftly, you lean back until just the head remains between your lips, tongue lapping over the most sensitive areas while your hands rejoin to twist harshly around the rest.

“Fuck,” Daniel grunts roughly, cock kicking. You draw off completely, angling his dick downward and sliding your hands up to wrench his tip, thumb digging into the slit, and then he’s spilling.

His release streaks across your neck and chest, creamy and thick on your skin, hips thrusting into your tight grasp, whimpering through you wringing out every last drop, brown eyes pried wide open as he sees himself paint you white. You nurse out the last bead of spend from his tip with a suckle of your lips before guiding his cock to gently rest on his abdomen.

Daniel slumps back with a shaky breath and you grab the remains of your shredded blouse to wipe off his cum. You swallow reflexively, the ache of your throat has your core tingling and your mind whirring. You were too eager, tonight. You should’ve gotten him inside of you before you rendered him useless. If you had known he’d just be good for head, this could’ve been resolved back in the club bathroom, and you wouldn’t be stuck with having to drop him off at his hotel since there’s no point in going up to his room anymore.

A long honk blares from in front of the car and you sigh, choosing to give Daniel another chance as he’s been your best lay in the last six months, “Are you able to get it up again?”

His brow furrows in genuine offense this time, and you raise your hands in apology. You follow his eyeline as he looks down, dumbfounded to see that he’s only softened a bit.

“That one only took the edge off,” he says, tone confident.

You climb up, seating yourself on his lap. He grabs another piece of your shirt from the seat, cautiously attempting to wipe away the mascara tracks streaked down your cheeks and the smears of red lipstick around your mouth.

The partition rolls down at your first knock as if the operator was straining to listen, “Eric, we’ll be heading to my home instead, if it’s not too much trouble to change course.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am. We’ll be arriving in twenty minutes.”

He rolls up the divider without you having to ask.

“Do you need to use the twenty minutes as a break before we arrive at my place?” You question, trying for sincere thoughtfulness this time around.

Daniel doesn’t respond, reaching forward to grasp your cheeks with a firm hand, yanking you into a kiss, unbothered by the flavor of himself in your mouth. If his ability to fuck is on par or better than his head game, and he manages to satiate you two or three more times tonight—it might be incentive enough for you to remember his name come morning.

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foolinafable · 5 months ago

Text

v. i miss you, i'm sorry

SYNOPSIS: He doesn’t know how to love. You know this and yet you would still give everything just to be with him- even for just a moment. Or the story of how you and Keith finally get together. PAIRING: Keith Kogane x Altean reader WORD COUNT: 5.4k TAGS: Slowburn, Angst, extreme cannon compliance, fighting SERIES LINK: a love as cold as ours

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NOTE: edited this tipsy and with Grammarly so don't mind mistakes!

You were focusing on trying to heal Shrio's new body in hopes it would encourage it to fully accept Shiros conscious using skills you had learned from the white lion on Oriande. Not daring to look up to face the eyes of the two galrans who both watched your every move with intrigue.

Allura was also helping, trying to take off as much of the burden as her powers would allow leaving you both exhausted as the hours ticked by.

You were sat by Shiro’s body hand held up eyes closed as you tried to focus on the feeling of Shiro’s consciousness within the body trying to pull it further inwards when Allura spoke

“I’m afraid the clone’s body is rejecting Shrio’s consciousness”

“There must be some way you can help!” Keith pleaded and it hurt you for him to sound so distressed opening your eyes to see him staring right you in despair

“I don’t think there's anything more we can do” you confessed “I can feel him slipping away” voice hoarse as you looked away from the black paladin unable to watch his heartbreak, jumping when he banged against the glass separating you from Shiro

“Shiro please” he begged as he banged against the glass again “Please fight!” as he began to sob making your heart clench “You can’t do this to me again” he continued when a faint coughing was heard from inside the pod you all quickly looked up at Shiro as the encasing disappeared Keith called out to him quickly when he eyes opened

“Keith- I was dreaming” he spoke delicately in between breaths “You saved me” he confessed looking at the boy as he hugged him

“We saved each other” Keith corrected

You simply looked to Allura and smiled tiredly but before anything else could be said the rest of the paladins along with Coran and Romelle finally returned all looking shocked as they saw Shiro up the three paladins running towards him in glee

“Shiro’s looking better! Alright!” Lance exclaimed

“Where were you guys? We couldn't get a hold of you?” Keith asked

“Well, we were shrunk by a magic skunk, but we ended up using that sparkly dust that makes electricity bigger or whatever” Lance tried to explain but the five of you just looked at him confused “So ready to charge up the lions?” Lance continued clearly unphased by your lack of understanding. Shiro simply sighed before laughing to himself

“It’s good to be back.”

── ✧

“Why are you tired” Lance probed as he walked towards you causing you to open your eyes to look at the Cuban boy from your position lying on Shiro's metal shoulder- the only part left of his mechanic arm

“I dunno maybe it’s from saving all your arses and transferring Shiro’s conscience into a new body?” you replied dryly as Shiro rubbed your shoulder with his working hand in thanks. At the same time, you gave Lance a pointed look with a small drowsy smile on your face that made him falter in his teasing realising that you were in fact not joking, still looking a little worse for wear even after you finally healed the large gnash on your forehead from Shiro's clone.

You closed your eyes again as you felt his violet ones staring you down clearly trying to get your attention but you ignored it- what more could he possibly have to say to you? More reasons why you aren't capable you nearly scoffed at the idea but simply pursed your lips trying to feign sleep when Shrio nudged you to open your eyes as Pidge approached, she sat on the other side of Shiro when the older man questioned

“Where you able to get into contact with Earth?”

“No luck,” the smaller girl replied glumly. “The low power levels are probably affecting our broadcast distance but I'll keep trying as we get closer to Earth.”

“I can't believe we’re finally going home” Lance admits softly looking down at the ground almost in thought

“I’m going to hug my parents and never let go.” Hunk claims as he hugs himself imaging how it would go

“I can’t wait to see how dad integrated Altean and Earth technologies together” Pidge exclaimed seemingly in a better mood just thinking of going home. You smiled at her excitement but it didn't reach your eyes as it reminded you that your home was gone and after the war was over you didn’t have a family to come home to- rather Voltron was your family. Shiro seemed able to sense your thoughts looking to you with a sad smile as he once again rubbed your shoulder with his working arm in comfort.

“And my mom” Pidge continued before stopping to think her face suddenly becoming cloudy with apprehension “She is gonna be so mad I ran away, I hope I’m not grounded”

“How long do you think it will take us to get home?” Keith finally tired of being ignored by you turned towards Coran who was seemingly already doing the numbers in his head

“I was just calculating that now” the altean admitted “Without the luxury of a wormhole and with diminished power cores, let me see-” he started mumbling to himself “if I carry the one” staring at his fingers as he did the maths “oh, it’s going to take us 150,000 earth years,” he replied nonchalantly you quickly sat up from your position on Shiro’s shoulder as everyone gasped in shock

“One-hundred-and-fifty earth years?!” Keith exclaimed

“Coran, I think your finger counting is a bit off” Pidge stated “It’s going to be 1.5 years” causing everyone to groan in annoyance

“Oh right I didn’t carry the three” Coran realised

“Well you never said you were good at finger counting” you replied to ease the annoyance he caused in the group

“And it’s not an exact science anyways” he defended and you swore it gave you deja vu

“It's going to be a very long and difficult voyage, but It’s our only chance at replacing the Castle of lions” Allura concluded

“There were times where I thought I would never see Earth again” Shiro admitted “To be able to go back-”

“Well, what are we waiting for guys!” Lance quickly interrupted, “Let's hit the space road!”

“I suppose we need to figure out who’s flying with whom,” Krolia announced and she was right.

You weren't really looking forward to it. You were already so exhausted you were unsure you would be able to handle certain people for the time being and hoped that whoever ended up with you would give you some peace to recharge.

“And what about the animals?” Coran reminded you all

“What about them?” Pidge questioned

“Well the wolf can't go with Kaltenecker, wolves eat cows and the cow can’t be in the same area as the mice because aren't cows scared of mice?”

You nodded at his words they made complete sense to you

“No, elephants are afraid of mice.” Lance corrected

“Elephant?” you mumbled in tired confusion

“Yeah, They’re giant grey animals with long noses that grab things,” Lance exclaimed trying to show what an elephant looked like by pinching his nose and using his other hand to act as its snout

“Giants with long, gabbing noses? Earth seems so strange” Allura echoed your thoughts out loud what a preposterous creature that must be.

“The wolf is riding with me” Keith decided “That means Hunk will have to take the cow” as he had the second biggest cockpit so was able to fit the cow easily.

“Me with the cow? Not a good idea” Hunk protests

“Hunks right” Lance decides “Keith, you're keeping the cow. Someone else is gonna have to take the wolf” Everyone looked to Pidge

“Not me. I am allergic.”

“I’ll take the mice” Allura exclaimed clearly not wanting to take the wolf

“How come you get the smallest passengers?” Keith questioned arms crossing over each other in annoyance to which Allura just pulled a face

“I say we go old school and draw straws” Hunk decided

“Or I can just take the wolf” you commented breathlessly honestly just wanting to get into the sky, the quicker you get going the quicker you can be left alone.

“But I am terrible at drawing” Allura sulks causing you to laugh as Coran agrees “She really is”

“Guys you’re all overthinking this. I know exactly where everyone should go.” Lance decides and for some reason, maybe to stop the arguing, everyone lets him place them into the ships.

── ✧

This decidedly in your opinion was the worst idea ever, why did you let Lance decide who went whereas you were stuck for who knows how long in your lion with Keith's mother- Krolia.

To say it was awkward was an understatement but you guess you got what you wanted as it was quiet. But you could cut the tension with a knife.

Clearly the woman wished to speak with you but she didn’t say a word as if she wanted you to initiate conversation. But you have no idea what to say to her.

It’s not as if you can be honest ‘oh hi Keith’s mum yeah no I totally don't have a massive unrequited crush on your son who would probably rather be stuck by one of Haggar’s spells than even think of me that way’ and what if he told her about your argument during the kral vera so she knows you as the one who believes her son is according to your own heated words a ‘cold excuse of man.’

You shudder at the thought of the stoic woman hating you. The idea only makes you feel even more anxious being left in a ship with her for 1.5 earth years.

Luckily the other paladins don’t seem to be faring much better with Allura shouting at the wolf, Romelle trying to touch all the buttons on the spaceship leaving Lance annoyed, and Coran trying to teach Keith and Shiro the altean alphabet by singing a song that haunted your dreams as a little girl.

“Keiths told me a lot about you during our time in the quantum abyss” Krolia commented clearly aware that she would get nowhere if she waited for you to start a conversation

“I can only apologise for whatever you have heard from him, I assure you-” you began damage control only imagining the lovely choice of words he must have had to say about you, especially after your disagreement when she cut you off

“You are much more pretty than he described” was all she said causing a flush to creep up your cheeks as you turned away from her

“Thank you” you whispered in confusion, eyebrows furrowed as she continued to speak

“He seems to have underplayed a lot of things about you. But I am glad my son has found someone like you- you are quite similar to his father, willing to give everything to others” she spoke softly at the mention of her lover but you were sat shocked facing forwards, her words ruminating in your mind.

Clearly she liked you- approved of even which made no sense because why would she feel the need to approve of you- someone who isn't even really friends with her son. Not anymore. And with the mentioning of you being similar to his father- it didn’t make any sense!

Lance’s voice cut into the comms before you could think on her words further

“Guys, I think I did a bad job choosing the passengers” only took him this long to notice. Why on earth would he split up Keith from his mother? Lance’s logic was beyond you and now clearly himself

“I think he thought by choosing the pretty altean he could charm her and have an easy time” You voiced your thoughts to Kroila who was watching Lance through the comms link and she laughed slightly

“Clearly that is not the case” she agreed humorously and you simply smiled in reply as Keith turned on his comms so everyone could hear Coran’s rendition of the altean alphabet upon hearing it Romelle joined in which just as much enthusiasm causing you to chuckle as you sang along under your breath not noticing how a certain black paladin was watching your screen like a hawk having a not so nice hand gestures and eye conversation with his mother when she caught him staring at you with a soft smile at your antics.

Eventually the singing and not knowing what his mother was saying to you got too much for Keith. Her smirks at him made him extremely nervous as he screamed

“That’s it we are changing passengers!” to which Allura agreed quickly

“I second that!” clearly fed up with the wolf drooling everywhere even though Keith told her he likes to drool several times.

“Agreed” Lance called out trying to keep Romelle away from the buttons again

“Whatever you guys want” you called out trying not to seem rude towards the older woman

“Hey guys, why haven't we heard from Pidge?” Hunk announced

“Yeah. Wait, who’s in her lion again?” Lance questioned

“No idea” is all you said

“Yeah Lance, you’re the one that came up with this grouping” Keith added to your point

“Well, she must have– no, they're with Keith. And the wolf is with Allura and I have the mice” You suddenly laughed as you realised what's happened

“She's all alone” you spoke laughing a hand covering your mouth as the others quickly realised that you were in fact correct.

The team quickly used the wolf's transportation techniques to transfer all the passengers into Pidge's ship except for Shiro and Krolia who were now on Keith’s ship.

“Oh come on guys this isn't fair!” Pidge complained but you all simply ignored her amused by her suffering.

── ✧

Krolias voice sounded out from the comms

“This is the Klii-Nyn System. There’s a Blade of Marmora rally point located on a moon here. We should check in with them and get an update on their operations.”

“Team, we're going to make a quick stop. Everyone follow me” Keith called out and you followed closely behind.

You all landed on the moon with Krolia unable to make any contact with the base so you all quickly got out of the lions to check it out as something clearly wasn't right.

Allura used her strength to open the door allowing Krolia to go in first as you hovered into the base. It looked completely empty, dark and decrepit with no sign of life at all within its walls.

“It doesn't look like anyone’s been here for years,” Keith commented while Pidge tried to press buttons on the control panel

“The system won’t boot. Looks like the power has been out for a while” She agreed with Keith's observation the place had already been deserted a long time ago.

“If the Blade of Marmora abandoned this place, that means something really bad must have happened” Hunk theorised

“That's impossible” Krolia admitted “This base was still fully operational during my last check-in with the Blades.”

“It doesn't make any sense even if they left within the last three days it wouldn't look like this” you exclaimed, twirling around and looking at the area it just looked old, not destroyed but before you could voice anything else a large explosion was heard from outside causing the area to shake.

“Enemy ship! Incoming!” Coran called out

“Everyone back to the lions” Keith commanded as you all flew back towards the entrance you quickly came back to your lion and flew off with the rest of the team noticing the galran ships surrounding the area

“It looks like a small fleet. Mostly Galra fighters” Keith commented

“That's good. We should be able to take them out pretty easily” Lance responded

“Yeah, but remember, we’re not flying at full power” Pidge warned

“Pidge is right” Keith announced “everyone stay sharp.”

You flew quickly trying to avoid the blasts

“Keep an eye out” Lance reminded you all “Where there are fighters there’s usually a cruiser nearby”

“Some of these ships look like they belong to Lotor’s fleet” you heard Romelle shout out from Allura comms making you pull a puzzled face wasn't she in Pidge’s lion?

“How did you get in here?” Allura asked confused you were about to voice your own concerns when a blue light appeared behind you in the cockpit to reveal Keith's wolf who quickly bounded up next to you to give you some support

“Thanks, buddy” you whispered nudging your head against the world slightly causing him to push back in happiness for some attention before you grunted as a beam nearly knocked you off your path sending the wolf down with you “Sorry, it’s not going to be an easy ride”

“We need to get out of here” Keith called out warningly as more and more fighters seemed to appear out of nowhere

“We’re getting our quiznacks handed to us. We need to do something.” Lance complained “we need to form Voltron”

“Okay” Keith agreed “everyone in formation”

You tried to form Voltron but the depleted energy cores made it impossible.

You tried to escape but they backed you into a corner with the pirates behind you, crystals surrounding you and a cyclone at the exit.

“We have no choice” Keith decided “Everyone into the cyclone”

After formatting a plan you quickly left the cyclone trying to take your way towards a nearby unstable ice planet in hopes it could grant you the upper hand.

You descended onto the planet with the fighter ships right on your tail using the landscape to the best of your abilities to lose the pirates, weaving around geysers, and flying through underground tunnels but it still wasn't enough as soon as you made it out the cave without any of fighters pilots following behind you were immediately captured by a large magnet pinning the lions to the floor- there was no escape.

── ✧

You were quickly taken into a holding cell, arms bound by handcuffs, you were sat next to Allura with Keith right above you, none of you saying a word as Lance pranced around the cell pulling faces.

“What are you doing?” Hunk asked annoyed

“I’m feeling for secret passages” Lance responded as if it was the most sane idea ever, you looked up at him incredulously- was he serious

“You’ve watched too many movies, Lance. There’s no secret passage.” Keith complained

“And why on earth would they put one where they keep the prisoners” you questioned the Cuban boy still in disbelief that he wasn't joking

“Oh really?” he questioned moving to the middle of the cell “Then how do you explain this?” he quickly hit the side of the cell with his foot before whimpering in pain- clearly not an area for a secret passage you simply rolled your eyes at him not failing to notice how Keith smirked at your reaction making your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he seems to care so much about you now.

“Will someone shut him up?” Krolia asked after Lance hit his other foot on another area that he thought would be a secret passage but wasn't now holding his foot for dear life as he tumbled around in pain.

“There's only one guard patrolling out there.” She observed “If we can get this door open, we can overpower him”

“What happened to Coran?” Hunk questioned

“He must of managed to hide when we were captured” Krolia guessed

“At least we have one ally out there still able to fight for us” Allura spoke relieved

“Are you saying our fate rests in Coran’s hands?” Pidge asked, causing you all to look down in worry.

“I will help you look for that passage” Pidge comments to Lance clearly believing his idea would have a better shot at getting them free than Coran ever could.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the door opening when two very familiar faces appeared from behind their guards leaving you all shocked it was two of Lotor's generals

“Look who's here. It’s Voltron” Ezor mocked

“We’re going to have a little talk” cackled Zethrid

“Hey you’re the guys that Lotor shot into space” Lance stated the obvious clearly not reading the room

“And the ones that were trying to kill us” Pidge finished off for him

“Yeah sure, but we're all friends now right?” Hunk questioned and you started at him

“I don’t think they would’ve captured and locked us up if we were friends Hunk” You tilted your head at him as he gawked in understanding

“I’m glad one of you has a brain,” Ezor smirked. “Makes it so much more fun when we torture you!”

“Where have you been all this time? And what happened to Lotor?” Zethrid questioned

“What are you talking about” Shiro responded cooly

“We’re talking about your little disappearing act.” Ezor clarified

“Disappearing act? We followed Lotor into the quintessence field and then came back out not long after” you replied confused “Not sure how that counts as disappearing”

“Answer the question!” Zethrid seethed, clearly not impressed by your answer “How did you survive that explosion?” she continued

“Don’t you know? You were there.” Hunk questioned cautiously

“I think there’s a little confusion about how the ‘we ask questions, you give us answers scenario works.’” Ezor commented

“Enough of your games. Where is Lotor” Zethrid asked

“Lotors dead. We left him in the Quintessence field” Keith answered

“Yeah that doesn't really add up. Why aren't you dead?” Ezor probed

“Because of the power of teamwork?” Hunk responded unsure of himself

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Zethrid challenged “and then we are going to have to take a more extreme approach. What happened to Lotor and where have you been all this time?”

“How many times do we have to say it to get it through your thick skulls? We haven't been anywhere and Lotor is dead:” you shouted in annoyance.

“Fine” Ezor replied

“You leave us no choice but to apply pressure” Zethrid commanded

“Who is the first victim?” Ezor asked excited

“How about the smart loudmouth witch Lotor was always telling us about, let's see if she is really worth all his praise,” Zethrid responded, clearly referring to you. Ezor started to make her way towards you when Lance tried to attack her from the side

“Don’t you touch them!” He shouted as he swung his joined together hands as Ezor who quickly dodged his attack sending him to the ground with a kick a guard with a gun was placed in front of him before he could make another move

“Your defence is adorable and so very misguided” Zethrid comments with a laugh

“Leave us alone” Pidge shouted which resulted in Ezor slapping her with her hair and wrapped it around your hands dragging you to her Hunk called out your name in worry as Ezor’s hand went around your throat as you groaned and thrashed trying to get away

“Let her go!” Keith commanded but was stopped by a soldier with a gun before he could try anything

“Answers” Ezor commanded as she held you up against the wall a deadly tight grip on your throat barely leaving enough room for air

“We told you, he’s–” Keith began to answer them his voice pleading when a large boom rattled the area and alarms started blaring making them all need to leave to check out the security breach.

Ezor quickly let go making you fall to the ground hard, you groaned in pain as you were held up leaning against Allura for support as the rest of the paladins watched her leave. Keith quickly helped you up, eyes looking alarmed as they assessed your neck clearly it looked as bad as it hurt but Krolia started talking before he could say anything much to your relief

“This is our chance, the next time that door opens, overwhelm the guard.” she strategies you'll quickly go on either side preparing yourselves but when the door opened no guard came in, you all looked to the door to see the mice who had taken down the guard

“Hello little friends” Allura spoke crouching down to them they spoke to her and she gasped “Coran is trying to rescue us and he’s got help- Axca” She turned towards Keith whose eyes lit up with recognition

“What” was all he could muster.

You all quickly ran to find Coran quickly finding him fighting this large soldier purple and barely conscious from his efforts Lance and Keith quickly grabbed him helping him move along as we made our way towards the hanger that our lions were kept in while Keith went after Axca.

Once you were all inside the lions Keith called out to shoot on his location which you all quickly did resulting in a massive explosion that Keith and Axca fled and ran into the black lion's cockpit then the team quickly made her get away following Axca directions to one of her safe houses.

── ✧

You were all sitting in her cave, a fire brewing as she turned to speak to you “I don't know what Ezor and Zethrid were on about with Keith because you're my favourite paladin.” you smiled at her compliment

“Well not that you are up against any tough competition but you always were my favourite of Lotors generals- the only level-headed one” you joked back hitting her with your shoulder as she laughed back

“You're not wrong there” you continued to banter with the galran when Hunk came back with more firewood causing you to halt the conversation but both of your eyes twinkled with the idea that you were far from done speaking.

“I just looked at the lions and they’re in worse shape than ever.” Hunk worries

“We should probably give them some time to recharge before we head back on our way” Shiro decides

“Wow a lot has changed over the past few weeks” Lance comments

“Weeks?” Axca questions “what are you talking about?”

“The last time we saw you. You were fighting alongside Lotor” Allura responds confused

“That was three deca-phoebs ago” Axca tells you “No-one has seen you since your fight with Lotor.”

“That impossible” Kieth stated

“It’s true” Axca declared “After Lotor jettisoned us, we managed to make it to cover a meteorite. There we saw both Voltron and Lotor disappear. Eventually, Voltron re-emerged… alone. But, then there was an explosion and after that… nothing. That was three deca-phoebe ago”

“So, as far as everyone else in the universe is concerned, Volron has been gone for three deca-phoebe?” Allura clarifies

“That would explain the discrepancies in the star charts in our lions.” Pidge realised “I thought they were off because of our inter-dimensional jumping which I guess they were in a way- because if you think about it, that must have been the cause of the time slip between our experience and that of the rest of the universe.”

“So how did you end up here, helping us?” Keith questioned the girl

“Zethrid, Ezor, and I were stationed on the meteoroid for days. Finally, a Galra ship came to investigate Lotor's last known whereabouts. We took it over. With Lotor gone, it was clear that there was a power vacuum in the Galra Empire. Zethrid and Ezor wanted to exploit that for their own gain but I knew I had to find my own path. And it led me to you.” she replied gesturing to the team

“Thank you for saving us” Keith smiled

“I hope that this makes up for some of the wrongs I’ve done.” she clarifies you grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze as you smiled

“We understand” gesturing to you and Allura “How easy it is to believe in him”

“I realise now that Lotor wasn't the man I thought he was. He preached unity, but in the end, he sought only power.” Axca continued “I’ll do everything I can out here to help the Voltron coalition.”

“Wow, so everyone that was helping is thinks we’re dead” Hunk thought aloud

“Wait” Pidge called out in a panicked voice “I haven't been able to get ahold of my dad on Earth or Matt and the rebels. What's happened to them in the last three years?”

“And if Ezor and Zethrid became warlords in that time… what else has changed?” Allura questioned.

The revelation that you had been missing for three deca-pheobes settled deep within you all as you sat in silence trying to gather the courage to speak- worry clearly covering all of your faces.

You quickly stood up looking down at your feet as you left Axcas cave and made your way towards the lions sitting on the edge of the cliff they were stationed on trying to steady your breathing as you began to spiral at the idea of all the coalition being gone, all the people that Voltron had let down as you were presumed dead.

You could the lions humming in your brain quieter than last time thanks to their run-down state trying to ease your discomfort- it was still a new feeling every time you closed your eyes you could feel them- like your life force was now integrated with their own, your pain was there and their discomfort yours just as Alfor prophesied. You hoped he was proud- that it was all worth it.

The buzzing of the lions in your head was probably what made you unable to hear his footsteps as they approached you only noticed him when he came to sit next to you the lion’s voices leaving you alone when your eyes stared into his violet orbs echoing your pain of lost time a feeling your sure he is a lot more familiar with. You turn away from him after a moment eyes going to your feet as they dangle from the cliff

“How do you do it” you mutter to him unsure of how to ask for comfort from him now, after everything

“Hm?” He prompted trying to seem as calm as you for the first time since the Kral Vera started a conversation with him sacred if he said too much it would send you further away than you already where

“Forgive yourself for not being there, for not being able to protect the people you promised I guess” you replied eyes welling up as your throat tightened

“I think” he took a deep breath as you looked up at him “you just need to remember that there was nothing you could do that could’ve got yourself there, we can’t go back in time” he explained voice soft as he took in your features as you sat there staring at the boy in silence the guilt and remorse finally caught up with you at all the things you had said that day- none of it was true, not to you any way she wasn’t a sorry excuse of a man rather he was everything you ever wanted and while he may have been cold at times he never was to you- the scene right now proving it, even more, he never turned you away as you did to him that day

“M-sorry” you muttered “for what happened during the Kral vera it wasn’t true- not to me” you began when he interrupted you similarly to how he did that day

“It’s okay” he smiled a little “I mean you were right I was being overprotective and cold- I had a lot of time to think about it when I was stuck in the quantum abyss with my mom”

“I don’t want to fight” is all you said, almost whispering

“I know” he grabbed your hand as you both looked forwards “It’s okay” he repeated squeezing your hand “We’re okay”

Maybe you were okay but your mind couldn't seem to stop thinking about his words ‘you were right’ a thought you also had these past few months but rather about what he had spoken about you.

You knew what you had said was wrong you even told him that but he hadn’t taken his words back. So that still must be how he thinks about you. Clearly you need to listen to what he said and then continue as you have been barely speaking- anything to avoid his ire and keep him as he is now- content.

#aloveascoldasours #keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith kogane fanfic #keith kogane fic #keith kogane imagine #keith voltron #keith x reader #vld keith #voltron #voltron x reader

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bigification · 22 hours ago

Note

Hey there would you like to try out these special perfumes? I can guarantee you will feel like a muscle daddy without even need to lift any weight. Some minor physical changes are just slight side effects don't worry about it.

"Some minor what? Sorry it's loud in here, I couldn't quite hear what you said."

I get on my top toes, trying to get closer to your level so I can hear you better.

"Some perfume? Oh... sure I might as well if it's free."

I grab the small black bottle of perfume and spray it on my wrist to test what it smells like.

"Oh god, that smells awful. Is that... sweat?"

I cough as the pungent smell engulfs me. I violently rub my wrist to get rid of the smell, but it only seems to be getting stronger.

*RIIIIIIIIPPP*

The sound of fabric ripping distracts me from the smell. The sound came from my sleeves, which are now torn to shreds.

"Is my arm... bigger than before?"

I poke and prod my now rock solid biceps as they continue to grow. I stare for a few seconds, mesmerized by the sight of my arms swelling, but I snap myself out of it.

"What is happening to me?"

Why am I growing? Why do I reek? Why can't I remember how I got here? All questions that are running through my mind. I can't think about that right now though. My clothes feel so tight.

*TEEEEAAAAARRRRRRR*

The sound of fabric tearing once again echoes around me. I look down to see my shirt has fallen to the floor in pieces, leaving me shirtless. Not that I mind showing off my bod, I've been hitting the gym so I could show it off. Wait, hold on a minute, I don't go to the gym. I look down at my swelling pecs and wonder how they got that big, and when did I get such a ripped six pack. It's because I earned it at the gym. Yeah, of course I go to the gym every day.

"I'm having trouble thinking, but I must've just had a sick workout if I smell like this."

I giggle to myself, breathing in my own stench. Of course I'm proud of it, it's a sign of hard work dedication.

*POP!*

I watch as the button on my fly flings across the room. It distracts me from admiring my upper body. My thighs expand until my jeans are bursting at the seams, and I feel the pressure build as my ass perks up. It doesn't take long for my jeans to also end up on the floor in pieces.

"Why does this feel so good bro."

My now massive man hands slide down my crotch as my once average dick starts to grow. Adding inches by the second, it sticks straight up past my belly button. Finally settling at a monstrous 10 inches long and as girthy as a pop can.

*SNAAAPPPP*

With comic timing, my feet burst through my shoes as they grow from a modest size 10 to a hulking size 16. But the euphoria of watching my muscles expand in front of my eyes is interrupted by a sudden lethargic feeling. I'm not as spry as I was in my twenties. Wait no, I'm in my twenties now. Well that can't be right, I just celebrated my 45th birthday. Who gives a fuck how old I am if I'm built like this.

"I gotta check these gains out bro."

I turn to the mirror beside me, and flinch when I see my reflection. My face... it's different I think. I run my hand through my thinning hair and over my five o'clock shadow. It feels so new but so familiar. The square jaw, wide nose, and wrinkles show the years, no, decades I've worked to have a sick bod like this.

"You like what you see, son?"

My gruff voice echoes around the room as I start to show off my bulging muscles. I love showing off to pipsqueaks like you, you're the perfect height to stare at my muscle tits. Don't feel bad about it, most guys are.

"You got something for me? A cigar? Nah bro, that shits not for me."

I would never put poison like that in my body unless it made me bigger. My body is a temple. But... now that you mention it, I am kind of craving a cigar right now.

"Damn that shit smells kinda good tho. It's a Cuban cigar? Give me that."

I snatch the massive cigar from you and stick it into my mouth.

"Got a ligh-"

I'm interrupted as you pull out a match.

"Old fashioned, I respect that bro."

I take a deep breath in, really letting that smoke settle in my lungs. I don't smoke often, so I gotta make the high worth it. Though something feels different this time, I can feel the smoke coating my lungs.

"What is happening? Side effects?"

I look at the bottle of perfume and see written in bold, "Do not smoke or take any drugs while using this product." I continue reading.

"Side effects may include; weight gain-"

I feel my stomach drop as I'm reading it. I look down in horror as I see a distended muscle gut where my abs used to be.

"Hormone imbalance."

My pecs swell into a pair of man tits that hang over my gut and my nipples perk up, making them impossible to hide under a shirt. My ass also widens as it becomes more soft and rounded. Worst of all, I feel my balls shrivel up like prunes. I quickly grab a pair of gym shorts that are conveniently resting beside me. Not many men are 6"6 and 300 pounds like me, how lucky that there was a pair of shorts that fit me.

"Excessive body hair."

I can feel an intense itchiness as my once hairless body is covered head to toe in a thick forest of salt and pepper hair. Especially around my chest and gut. I can also feel my five o'clock shadow grow into a bushy goatee and mustache.

"Male pattern baldness."

A cold sensation engulfs my head as my hairline starts to rapidly recede, even more than it already had. My hairline moves further and further back until I'm left with a strip of short and thin hair on the back of my head.

"Addiction."

My body suddenly feels drained, like I have a severe fever. I instinctively pull my cigar to my mouth and take a deep breath in. The smoke fills my lungs, and just like that I feel great again.

"Why are you still staring, kid. You really want a piece of all this?"

I grab you by the collar, letting you smell smoke off my breath and the sweat from my skin.

"Only real men can handle me. So why don't we fix that."

I yank you closer to me before pulling out the perfume and spraying it into your face. It makes me smile when you try to brush away the pungent fragrance.

"The smell will grow on you, son."

#male tf #masculine #male transformation #hairy #reality change #male wg #muscle tf #age progression #cigar daddy

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cloveroctobers · 7 months ago

Text

95 DEGREES — ARMANDO ARETAS x BLACK! Reader [Summer Randoms]

A/N: because y’all have been showing love on my first drop and I’ve been thinking about little moments with him since!!! *sings* I’m sprungggg! This was also Inspired by Rihanna acting accordingly on insta to this song towards A$AP 🤭

SYNOPSIS: you’re a content creator who’s on livestream during your vacation with your man. it’s summer time, you’re fine and think it’s cool to act up so Armando reminds you just exactly who he is.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of a character from: power ghost ;) just for a side of messiness, mentions of being in the itty bitty titty community, a little steamy moment somewhere, & me possibly or most likely butchering some Spanish!

<- read my previous anthology piece here.

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

This Cuban heat made you feel like you were in hell to be honest. That’s why you alternated between jumping in the pool and lounging on the pool chairs but you can only do that for so long. Not according to Armando though, he had no issue catching a nap or three right underneath the sun but not without you spraying him down. You didn’t play with the sun and neither did that little sun spot that always appeared like the shape of an orange on your right shoulder every summer.

He started to doze off just by you rubbing the sunscreen into his glowing skin and the longer you stared at him, looking like that, you decided to leave him be before diving into your monthly read. After forty-five minutes of doing that you checked on Armando and got to snacking on the spread of fruit while enjoying some peach Bellini’s on the side.

This vacation was deeply needed so you understood how exhausted Armando tended to be, considering that he barely slept. When you weren’t around it took hearing your voice across the phone to help him find slumber. Now? Far away from Miami (by boat at least) and Mexico City, he had no problem catching a few Z’s knowing that you were not far from him.

So you being you, you had to entertain yourself by going to the side of the pool setting up your tripod and phone. You thought about sitting along the trimming but knew it would be too damn hot, so you moved up ahead to the patio to grab one of the bistro chairs from the checkered outdoor table.

Logging onto Instagram live, you patiently waited for some viewers to show up, greeting a few users that you interacted with before, a few internet friends, and others that also sent their greetings in. It’s easy work for you, chatting and seeing what everyone is up to. You answered a few questions about your channel, with the main one being: if there’s been any vlogging going on after revealing you’re on vacation but not where.

~ ctej01: i see armando don’t know what to do wit all that. No way you’re on vacation looking good af n bored. ijs ~

Which set the comments off after that messaged appeared. Of course your ex, Cane Tejada had to be in your live and in your business.

“Don’t you have some other hoes to fuck around with instead of worrying about how much I’m thriving with my man? You must miss me so bad. You’re so used to screwing things up that you don’t even know what the good life looks like, boy bye.” You clapped back, being aware that you should never give this cheater this much attention but you had a little time.

However you knew better than to go back and forth with Cane. He was good at getting a rise out of you and always wanted the last say.

And he could have that because once you said your peace, you started to pay him dust ignoring his laughing emojis and whatever else he decided to throw into the comments. You ended up only talking to the people that mattered and supported you, not some dude who only cared about getting off with other women who can never give him love past the physical. He didn’t respect you so you didn’t have to respect him. That relationship’s been dead for a solid year, maybe even close to two—if you kept track—and here comes this man always lurking. It only amplified once it was revealed that you were no longer in the streets.

Deciding that it was too quiet at the villa you minimized your live to head over to your fav music app, shuffling a random hot girl summer playlist and went back to your live. Scrapping the chair back after you heard that heavy Memphis accent, you already knew you were about to get in your zone regardless of who tried to ruin it.

“It’s 7pm, Friday. Happy Friday y’all!” You grinned after holding up your pointer and thumb.

You fanned yourself with a sway of your hips, “it’s 95 degrees, hoo!”

Unbeknownst to you, Armando had woken up from his third or fifth nap and had sat up looking for you after spotting your sarong abandoned on the chair next to him. It didn’t take him long to find you on your phone, telling no other than your obsessive ex off. There was no doubt in Armando’s mind that you could handle yourself but he was growing tired of that New York native’s game. Armando can only imagine how you felt, it was petty stuff at first—Cane was three years younger anyway so no shock there, leaving comments online like a punk before he even took it further to start leaving voicemails almost threatening that he would come out to Miami.

Armando of course didn’t take that lightly since a lot of his time was now dedicated to AMMO and he always prioritized your safety, doing his own research to find out exactly the kind of guy Cane Tejada is. The dark web provided everything Armando needed (he still had his own style whether the team liked it or not) and it’s not like Cane scared him or anything, it’s the fact that he thought he could continue to be disrespectful even with the relationship being tossed in the dumpster where it belonged.

Armando had plans for him but he just wanted to enjoy his vacation with you first.

“I ain’t got no ni—and no ni—ain’t got me!” You pounded on your chest, fixing the strap to your bikini afterwards just in case of spillage—although you were part of the itty bitty but still they were reserved goods.

You swiftly turned to the side for the next line, which Armando admired just how nice it sat even from a profile view, arms folded as you ran a hand along the side of the shape of your ass, “I’m bout to show my ass—

And with that, you watched in horror as your phone was smacked right across the trimming of the stone pool. The device skidded from your tripod before plunking right into the pool water. Your mouth dropped in shock as you slowly glanced over your shoulder just to feel Armando right behind you.

His husky and straight forward voice hit your ears as he said, “Hope that’s waterproof.”

Sucking your teeth, you turn to the man who meets your eyes, “excuse you?!”

He shrugs his shoulders, biting into a plum as he slowly scans his eyes over your melanin that contrasts over the yellow and green floral set you had on, “what?” He chewed, “Something wrong?”

“Not you trying to rain on my parade to be turnt up with my n-ggas and my bitches.” You placed your hands on your hips in annoyance.

Armando blinks, “you could do that without showing your ass to Cane.”

You tilted your head to the side at this.

Armando was hardly the jealous type, he didn’t care much for anyone having their eyes on you because they should admire you but it was once they started being vocal or even trying to touch you that he had a problem with. Your ex was sitting behind a screen and Armando knew that if Cane really wanted to—if he wasn’t too caught up in his mommy’s business, he could pull up.

And Armando had something for his ass.

“I don’t give a shit about him.”

You’ve done everything by kicking him out of the life and blocking him along with future accounts but with a guy like him? He always found ways around any blockage.

“I know.” Armando kept his usual leveled tone as he held your stare while you molded your lips into your mouth, scratching at your second protective style for the season in confusion.

Clasping your hands together you exhaled, “then what the hell was that?”

Armando finished his plum, licking at his fingers and then his lips before he sat the remains on a table near by. When he turns back to you, he makes a show of getting up close and personal. Lightly gripping your forearms, the pad of his fingertips gently running over your famous sunspot, he flicks his eyes to yours.

“A what don’t got you?” He questioned.

Oh here we go.

You try not to roll your eyes but you’re oh so tempted, “it’s a song and it’s summer! Let me live.”

“And you can do that but not screaming that with your whole chest to viewers.” Armando debates.

Scoffing your reply, “I didn’t see you complaining so much when we were crip walking to ‘not like us,’ the first day we got here.”

Armando pauses, “…that was different.”

“How?”

He doesn’t want to argue, so his hands just slide down to the sides of your ass. With his right hand his pats one side demanding, “jump.”

“No.”

Armando raises his brows and huffs, “okay.” And takes it upon himself to bend and lift you right over his shoulder.

Yelping you quickly find something on his frame to hold onto as he starts walking, “Arman!” You scream just as he jumps into the pool with you in his arms.

When you both resurface, you flick water right at Arman who is smirking while floating towards you. “I told you to jump but since you want to be difficult, i did the honors.”

“Of what? Getting on my nerves?” You start swimming towards one of the edges where’s there’s seating and Armando doesn’t hesitate to follow you.

He snakes a hand across your waist, turning you to face him. His eyes scan all over your face, a faint dimple still playing on one side of his cheek as he soaks in your annoyance. Gently he’s pushing you elsewhere from the seating of the pool and to the wall.

Armando pressed his forehead against yours, “i thought you wanted to play since you were just doing that on Instagram. So how about i give you something to play with?”

“What—

His lips are smashed right to yours, his facial hair tickling against your chin. His kisses burn against your lips as he moves with speed, hands on your hips and your body doesn’t need to fight against your brain to understand what’s happening. Your legs wrap against his hips and your chest to chest with the possibility of your necklaces getting tangled but there’s no one else the both of you wanted to be close to in this moment.

Your nails are scratching along the shortened hair at the back but he knows you’ll be gripping the top once he’s inside. Normally his kisses are soft yet tender while his hands are rough and calculated but right now? Everything is scorching from the weather to simply Armando’s body heat. His ego doesn’t want to give you time to breathe but out of the decency of his heart he does yet that’s no relief because his fingers are at work now.

“Damn mami, I don’t even have to warm you up do I?” He quizzes with a glance downwards.

The pool wall is scratching against your back, the curling of his pointer and the pressing of his thumb that’s just a little higher is dirty work and he knows it. You don’t have time for his shit talking because you’re yanking him by the neck to shut him right up. He matches your speed with no hesitation tasting sweet like plums and mint, your tongues doing just the perfect dance against the Cuban heat. He grunts when you catch him off guard, getting your own feel in his swim trunks.

He pulls back with a pop of your lips, his own movements faltering for a second as you only caress but even that is just right. He pulls his fingers away and place them right at your lips, silently commanding what to do. And so you do, tongue running along the length before sucking, holding Armando’s dilated stare while gripping harder.

“Sweeter than plums, huh?” He asks, his other hand cupping the side of your face.

You hum, ready to slip a hand inside but his smacks your hand away from his waistband. He does the honors of pulling his trunks down just enough and once he gets his other hand back from your lips, his hands are hot on your hips as he lifts you up higher before pushing your own suit to the side to settle right where he belongs.

The moans that echoes through the both of your lips is music to your ears. Armando always gives it time, still in amazement of how you were made to feel around him. He’s panting as he brings his attention back to you but your eyes are closed, also trying to savor him.

“Eyes on me, mami.” He tells you lightly tapping the side of your jaw, “you good?”

You nod before your eyes open to meet his and you match his smirk or freak or whatever. And when he begins to move against you, stretching you so nicely, you have no choice but to bite down on his shoulder (to not scare the birds of course!) so you can recreate a similar spot on your own.

Half lidded you’re lounging on the bed in a robe, your eyes widen as knees knock against the side of the mattress. You lean back against your hand, peering up at Armando that’s softly grinning down at you. He holds out your chipped phone to you and says, “I got you and apparently…you got me too.”

He moves the material to peek at the teeth marks at the top of his own shoulder.

“Shut up,” you croak while Armando laughs bending down to place a chaste kiss to your brow before he crawls over to the back of you.

He loops a hand around you, pulling you right to his chest in a matching robe, letting you get your rest this time.

After at least two minutes passed you awake with a snore, making Armando crane his neck to look at down at you. You snuggle against his chest and whisper, “can you order some garlic parm nugs for later?”

Armando chest jumps with light laughter as he squeezes your shoulder, “yeah baby, whatever you want. It’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Kay,” you sigh, “l love you.”

Armando quirks up a small smile as he gently rubs your back soothingly, “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

Continue with my anthology summer writings & prompts here.

#Spotify #queued #armando aretas #armando Aretas lowrey #armando aretas x black! reader #armando aretas x reader #summer writings #bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die #cane tejada #jacob scipio

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gerec · 8 months ago

Note

Do you have any canon movie fics to recommend? (could be canon divergence too)

the best ones of course

Hi Anon,

It's impossible to define 'best ones' when it comes to fic as everyone has their own set of preferences but I'm happy to share some of my personal favourites. :D And this list barely scratches the surface of all the incredible fic we've been blessed with in this fandom so def. do your own search on ao3 and filter for your preferred tropes! Also, feel free to check out some of my previous fic recs posts on my blog for more options! Happy reading!

XMFC

never too late to be who you might have been by acetamide Erik wakes suddenly and takes a deep breath, and realises that there is nothing.

Replay by SlightWeasel (series) After Magneto of an X2-ish future succeeds in the unthinkable, Charles sends his consciousness back to 1962 to guide Erik away from the path that will lead to the genocide of the human race forty years hence.Charles knows that Erik has always loved him, and intends to use this knowledge + sex to seduce Erik away from his ideals in his youth.There’s no way this well-thought-out, sensible, debugged and 100% bulletproof plan can possibly go wrong.

When We Two Parted by nekosmuse At the end of X3, a still depowered Erik travels back in time to meet 1962 Charles. Cue angst, desperate kissing and happy endings for all. Written for the x-men kink meme.

Lucid Dreaming by listerinezero Magneto finds himself in 1962, on the morning they go to Cuba, in the bed of the young Charles who’d spent months letting him think they were in love before breaking his heart. But he is not the same man he was forty years earlier, and as he gets to know young Charles again, he discovers that things might not have been exactly the way he remembered them after all.

Time to Grow by zarah5 In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.

Not Half As Blinding by keire-ke Cuban beach AU. Charles discovers that death does, in fact, solve everything.

Blood and Steel and Miles Between by dreamlittleyo (Post-movie AU.) On a beach in Cuba, Charles manages to talk Erik down from the edge. But even after the missiles have been diverted, compromise is impossible. There are two different futures to build, and Erik and Charles will always be separated by their principles. But when Charles is kidnapped and the X-Men can't find him, Erik will get him back no matter the consequences.

Homecoming by nekosmuse Five years after they part ways on a beach in Cuba, Charles sends a telepathic message: We are under attack.. Erik drops everything to rush to Charles' side. In which battles are fought, war is avoided, a middle ground is found, and happily ever afters do exist.

how near to fairyland by ikeracity Since childhood, Charles has kept all the things he can't let go of in a beautiful room in his head. Cuba brings his precarious balancing act crashing down.

The Line in the Sand by ikeracity The CIA agents on the base are bullying the children, mocking them for their mutations. Charles will not tolerate it.

DOFP

Hope by daymarket A near-decade of hatred can't be wiped out with a single summer, no matter how eventful that summer might be. When Erik shows up uninvited at the mansion, Charles is just barely civil enough to not throw him out, but that doesn't mean he'll let him stay.

Mile High by cygnaut There’s only so much time you can spend sublimating your emotions into chess.

Spark Me Up by blarfkey “This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles.”

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

XMA

third time's the charm by Gerec XMA ficlets and missing scenes

Regrets by SlightWeasel After Apocalypse, Charles and Erik sleep together—but it’s way too soon for Erik.

as it arcs towards the sun by pearl_o

night by night by pearl_o

things worth fearing by pearl_o

Dark Phoenix

After the End of the World (One Bad Day) by kianspo Set during and immediately after the events of X-Men: Dark Phoenix. Everyone deals with the aftermath of Jean's transformation and everything that comes with it in their own way. Could there be found a measure of peace and happiness after everything they've lost?

Never a Place by kianspo It takes some getting used to. Charles hasn’t seen Erik cheerful, actually cheerful without a homicidal intent of some sort in a very long time—perhaps never. Or. Charles takes Erik up on his offer while trying to process everything. Erik is remarkably patient until he isn't.

rue de la paix by Ireliss Post Dark Phoenix. Charles, Erik, and the winding road towards peace.

The First Move by TurtleTotem Charles and Erik live together now, in Genosha. They get up together, spend the day together. And then... go to sleep in their separate beds.

Charles is going quietly crazy.

#gerec rambles #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #canon fic #canon divergent fic #cherik

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moss-the-irishman · 8 months ago

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Riordanverse race/nationality headcanons (Main characters and background characters alike)

This may be a very long post, and I’m throwing in little tidbits about appearances, so with no regard to any particular order, strap in:

(Seriously, this is a huge post)

Edit: Changed Luke from just Korean American to mixed Argentinian/Korean American, inspired by @tagthescullion

The Seven (Including Nico and Reyna):

Percy Jackson: Biracial White/Latino, Cuban American (Sally was born in Havana, she had Percy shortly after moving to the US)

Annabeth Chase: Biracial Black/White, Irish/African American (with Swedish, Ghanaian and Polish descent)

Jason (And Thalia, by extension) Grace: White German American (Beryl moved from Germany to the US)

Piper McLean: Native American, Cherokee

Leo Valdez: Latino, Mexican, Born in Texas

Hazel Levesque: Black, African American, New Orleans (1940's French Creole)

Frank Zhang: Chinese Canadian, Vancouver

Nico Di Angelo: White, Italian with Russian descent, 1920’s Venice

Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano: Latina, Puerto Rican

Camp Half Blood:

Will Solace: Biracial White/Bangladeshi American, Texas

Luke Castellan: Mixed Argentinian/Korean American (Born in the US, May (or Mi-Hee) grew up in a Argentine Korean community in Buenos Aires before she moved to the US and met Hermes)

Malcolm Pace: White with albinism, Scottish, Glasgow

Travis and Connor Stoll: Mixed Scottish and Laotian, Edinburgh (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)(I think in the TV show, they cast two Asian boys as the Stolls, so I've made them Asian)

Alice Miyazawa: Japanese American, Los Angeles

Julia Feingold: White Luxembourger, Luxembourg City

Cecil Markowitz: White Austrian/Northern Irish (Born in Graz, grew up in Belfast since he was two, has dual citizenship)

Katie Gardener: White Scottish, Aberfoyle

Castor and Pollux Vintner: Black, Irish (Pollux is Albino, Castor wasn’t), Donegal

Michael Yew: Mixed Irish and Chinese, Limerick (Granny moved from China)

Lee Fletcher: White Irish, Donegal

Clarisse La Rue: Mixed French/Pakistani American, Arizona (Mother moved from France)

Chris Rodriguez: Afro-Latino, Nicaraguan (Moved to the states when he was seven, lived in the same neighbourhood as Clarisse)

Silena Beauregard: Blasian, African American and Filipino, Mississippi (French descent)

Charles Beckendorf: Black, African American

Jake Mason: White American, Wyoming

Harley Smythe-Davidson: Biracial White/Aboriginal Australian (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)

Nyssa Barrera: Latina, Panamanian, Panama City

Shane O’Doherty: White Irish, Laois

Christopher Chalkevas: White Greek/English (Born in Larissa, moved with his mother to Hackney, London at age five, has dual citizenship)

Clovis Karlsen: Wasian, Welsh (Welsh/Norwegian grandad, Indonesian granny, Source: @ashthenerdtheythem)

Chiara Benvenuti: White Italian, Florence

Alabaster C. Torrington: British Indian, English, Westminster

Lou Ellen Blackstone: Black with vitiligo, British Ghanaian, Birmingham

Drew Tanaka: Japanese American, New York City

Valentina Diaz: Latina, Colombia

Mitchell Singh-Donovan: Mixed Indian and Irish, Cork

Lacy Alfsen: White Danish, Copenhagen

Ethan Nakamura: Japanese, Tokyo

Damien White: White Irish, Northside Dublin

Miranda Gardiner: Vietnamese American, Massachusetts (Distant Irish ancestry)

Billie Ng: Wasian, Irish/Thai Canadian, Toronto (She grew up in Longford till she was seven, then she and her mortal dad moved to Canada)

Sherman Yang: Chinese American, Alaska

Marcus (Mark) Dooley-Wallace: White Irish American, Georgia

Ellis Wakefield: Black, Algerian

Holly and Laurel Victor: Sri Lankan American, Seattle

Meg McCaffery: Wasian, Irish/Vietnamese American

Camp Jupiter:

Dakota Cheshire: Black, Bermudian

Gwendolyn Nunez: Hispanic, Spanish American

Bobby Herrera: Latin American, New Mexico

Lavinia Asimov: White Russian, born in San Francisco

Larry Schumacher: White American, North Carolina

Leila Grunfeld: White American, Colorado

This has been a very exhausting post to make lmao. I gave some of the characters who don’t have canonical surnames my own Hcs for their surnames. Also, I am yet to read through trials of Apollo, so maybe I’ll come later back to add more Roman names to the list.

Tagging my moots that I like to see their opinions for this (as well as the ones I tagged within the list as well):

@aki-bara @ravingcoffeeaddict @ebony-reine-vibes @squiggle3worm @sleep-needer

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avaritia-apotheosis · 4 months ago

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5 Universes Parallel and 7 Perpendicular

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse

A DPxDC Crossover // Read on [AO3] [FF.net] // Fic Masterlist

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse.

This time, Trouble’s name went by Danny Fenton. Some random kid— “hey I’m fourteen!” — with an impossible physiology and a soul that not even the most desperate demon or benevolent angel would take. Not because Danny is in any way particularly good or evil, but because Constantine is 99.998% sure the Lords of Hell and the Heavenly Hosts even knew what Danny’s soul even was in the first place.

(If you could even…call it a soul, anyway. He isn’t sure how he can explain it, and Danny has zero clue at what Constantine’s asking for anyway. “It’s science,” Danny would say with a shrug. “Weird science, anyway. Something about ectoplasm and imprinted consciences and mutations in the DNA. I’m not sure on the specifics, but my parents can tell you.”)

Of course, being lost in another fucking universe probably didn’t help.

He clips another cigar and lights it. Cuban, full-bodied, good blend; he got it as a bonus from some clients a few weeks back and he’d been slowly making his way through the pack. He lets the smoke settle on his tongue before he puffs it out, slinging his legs up to rest on top of the coffee table with a groan.

Danny scrunched his nose at him, uncrossing his arms to go over and open a window.

“What?” Constantine rolled his eyes, gesturing to the boy with a cigar. “You don’t get to complain. You don’t even need to breathe.”

“Yeah and smoking still makes everything smell like crap. It’s a terrible habit, y’know.”

He huffs, smoke billowing out, and makes a note to himself to smoke like he’s a goddamn dragon just to annoy the kid. “Hey, I think putting up with a bit of my bad habit is enough compensation for having to help your penniless ass, brat.”

Danny scoffed. “It’s not like I had any choice in that.”

Which was the crux of the matter, of course. See, Constantine has had his fair share of inter-dimensional or inter-planar travel. But shit like parallel universes …well, that was more the Justice League’s purview anyway. All those alternate universes where everything is a distorted mirror of their own reality—and apparently home to way too many evil Supermen to be comfortable with— not exactly Constantine’s cup of tea. He’s had his fair share of experiences with them, but definitely not enough to actually help someone whose universe is nowhere even remotely similar to his own.

Oh, according to Danny his Earth did have a London and an America and a Korea, etc. The majority of their countries were the same, give or take a few that only seemed to exist in Constantine’s universe. But it was the people where they differed. Remarkably, there was no Justice League in Danny’s world. Or any kind of superheroes at all. ( Like in comic books? Danny had said when Constantine asked.)

As far as Danny knew, he was the closest thing that came to a superhero in his world and half of the time people just consider him a menace. Even big shot ‘civilians’ like Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, or Oliver Queen were non-entities in that parallel world. Instead they got some creepy asshole called Vlad Masters who should probably get another hobby that isn’t ‘terrorizing a fourteen-year-old.’

But where this strange alternate world lacked in martians and cosmic world-ending threats, they made up for with a shit ton of ghosts. Which brought them to their current predicament: through a ridiculous set of circumstances that Danny really didn’t want to explain, the kid managed to tumble through a rift in the Infinite Realms (something that Constantine hasn’t heard of but you’ll be damn sure he’s gonna make it his business to know) and landed probably five parallel universes and seven perpendicular universes away from his own earth and right in front of Constantine’s doorstep. (No, those were probably not the correct scientific terms but Constantine was a fucking occultist not a physicist so sue him.)

(Actually, don’t. He’d rather not deal with it.)

Constantine did try his best to do right by the kid. He’d taken Danny’s case up to the Justice League to see if they had the tech that could send the kid home. No such luck at the moment. And even if they did, they weren’t sure if they had the capabilities to connect to not only Danny’s specific branch in whatever cosmic tree was keeping everything afloat, but the correct version of Danny’s universe as well. Constantine’s other contacts said much the same thing.

And since Danny Fenton didn’t exist in this universe, he felt bad leaving the kid alone, so he offered him room and board at his place until they could find a way to get Danny home. (Or until the kid got sick and tired of Constantine’s antics and just moved out.)

(Or until Danny died. Constantine had a pretty bad track record of getting his friends killed by association, y’know. Though considering Danny’s half-ghost… could he even die again?)

(Better not push his luck.)

Constantine set his cigar aside. Danny’s still by the window, elbows propped up on the sill, eyes trained a thousand miles away. No— ‘light-years’ is probably the correct measurement here.

Constantine rests his chin against his knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Danny shrugged, chin nestled against his open palm, fingers curled near the seam of his mouth. Nervous nail-biter, maybe? “Just…worried.” His voice is level, but you could feel the anxiety nestled deep within from the sharp staccato of his fingers against the windowsill. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “I’ve never been gone this long from Amity Park before. It tends to…attract a lot of annoying ghosts, and it’s up to me to make sure their trouble doesn’t get too out of hand.”

“Ah. Define trouble.”

Danny laughs. “It depends on which ghost it is, I guess. Some of the regulars honestly just want to annoy me. There’s the Box Ghost—yeah that’s literally what he calls himself, he controls boxes, no I am not making this up—who should really learn to just stay in the Zone already. I think my record for beating him is like 15 minutes, and 10 of those minutes was just trying to find him. Skulker’s a bounty hunter that’s just dead set—pun intended—on skinning me for my pelt. I don’t know what he’s gonna do with that pelt, and at the rate things are going I don’t think I’ll ever find out. I’ve probably destroyed more of his robot suits than anyone else.”

Some of his rogues want to skin him? Huh. Maybe Constantine should be more concerned about how nonchalant Danny is when describing all of this. “If you got regulars, then that means you also got ghosts that only come in sometimes, right?”

“Yeah…” Danny raked a hand through his hair. “It’s part of the reason why I’m so worried. Those kinds of ghosts have been coming up at an alarming rate recently. Like, the last ghost I dealt with was this guy named Undergrowth. He’s big, green, looks like a giant weed, and is pretty much able to control all plant life. He took control of the entire town and essentially enslaved everyone using mind vines. I literally had to develop a new powerset just to fight him.”

“Huh. Must be tough, having to fight all this on your own.”

“It is, yeah…but I’m not alone. My friends help me.”

Constantine lowers his feet to the floor. He scoots up to the edge of his ratty old sofa and pats down the spot next to him. “Friends? That’s good, at least. Tell me about them.”

“Well…” Danny let out a sharp exhale, eyes wavering between the window and the empty spot on the couch as if deciding where he’d be more comfortable being at. Eventually, he pushes himself away from the window and tentatively sits down on the couch, fingers drumming against the burgundy cushions. “There’s Sam and Tucker. I’ve known Tucker since forever ago, but the two of us became friends with Sam back in middle school. They were there with me when I, well, became this. And ever since then, they’ve been helping me fight all the ghosts that’ve been coming through the portal.”

There’s a smile on Danny’s lips as he talks about them. Soft but bright. A flash of teeth every time he has to hold back a laugh whenever he suddenly remembers a funny story. He talks about Tucker’s genius with technology, Sam’s interest in the occult, and how the two of them have a running argument regarding their food preferences. He goes into anecdotes about their adventures, and how so many of Danny’s own victories couldn’t have been done without their help.

“Sounds like you trust them,” Constantine said.

“With my life.” There’s an air of gravity in the way Danny said those words. As if they were an unwavering truth of the universe.

He placed a comforting hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Then trust that they’ll be able to hold down the fort until you get back.”

Danny’s eyes widened a fraction, before he hung his head low, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Suddenly finding himself feeling very awkward at this almost-tender moment, Constantine slapped his knees once and pushed himself off the couch. “Well, best stop your worrying for now, kid. Come on, grab your jacket. Let's go get some Nando’s.”

Danny’s brows scrunched up in confusion. “The heck is Nando’s?”

“Oh you poor, poor, American. Come on, let me introduce you to the wonders that is peri peri chicken.”

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse. But maybe this time, he didn’t mind Trouble so much.

#dpxdc #my writing.txt

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councilofcastamere · 3 months ago

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THE PARTY AND THE AFTERPARTY | KIM TAEHYUNG X ACTRESS!READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : Y/N Y/L/N, South Korea’s rising starlet, is glamour itself. Everything in her might shines, and outside of it isn’t her problem.

She knows that if the nation were to know about her affair with Kim Taehyung, South Korea’s notorious blues singer, and most sought after bachelor, all of that will overshadow all that she did. All that she accomplished.

So, this love affair only happens at night. Swift kisses and gone by the morning.

A / N : just a quick scribble,, enjoy it though

You sat at the small hotel room, long legs outstretched by the small coffee table. Your gentle hands fiddled with the small telephone cord, the ring prevalent to your ears.

You considered picking up to him. To hear his gentle words, his conniving suggestions.

After all, the reason you were in this cramped hotel room was him. Only him.

You both couldn’t have afforded to let your house be the house where these rendezvous took place. The paparazzi and press were nothing but mosquitoes, flying around all over the hills and all over the neighbourhood.

So you settled on this small motel. It was cheap, but not too cheap. Too cheap is where all the trashy stars went who didn’t care if they got caught or not.

It was clean, but it wasn’t exactly five star service.

You signed under the name ‘Miss Kennedy.” You loved that name. You loved the Kennedy’s. An American dynasty.

“Miss Kennedy…” you mumbled into the phone, close to your lips. “That’s what I’m signed as.”

“I’ll come to you.” his quiet words promised, as you could hear the sound of a running car. “I miss you like hell. I swear, it’s eating at me the more I think about it.”

A small smile graced your lips.

“I missed you too.” you mumbled, already managing to sneak a cuban cigar into your mouth. “I miss that little frown you do.”

“I miss that little pose you do.” he counters, smiling. “The way you always push your knees to your chest when you sit. It’s like you curl up into a ball.”

You only chuckled into the phone.

“Come here quick, before I change my mind.” you whispered, smiling fondly.

You glanced at the black dress thrown over the mirror, a grin on your lips.

“And trust me.” you smiled, your thumb stroking the black phone. “You do not want that.”

“…stay the fuck there.” he answers, his voice firm. “Trust. I’m at your door in five.”

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jawz · 1 year ago

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i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way my ethnicity affected the way i was gendered as a child, my drive to transition, and even my detransition…

as a hispanic growing up with my white mom and white stepdad and white brother and white extended family in scandinavian hell (minnesota), i always felt different, always felt wrong. (my parents divorced as a baby, and my dad and his family, cuban and italian, all live in florida.) my neighborhood wasn’t so bad; it was way more diverse than the metro area itself. growing up i had mixed friends, i had friends with curly hair… but us trailer park kids were only a fraction of the population of our schools and district. a sea of blonde hair. there were times in elementary school i would literally pray to god to make my hair straight, make my eyes blue. grown-ups touched my hair and always asked “is it naturally curly?”. my classmates urged me to straighten it and by age 13 it was part of my ridiculously time-consuming “feminizing” beauty rituals.

much earlier, by the age of 8 or 9, i already had thick, dark hair growing on my legs. other kids, boys and girls alike, called me “gorilla girl”, faked gagging when i wore shorts, insisted i was actually a boy. that one became more and more common as i came into my personality: bold, class clown, competitive with the boys. (always wanting to charm the girls, but i didn’t recognize that back then.)

my mustache was there by 8, as well. just a little peach fuzz above my lip but dark enough to notice. are you even a girl? my mom would spread wax over her own face and soon began waxing my stache as well. it hurt so badly. i put up with it because she said it would make the kids stop teasing me. of course i was a girl- she was a woman and she had peach fuzz too!… but i felt self-conscious at the fact that my body hair was so much more noticeable, even as a child. my mother’s hair is very thin, straight, lighter brown; her complexion is warmer than mine, pink where mine is olive, green and yellow. i worried you could see the strands about to burst through. i was worried that to be a girl- a woman- i must hide parts of myself every day. i must cover the shoots of grass, the weeds that reveal that i’m not fit for society, that whisper i’m wild and untamed.

it wasn’t actually until i was 18 at least that i actually started to consider myself latino. i had sometimes said ‘hispanic’ growing up, as that’s what my family in florida called themselves; they referred to themselves as “spanish”, which i found out was not quite true after compiling my family tree and discovering that those ancestors emigrated from havana. in their minds they were white: “descended from spanish royalty” (as if!!)… i had spent my youth constantly trying to claim solely whiteness, confused as to why everyone was asking me “are you mexican?” “are you jewish?” “are you middle eastern?” - even though inside i think i knew. i knew my family didn’t look like me. i resented my surname being changed to Lind when i was five, my stepdad’s name, in order to give me the same name as the rest of them. despite my apparent envy of swedes and norwegians i knew it wasn’t my name; i still stood out terribly. i glared at myself in the mirror every day, i never could move past how the kids at school said my eyes were the color of shit, that my hair looked like pubes, that i must have had a sex change without being told because that would explain the mustache, the aggression…

by the time i was fourteen i was entirely primed to accept an alternative explanation to what was “wrong” with me. my sexuality was becoming more and more apparent but before i could ever come out as lesbian or even bi, i had discovered what it meant to be trans. i was so immediately certain that this was the key, THIS was why everyone said i didn’t fit in, THIS was why my behavior wasn’t girly, THIS was why i wanted to date girls. it was 2011, still deep in the “brain sex” era of the trans community, and i was sure without a shadow of a doubt that i was physically female, mentally male. all that needed to be done was to “correct” my body and bring it in line with my brain. despite the fact that very few people knew what transition actually was back then, i genuinely assumed it would make sense to everyone else, too: they had told me i wasn’t ‘really’ a girl so many times i had no trouble believing it.

transition, of course, did not suddenly de-latinize me LOL. first i became a total Other, outside of both the minnesotan ethnic norms and the gender+sex norms; eventually, with hormones and surgery at a very young age, i was able to pass as a boy, but by the time i could grow actual full-on facial hair, i realized i was still the pan-latin american enigma to people around me. multiple times someone would call me “sanchez” as some sort of attempted insult or joke. police looked at me differently than they had before. shop owners followed me, accused me of shoplifting. and sometimes, the white girls i dated told me that i was way cooler than all the boring white boys they knew. one girl even called me “exotic” to my face. it was, apparently, a compliment.

when i was 21 i heard that my girlfriend had referred to me to others as “a POC who identifies as white”. it felt as though she didn’t even know me at all. i’d never claimed either of those things to her.

moving to the west coast (socal specifically, where being latino/a is not considered ‘abnormal’) illuminated a lot of the bizarre and unnatural racial expectations of my midwest upbringing; i think by this point i was beginning to realize what so many things from my childhood had meant. that they weren’t really saying i was a boy. they were saying we don’t like girls who look like you, and we’d rather not have you included in our category.

it took me another three years to fully reckon with this. by the time i decided to detransition i had a much better understanding of the circumstances of my life; conversations with close friends who are also latina and have walked similar paths to me, heard similar insults, similar “compliments”, opened my eyes to the fact that i was not alone. i no longer feel weird for thinking the race/ethnicity boxes on government forms are hopelessly reductive. i know who i am and who i am not.

(around this time, i happened upon some old pictures of my dad’s side of the family. beautiful and glamorous women: adela, my uncle’s mother, the piano player; melanie, my aunt, the wife, hostess, and addict; lauren and andrea, my cousins, the restauranteurs; stella, my dad’s mamma, the widow and matriarch. and on all their faces, thick dark eyebrows, and, yes, that ever-familiar peach fuzz. i swear it healed something in my soul. despite my lack of beauty and glamor, we are not so different after all.)

that’s not to say all things are easy now. i’ve spent three years living as a GNC woman and if that wasn’t enough to confirm most all of my hypotheses on people’s perceptions of me, i don’t know what is.

detrans spaces (like most trans spaces) are overwhelmingly white- or at least that’s who dominates conversation. i see SO much downplaying of the things that naturally hairy women go through societally. i see trans allies who purport to be “okay” with detransitioners, saying “what’s the big deal? if you took testosterone you can just go off it and get laser hair removal!! :)” as if laser isn’t expensive as hell, painful as hell, and also WAY more of a process for a woman with dark curly hair than it is for one with straight blonde hair lmfao!!! i see detrans women obsessed with removing all traces of hair from their bodies (even though most of them clearly don’t have a neverending five o’clock shadow like some of us do! my lower face has a constant blue-green disturbance under the surface which makes female spaces incredibly daunting) and insulting the rest of us for being ugly and hairy and making no effort to look like women or what the fuck ever. basically, a lot of people who claim to support us are just racists and essentialists and believe that sex is visual and not biological…🤨

anyway… i guess my main takeaways from all this are:

1. please stop acting like detransition is an entirely internal process and that it’s easy for all of us to be seen as our sex again (some of us like. actually transitioned and passed as the opposite sex), or that potential physical interventions aren’t incredibly invasive and difficult

2. stop assuming all transition and detransition journeys follow your own experience of lifelong whiteness and hairlessness

3. it is a distinct experience to be regularly de-gendered or denied your sex, PRIOR to ever thinking of yourself as literally trans. many trans/detrans people had this happen to us (we were once the vast majority of trans people). but many did not, and generally shock others when they begun breaking gender norms. i really think people from the second group often have trouble understanding that for the first group, changing gender expression is basically a bandaid over an abscess… we have lived entire lifetimes being denied our sex, being told our bodies are not “truly” ours, that there is someone else inside trying to break out. kicked out of the bathroom, the changing room, alienated from single-sex peer groups. transition just flips this experience and instead separates us from our preferred gender group, reinforcing the feeling that we have no place, anywhere.

race/ethnicity, being homosexual or bisexual, mental illness stigma, disability, and low economic class all play an additional role in this. stop perpetuating this and denying us our biological sex.

#this is a toooootal rant lmao sorry but its been on my mind for a while.#kind of a culmination of two posts ive been wanting to make #detrans #detransition #ok to reblog

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lookingforhappy · 7 months ago

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credit to prop maker Mikela Barnes. transcript:

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA INFINITUM STANDARD REFERENCE K KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX is a group of communists said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. HARGREEVES, VANYA: A Soviet spy and founding member of the The Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assignation of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though no date of birth is known, education and medical records place Vanya Hargreeves in Saint Petersburg, Russia, as early as 1947. Official reports released by the CIA, FBI, and U.S. Department of Defense provide evidence of Ms. Hargreeves' involvement in the establishment of Sovier Satellite Stats, during which time she is said to have contact with American Double Agent and member of The Kennedy Six, Luther Hargreeves. The extent of their familial relationship remains unconfirmed.

HARGREEVES, DIEGO: A known Communist sympathiser with ties to the Cuban government and a founding member of The Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Once thought to be a sleeper agent for the Cuban government who was smuggled into the country as a baby and raised to become radicalized against U.S. democracy from an early age, his true origin remains unknown due to a lack of official records of his birth or origin. The FBI can only officially place him in the United States as [picture of Allison protesting in the 60s] Allison Hargreeves, a Communist Sympathiser who infiltrated the American Civil Rights Movement. Infinitm Archive 230 [picture of Viktor and Diego's mugshots from the 60s, Diego is edited to have an eyepatch on his left eye] Vanya Hargreeves (left) and Diego Hargreeves (right) were previously arrested for suspicious activity. Infinitum Archive early as 1963. According to official reports from the CIA, he is believe to have been an expert in covert radio communication and a disgraced former high-ranking intelligence officer for the Cuban government. It is rumoured that he lost an eye in Cuba in a cigar attack as punishment for compromising an intelligence operation. His association with The Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf of the Cuban government and their interest in removing Kennedy from office by whatever means necessary. While the FBI and other federal law enforcement agencies have been unable to prove this connects, unofficial reports place him in Cuba shortly before his arrival in Dallas and eventual rendezvous with his co-conspirators. His whereabouts to this day are unknown, though he is widely believed to be in hiding in Cuba. HARGREEVES, ALLISON: as an American born civil agitator recruited by radical terror groups to infiltrate the American Civil Rights Movement in an attempt to disrupt and discredit the country's Federal Government. A hairdresser by trade, Allison Hargreeves sought to use her position in local politics to lure John F. Kennedy to Texas, setting up the 35th President for assasssination on November 22nd, 1963. Though any direct involvement with The Kennedy Six remains unsubstantiated, photos and letters exchanged between Hargreeves and prominent African-American militant groups have been used by Federal Authorities to establish a teritary connection to several known domestic terror cells that had been operating within The United States between 1961 and 1963. Allison Hargreeves is believed to have been captured by the CIA in 1979, after serving only one year of her 45-year prison sentence she was released for unknown reasons. To this day, her whereabouts remain unknown.

KENNEDY SIX NUMBER FIVE: Known only by his KGB Code name, Number Five is assumed to be the youngest member of the Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though existing records remain seal uner the US Espionage Act, Number Five is widelt known to have been hand-picked by First Secretary of The USSR, Nikia Khrushchev, to recruit American citizens in the effort to collect sensitive political and military information as relating to the United States policy of Communist Containment. A Federal Grand Jury issued and indictment for Number Five's arrest in December 1963. The indictment remains open.

HARGREEVES, KLAUS: A prominent religious leader of an influential cult movement and believed to be a member of The Kennedy Six, which is said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Initially beleived to be a recruitment camo and training facility for potential radicals, his religious movements was investigated by federal authroities, and while no evidence of the latter was ever obtained, the organistation was levied with heavy fines amidst numerous charges of mail fraud, wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Despite being an enigmatic public figure, very little is known about Hargreeves beyond the eccentrics peculiatrites of his public life. At one point, he was believed to be in possession of the largest private collection of Cadillacs in the world. According to FBI reports, his vast amount of resources and influence made him a prime candidate to recruit, radicalise and mobilise potential enemires of the state. It is not known at what point or how he first began working with The Kennedy Six, and his whereabouts remain unknown to this day. HARGREEVES, LUTHER: An American double agent and former boxer with connections to several mafia crime families, and a member of the Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. According to reports from the FBI, CIA and U.S. Department of Defense, Luther Hargreeves was an agent and known associate of Jack Ruby, and his involvement in the Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf [picture of Five, edited to be dressed in military uniform] One of the only known images of KGB codename "Number Five", the youngest member of the Kennedy Sic. Infinitum Archive. of organised crime interests, which at the time stood in stark contrast to Kennedy's priorities. Pictured here with his signature firearm, he was known as a brutal killer with a penchant for violence. He spent several years on the FBI's most wanted list and is believed by the CIA to have worked with Soviet spies. While his motives remain a mystery to this day, his connection to known Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, has lead historians to a consensus on the prevailing theory surrounding his involvement of the Kennedy assassination: A coordination of mutual interests shared between Soviers and the American mafia. Authorities remain in pursuit of him to this day, though he was rumoured to have perished in a robbery near his Argentinian hideout sometime in the mid 1980's. [picture of Luther and Klaus' mugshots, likely edited] Luther Hargreeves (left) an American double agent and Klaus Hargreeves (right) a prominent religous leader. Infinitum Archive 231

KENOSHA COOPER, SISSY: A known associate of The Kennedy Six. Believed to have been recruited by Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, in the effort to assassinate John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. While her exact role in the assassination plot remains unknown, she is suspected of becoming radicalised through manipulation or coercian by Vanya Hargreeves and her terrorist co-conspirators. Having lived a relatively normal suburban life before the assassination, Cooper's life took a dramatic turn around the time Kennedy was killed, Cooper appeared on the FBI's most wanted list for the murder of her husband, Carl Cooper, in 1963 and her alleged connection to the Kennedy assassination. Sissy Cooprt died in Oakland, California under a false name. -- KENOSHA, Wisconsin (pop. 62,899, met. area 100,615; alt. 610ft) is a manufactoring center on the western shore of LAke Michigan. Kenosha lies about 8 miles north of the Wisconsin-Illinois boundary line. The city is about 35 miles south of Milwaukee, and about 55 miles north of Chicago. For location, see WISCONSIN (politcal map). KENSICO DAM stores water for the water-supply system of New York City. It is cheifly an emergency resevoir, The dam extends across the Bronx River about 20 miles north of New York city. It is a concrete gravity-type structure, standing 307 feet high, 233 feer thick at the base, and 1,843 feet long, Kensico Dam can hold 93,905 acre-feet of water. A highway across the top of the dam leads to the aeration (ventilation) plant, which has 3,00 fountains. The dam was built on 1915 by the New York City Department of Water Supply. KENSINGTON RUNE STONE is a slab of stone bearing an inscription in Scandinacion runic letters (see RUNE). Olof Ohman, a Swedish farmer, found the stone on his farm near Kensington, Minn, in 1898, this inscription tells of a party of Swedish and Norweigan vikings who ser out from their settlements in Vinland (America) on an exploration journey westward. The inscription is dated 1362, or 130 years before Columbus discovered America. Some scholars have regarded the stone as a forgery, while others have defended it as genuine. The rune stone is still a 232 [picture of Sissy from 1963] Sissy Cooper manged to evade the law until her death in Oakland, California. Infinitum Archive subject of controversy. It is in the possession of the Alexandria (Minn.) Chamber of Commerce. A replica appears on exhibit in the National Museum in Washington, D.C. KENTUCKY is one of the border states that lie between the North and the South. Its long northern border is formed by the Ohio River, on of the traditional boundaries between the Northern States and the Southern States. Kentucky also forms a link between two of the great land features of the United STates, its eastern border touches the Appalachian Mountains. About 350 miles to the west, Kentucky touches the Mississippi Ricer, Kentucky was admitted into the UUnion as the 19th state on June 1, 1792, splitting from Virginia in the process. It is known as the "Bluegrass State", a nickname based on Kentucky bluegrass, a species of grass found in many of its pastures, which has supported the thoroughbred horse industry in the center of the state. It is home to the world's longest cave syste,: Mammoth Cave National Park, as well as the greatest length of navigable waterways and streams in the contiguous United States and the two largest man-made lakes east of th Mississippi River, located within the southeastern interior portion of Nother America, Kentucky has a slimate that is best described as a humid subtropical climate, only small higher areas

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