#ooooooooops

"but the thing is, he's not even a good mechanic honey" what do you mean he isn't good frankie, he's your boss "boss don't mean shit if his head isn't on right-" you head aint' shit near right frankie and you're a fine mechanic.

frankie laughs so hard he nearly spits out his pasta-his smile wide and ridiculous.

you've gone out for dinner. its sweet, peaceful. it feels like you're both in on a joke- two bad kids getting out of school early. you didn't dress up- you wore what you were sleeping in- except frankie changed into his jeans. it's nice. to watch them like this. watch frankie's voice fill a room with as much respect as it deserves. see him mumbling around a mouthful of fresh made pasta. letting yourself get sweet on him and silly after a 1/3rd of a bottle of wine. frankie drove- so he isn't drinking.

returning back early was not in the plan. but it seems you attract trouble like a magnet. after frankie explains how his boss "aint' screwed on right cause he's screwing the local pastor-" you fight back a laugh so loud it expels from you with a crack. but currently- frankie is tugging you out of the restaurant because someone in the room told you guys to shut up. some old bit with ugly hair and bad teeth stomped over to the table- face soured with years of lonely-ness and uptight natures- that person instructed you that you were laughing too loud, being obnoxious.

in reply-as most people would- you stomped on the old woman's foot and poured a glass of wine down her shirt. uttering something about how she's just depressed that she doesn't have someone to fucking talk to-

frank dragged you out of the restaurant giggling. pulling you by your skirt like a kid as you scowled with an important anger. your blood semi-boiling. you can see a few pairs follow your forms leaving the restaurant. see a few eyes linger of franks jovial-ness, see your face flushed and nervous-but still filled with purpose.

he pushes you into the side of his car- kisses you up against the windshield. partners in crime could be too corny- but the meaning sticks. you've been good, recently. almost too good. fitting into each other in a way you've never felt before. you feel his hands rub at your body through your clothes as you stifle a groan. holding your mouth shut with jaw tension. he doesn't seem to pleased about that- as he opens the door behind your back- pushing you backwards into the car seat. you bump your head lightly on the gear stick. but you can hear him laughing as he jogs around the front of the car.

when he gets in he whistles low and mischievous. "you let her fucking have it, baby-" as he tugs at your hair to shift your head so it sits in his lap and not in the drivers seat. you know what he wants you to do now. so you do it. you lick wet stripes over the closure of his jeans as he fists the steering wheel- kicking the car into drive and speeding off- while moving your mouth away with a flick so he can force his cock into your mouth after unzipping his trousers.

you can feel the car moving around you- kicking over the speed limit for sure. he swerves though back lanes, through and over highway passes as you let him fuck himself into your mouth "my little fucking protector huh?"

he parks in your front drive, rolls his window down and shoves his hand down the front of your dress. touching as much of you as he can. he seems obsessive- slightly angry, as he fucks his cock into the back of your throat. "when I-when I come baby-were gonna do something okay?" and you nod mouth stretched full as he tugs at your hair with his free hand- the other hitting over your backside.

"when I finish-finish using this little fucking mouth of yours-" he fucks up into you harder- the smell of him surrounding you. you can hear people walk past- hear the busy city hum lightly around you. he's not quiet now, his grunts filling the silence of the car. "when im fucking done-showing you how to be-behave-" he keeps pushing-your eyes welling up as he tugs your hair harder- tension rocking through your skull like a migraine. but you couldn't give a fuck.

Just watched the Max Verstappen documentary titled “Anatomy of a Champion”

Mhm. And he already felt so guilty about having to leave her for a bit. He'll try so hard to hurry, but there's just so much to do, so much to catch up on, so much that Foggy and Karen need help with, but still, he'll try. He'll hurry. Razor sharp focus, his face grim as he bulldozes through the work he can't do at home.

Only to smell her blood from blocks away on the way home, his heart in his throat.

Only to race home, to find a shattered mirror, smeared with blood, and the apartment empty.

Had someone taken you?

No, no, there was no other scent. This was you.

Imagine him forced to breathe in the air filled fear, stress, and adrenaline he would have been able to soothe if he'd been there.

Could he have worked over the phone? Could he have told Foggy and Karen to come over? Could he have found a way to work there with you?

No.

Not 'could have'.

Should have, he'll think, his hands in his hair.

He should have found a way.

He should have.

hi lov of my life

hi wifey, adoro-te daqui até à lua x a gazillion times 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍