✨meghan✨

the things i reblog here are 18+ so mdni! main blog: iknowisoundcrazy 30's | 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 just somewhere for me to scream about all the stories i'm currently reading on here. come scream with me!

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Let me say hello!

Hi! 👋🏻

More about me and some helpful links under the cut ☺️

masterlist on my main blog | my own writing tag on this blog (#ikisc writes) | favourite things i’ve read (#ikisc recs)

I’m Meghan, I’m in my 30’s (I’m still sad about it 😭), and im Scottish 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

This is a side blog and it’s mainly somewhere for me to reblog and comment on anything I’m reading/recommending/planning to read!

I’ve been keeping my tbr on my main blog and it’s gotten so long and unmanageable that I had to do this 😅

Currently I’m only really reading for Pedro Pascal characters (mostly Joel, Frankie & Javi Peña, some Din, Dave and Max Phillips in there too), but I’m happy to branch out!

I’m a teacher (and I often tell folk that I wish I could teach their writing to my students), and whenever I’m on holiday my main hope is to tackle my tbr!

Please come say hi, either here or on my main blog, I’m always happy to chat 🥰

Meghan✨

[cozymochaa]

under you

᯽ summary: clint loves when you're on top

pairing: Clint Flood x woc!reader contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - porn without plot, established relationship, sub (??) Clint, he loves it messy, riding, multiple orgasms, creampie (oops), unprotected PinV (don't do this irl), fingering, overstimulation, aftercare, i did imagine a woman of color while writing this, but all are welcome to read, no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything. wc: 865 song: under you by nick jonas - "baby you're my only fix" a/n: clint has been on the forefront of my mind for a month straight (i wish i was kidding) i've been absolutely feral for the last few days so here's this little word vomit i had earlier 🌝 (not proofread... sue me)

Something Clint would never admit to anyone but you, is how much he loves being under you. His eyes half-lidded as he watches you take what you need from him.

His hands never guide your hips, they just ground you. Your head tipped back, your hands on his thick thighs, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock stimulating your clit just right. 

His cock stretches you obscenely, reaching the deepest depths of you as you rock your hips. Your slick coats his length, your inner thighs, and is starting to coat his base. Clint doesn’t mind the mess. He likes when you please yourself on him, taking whatever and however much you want from him over and over again. The creamy mess just reminds him of how devoted he is to you. Like you’re marking him in the most intimate way possible. 

He’s not completely sure of how many times you’ve cum now, but he’s holding back for you. Sweat beads at his temple as he waits for you to give him the go ahead. He already knows he’s going to give you a lot, living up to his last name and flooding your cunt with his seed. 

You’re like this drug he can never get enough of. If neither of you worked, he knows you’d be on each other constantly. He can’t lie when he says that he hasn’t thought about filming porn with you once or twice. The two of you would make a killing selling your tapes. The passion both of you have when it comes to sex is something that other people would enjoy.

But Clint is possessive, and he’ll keep you to himself for as long as he can.

When you lean down, burying your face in his neck, he knows that’s his cue to let go. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you in place as he plants his feet flat on the bed and thrusts up into you. You reciprocate–wrapping your arms around him as you moan against his skin. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock as you near your last peak of the night. 

Clint grunts in your ear, gritting his teeth at the sound of wet skin slapping against each other. The ache between his thighs was beginning to become unbearable–his cock so pent up that it was nearly hurting. His hips pick up speed, slamming into you one last time before he shudders through his orgasm, taking you along with him. Your walls milk him dry, his body locking up as his cock spills hot, relentless spurts of cum deep inside of you. He was right about having a lot to give, feeling it spill out and pool around his base before he’s even done.

Your hearts hammer against each other’s chests, your breaths heavy against sweat slicked skin. You hum softly when you feel his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, unsure if he’s trying to soothe you or himself. “Are you okay, baby?” he whispers softly.

Nodding against him, you answer, “I’m okay.” You lift your head to take in his blissed out expression, “Are you okay?”

He huffs quietly, staring at the ceiling, “You make me lose my goddamn mind, gorgeous.” 

You lean into his touch when he cups your face, his thumb gently rubbing across your cheek. “You gotta stop making me cum like that,” he lightly teases.

“You know you love it.”

He grins wide, unable to contain it any longer. “I do,” he admits quietly, “but then I have nothing left to give after that. I just… sleep.”

“So do I,” you softly kiss him, gently easing your hips off of him.

Clint doesn’t let you get very far, rolling the both of you over so he can hover over your spent body. He peppers you in kisses until you giggle from his mustache tickling your skin. “I’ll be right back,” he kisses your forehead and stands up with a grunt.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, eyes on his ass as he walks to the connecting bathroom. He doesn’t close the door, letting you see him clean himself up before he returns with a washcloth to clean you up. Clint’s eyes travel down between your thighs, watching his cum drip out of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand up your leg, “look at that.”

His thumb swipes through the mess he made, pulling a small whimper out of you from overstimulation. “Clint,” you warn him weakly, earning a chuckle from him.

“I know, I know,” he gently presses the warm cloth to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, being careful not to press too hard. 

The lack of attention he’s giving your core isn’t lost on you, but you still tense a bit when two of his thick fingers push his cum back inside you. “Can you hold it all night for me, mi amor?”

Involuntarily, your sensitive walls clench around his digits before you answer. “Yeah, sure.”

Clint chuckles lightly, pulling back his hand with a filthy squelch. “My good girl,” he says once his arms are wrapped around you again, the both of you succumbing to sleep.

₊˚ ✧ tags: @missladym1981 , @kirsteng42 , @bratfrag , @mcthsman , @the-sophverse , @rosharanfiction , @cherrycokeispunk , @cuteanimalmama , @harriedandharassed , @madpanda75 , @shadowqueen2024 , @picketniffler , @kokoluwie , @reedispunk , @umadirectioner , @milla-frenchy , @katyispunk , @time-for-my-weekly-spanking , @gothcsz

thank you for reading. feedback is much appreciated! 🤍

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[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

OOOOFFFFF 🥵

YES PLEASE

[hellishjoel]

fireworks in your eyes

4.7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: frankie's romantic fourth of july plans go awry when your boss pulls the plug on your beloved jukebox.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, dual POV, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.), angst, pet names (baby, angel, carino, etc.) explicit smut

A/N: thank you to everyone who has sent messages for the past sixteen months encouraging me, checking in to say hi, all of the above. I'm not on tumblr often, but this series is one I hope to finish, even if it's with spans of time in between. our diner babies have an ending in mind <3

The Fourth of July lands on a Friday this year. 

For most, that means a three-day weekend filled with fireworks, a case of cold beer, and backyard barbeques. 

But for the people in the service industry? 

“What do you mean my time-off request is rejected?” Frankie tails the mother manager of Tommy’s Diner, Carla, as she weaves through the kitchen. A symphony of water spraying dirty dishes and chatter of the fellow kitchen staff fills the room. 

Carla lets out a light, dry laugh, a playful grin dancing on her lips as she studies the work schedule with keen eyes before she hangs that clipboard right up on the wall. “Well, sugar, the Fourth is our third busiest day of the year, right after that first Saturday of summer and just behind when the county fair’s demolition derby wraps up. All those hungry folks need a place to settle in, and bless their hearts, Golden Corral shuts down by eight.” 

She operates like a well-oiled machine, using the plush of her ass or hips to bop open the swing door between the kitchen and the dining area, grabbing the decaf and non-decaf pots from their station. “You’re the best cook we got and the only one trained enough to handle rushes. I’m counting on ya, baby.”

Frankie forces himself to slow his strides, because with Carla’s body shaped like a teacup, he could easily outpace her. So instead, he trails her with his tall body looming over hers, his hands anxiously running through his hair before he adjusts the red bandana back around his forehead. 

“Come on, I don’t ask for much,” Frankie smirks as he takes the coffee pots off her hands and tops off the next few tables. 

Carla mutters something snarky about the vacation time he just took off to go fishing.

“Please,” he opts for his softer tone, honey-amber eyes meeting hers. “I have a hot date this weekend.” 

Frankie’s gaze drifts to you, leaning against the wall by the landline, the phone nestled between your ear and shoulder. The to-go order stretches on as you scribble on your notepad. Your nose twitches like a bunny, fingers twirling the phone’s cord. Frankie feels like his chest might burst from the inside.  

He turns to Carla and lowers his voice. “I’m takin’ her camping. Romantic, right?”

At that, Carla laughs hard enough to hold her stomach and tilt her head back. “Child, what about that girl makes you think she likes camping?” 

Frankie presses his lips together, thinking it over. A weekend in the wilderness, twinkling stars above, hard ground below, probably isn’t your idea of a getaway. He’d have to think of something else, and fast. 

Carla rolls her eyes and promises to cross him off the schedule for the fourth time, adding with a snide little sigh that she can’t wait to see what he comes up with. 

On the morning of the Fourth, you’re greeted by a not-so-welcome sight. 

There’s an I’M BROKEN :( sign on the jukebox. 

Your fingers trace the Sharpie on white printer paper and push down extra hard on the tape at the corners, holding it in place. 

Why does it bug you so much? The ache plagues you even after you put your purse in Frankie’s locker and clock in by the back entrance. 

Sure, it had been stuck on four songs for a few months and the keys were sticky, but it marked the start of the morning routine. A few quarters in the slot, a song to match the mood, then a wipe-down of the counters and pie case.

Now, it was broken, and so was your goddamn mood. 

It’s a last resort to end up in the owner’s small back office. Everything was dingy from cigarette smoke, and the curtains were stained by the sun. There were unmentionable colored stains on the carpet, and the tiny room was cramped with disorganization. 

Sat behind the desk with his tiny reading glasses was the owner’s son, Rudy. 

Rudy’s been out of town a lot. Strange, but honestly a relief. He’s an asshole. The sleazy moves he used to pull are gone, but only because Frankie’s presence has grown more physical. A firm hand at the waist, thick fingers threading through your hair, a kiss pressed to your lips in the back lot before leaving at the end of a shift.

Those things send a pretty obvious message. Not just to Rudy, but to everyone you work with. 

You and Frankie are together. A romantic pair. 

Carla’s started glancing at Frankie whenever she asks about the weekend. Do-it-all Paul brings the shift meal ticket straight to him, knowing he makes it exactly how you like it. Even Lou, the sixteen-year-old busboy who mopes while he mops, put together a playlist for the two of you.

The best part? It fills your stomach with butterflies. Excitement. Happy nerves. It was a weird type of new attention you were receiving. The other thought that has surfaced is that everyone was acting extremely normal about it. 

Did they see it coming? Did your personalities make sense together? Has this been brewing in plain sight since the day you were both hired? That was the bamboozle of it all. 

How it made sense to everyone else before it made sense to you. 

“Shit,” Rudy said breathlessly, his fist clutching his short sleeve button up shirt at the heart.  Your wide eyes greet him as you finally knock on the doorframe to his office. “You know I hate loitering.” He huffs, shuffling some papers into a manilla folder and out of your sight. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you start, staying firmly at the entrance of his office and not coming in any further than one has to. “I saw that the jukebox was down. When is the repair guy coming?”

Rudy sighs and meanders around his office, closing the empty safe that sits on the floor in an old closet while he paces. “Well, the old girl isn’t actually broken.” His admission makes something in your blood boil. 

“Don’t tell me you’re selling it.” Your voice is warning, wavering with heat. 

Rudy doesn’t look at you, only shakes his head and slides his jacket on. He grabs an old baseball cap and pops it on, merely shrugging. It makes you feel inferior. 

Rudy’s always been known for shady dealings. Selling the food was never enough. If he thought he could make a quick buck, he’d pull out the ceiling tiles and scrap metal from the diner’s core without a second thought.

“Listen, sweetheart, I know you’re fond of the thing. It gives the place character, sure. But it’s too much to keep her running. I-, I mean, we need the money. A collector’s swinging by this weekend to take it off our hands. Carla’s got the instructions. It’s already handled, alright? We’re lucky he’s taking it as it is, it’s really a piece of junk.”

His hastiness alerts you. 

Crossing your arms, you frown as your lips settle in a snarl. “So, where are you going during this lucrative sale?” 

He mutters as he locks the office door, barely glancing at you while nudging you aside. “You’d be a lot easier to deal with if you smiled more and kept your mouth shut. Hold down the fort. Don’t screw it up.”

The busy morning does little to keep your mind at bay, something uncomfortable still itching below the surface. Your gut has always been strong, but this time around, you really have no idea what it’s trying to tell you. 

Is the jukebox some weird omen describing your relationship with Frankie? If something is broken, don’t even bother trying to salvage it, get rid of it? Or was Rudy just continuing his usual sketchiness? 

The stress of the jukebox makes your stomach uneasy. Knowing you only had another twenty-four hours with the classic beauty made your fuse short. 

Frankie could tell. And as much as he tried to help, the crowding around you only made things worse. 

“You’re cranky.” He obviously states on the drive home. 

You scoff, jaw twitching with annoyance. “Thanks, really appreciate that.” Your apron’s sticky with syrup, and you reek of the grease trap. You lean against the window, letting the breeze slip through the cab of his truck. You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. 

Your body says enough.

The really annoying part is that you hadn’t seen him all week. He went out of town to go fishing with Santi and Benny, so that knocked out Friday night through Monday evening. That meant taking opposite shifts to earn back the cash he lost during vacation. And you’re pissed at yourself that this is the mood you’re in by the time you finally get to be together. 

Irritated. Prickly like a cactus. 

So you sulk for the entire ride home. And him making jokes trying to lighten up the mood only twisted the knife. 

“I need a shower,” you sigh, dropping your purse on the kitchen counter upon entering his apartment and pulling at the black elastic in your hair. 

“Can I come?” Frankie asks slyly to which you snidely smile. 

“I think not.”

Frankie shrugs casually and leans against the bathroom’s door frame. “Fine by me, but then you’ll be sittin’ next to an awfully smelly fry cook on top of the ferris wheel.”

Ferris wheel?

Your eyes lock onto his. The smug curl of his lips makes it hard to stay mad. It's annoying how easily he gets your attention. You were set on sulking, but now you're caught wondering what he's going to say next.

You cross your arms and lean against the opposite side of the door’s frame. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you slowly unzip your apron, the material falling to the floor and pooling around your ankles. “Fine. But no funny business. I had a bad day, and I’m not in the mood.”

Frankie grins like he’s already won something. You ignore it, stepping into the bathroom and flicking water toward him when he gets too smug.

The sky is navy blue, but the lights from the carnival are what captivate your attention. 

Frankie parks his truck in the grass and immediately takes your hand as you walk under a large, lit-up white and red-striped tent where he pays for admission. 

It’s beautiful chaos. Food vendors have their trucks lined up, electric signs blaring what they cater from corn dogs to deep fried turkey legs. You can hear children screaming as you pass each ride, a familiarity from childhood passing through you. 

“I love the carnival.” You admit slowly, still a bit hesitant from your day earlier. You’re here, but not in it yet. Frankie can sense the hesitancy in your body, but the curiosity in your eyes makes him hopeful he can turn your day around. 

“Here,” Frankie offers you a cotton candy cone, pink and blue fluff intertwined. “A sweet for my sweet.” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes, taking the stick nonetheless. “Who made you so cheesy?”

“You think I’m cheesy? You would’ve loved my abuelita. All she did was watch telenovelas. She’d sit me in her lap and watch my expressions. I’d get extra candy if they were big, exaggerated.” Frankie smirked as he plucked pink floss from the cone, letting it melt on his tongue. 

As the two of you continue to walk down the lane, a kid running after his friends trips and falls right in front of you. Before you even have time to react, Frankie knelt down beside the boy, offering him a hand. 

“Hey, y’okay?” Frankie brushes some dirt off the kids shirt and the boy lets out a tired huff. 

“M’okay, thanks,” he says shyly to Frankie, smiling sheepishly before he stands and returns to chase after his friends. 

Your boyfriend straightens up beside you and you hold his hand a little tighter, your walls finally down for the night. 

Frankie’s eyes light up, his amber ones staring down at yours. “There’s my pretty girl.” He murmurs, pushing the brim of his hat up just a smidge, so that when he leans down and kisses you, it doesn’t bump your forehead. 

He hums softly, the taste of your lips always something that brings him joy. “You wanna go on the ferris wheel?”

Side by side in the green painted cart, you’re slotted in at the hip so close that your knees bunch up next to Frankie’s. His arm easily slips around your shoulders and the back of the seat bench, always looking for a way to be closer to you. 

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, eyes attached to the skyline. There wasn’t much out here in the means of cities and skyscrapers, but it was the beautiful twinkling sky that was better than any city lights. 

“See? Carnival magic. You almost stopped scowling.” 

You shoot him a look, but all the scraped edges of it are gone. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Once the ferris wheel is full, you start going. It’s impossible not to laugh like a little kid, especially with Frankie by your side. He makes you lighter. He’s comforting, able to calm your bad weather with a few validating words. 

He asks to kiss you at the top. It might be the most romantic moment you’ve shared.

As the cart lowers and there’s a lull, Frankie sighs and says, “Heard they’re hauling that old jukebox out this weekend. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t catch fire last summer.”

Pursing your lips, you can feel your mood shift. Your body stiffens and your gaze lands somewhere by the corn dog vender as you pass the first full spin of the wheel. 

“It still worked fine.” 

Frankie doesn’t pick up on your body language. So he keeps talking. 

“It’s ancient. Nobody uses it. I think you’re the only one I know who…” 

It clicks. It’s like you can hear it registering in his brain that the dusty, old piece of crap actually means something to you. 

But it’s too late, because all that annoyance comes bubbling fast back to the surface. 

In a warped part of your brain, becoming the old dusty jukebox is your fear. A metaphorical one. If something sentimental and familiar can be discarded, maybe the same could be said about you. 

FRANKIE’S POV

She’s gone quiet again. It’s impossible not to notice when her energy shifts. Some people might describe it like a hurricane, and maybe she is, but that’s not how Frankie sees it. 

Imagine driving through the rain. All grey clouds and windshield wipers squeaking as her tears fall from the sky. The droplets are so heavy, they beat down the road and the rooftop, it forces you to take notice. The rain is so loud, so strong and commanding. But then, passing under a bridge for the briefest of moments, everything is silent. 

She can be a hurricane all she wants, and Frankie will be the bridge. 

He lifts his tattered cap, runs a hand through his waves, and tucks the hat back on tight at his forehead as he catches up with your fast pace towards the exit of the carnival. 

“You gonna tell me what just happened?” 

You shrug. “Nothing happened. You just made your opinion very clear.”

“About what? The jukebox?”

You give a short laugh, your jaw twitching as your fingers flex with all the extra energy you’re building up. “Forget it.” 

The tension simmers between you both and he’s still lost in the interaction. And you certainly won’t spell it out for him, beautifully stubborn. 

You parade through the lanes of parked vehicles, the night sky casting a navy blue film across the trees that line the grassy lot. It’s the peak of the carnival and most folks are inside, the grassy area of parked cars quiet. They leave a waft of warm energy as he weaves through the aisles, hot on your trail. 

He speaks your name, but before he can say anything, you’re tugging at the passenger door harder than necessary. It flies open with your strength.

Before you get the chance to crawl into the truck and slam the door, he’s got his hand on the frame. 

“You close the door, you break my fingers.” He warns. 

“Then move.” 

You pull. Frankie stalls the door again. And you look at him like you might just kill him with fury. 

“What the hell is your problem?” You snap. 

Frankie inhales deeply, pausing in silence for a moment. He presses his tongue against his cheek, glancing from the carnival, then back to you. 

“I thought we were havin’ a nice time. I don’t know what happen, spell it out to me like I’m fuckin’ stupid.”

You frown at that, a flash of pain flickering behind your eyes. 

“You’re not stupid, Francisco." 

He tries again. “You’ve been pissed since this morning. And now you're throwing daggers at me because I said the jukebox was busted. I don’t get you sometimes.”

You finally snap, not shouting, but your voice is sharp as nails. “It wasn’t just busted. It was mine. And nobody even told me it was being sold. They just decided it didn’t matter anymore.”

He watches you, then says carefully, “This isn’t about the jukebox.” You look at him, walls flickering at the sincere brown eyes he lands on you. “Maybe not.”

A laughter from a couple down the lane breaks his focus, and he takes you by the hand and guides you to the cab of his truck, where it’s more closed off. The silence turns heavy but different. His eyes drop to her mouth, then back up.

“You always get mean when you’re scared,” he says, voice low.

“Don’t be an ass,” you shoot back, but the edge is gone. It sounds more like a sigh.

His eyes are on you now, steady and unreadable. You hate that. You’d rather he laugh it off or tease you. But he just watches you, eyes growing darker.

“I’m right here.”

Your breath catches just slightly, but you cover it with a scoff. “You say that like you’re some big emotional safety net.”

“I’m not. But I don’t leave when you get hard to deal with.”

You glance at him, lips parting like you might say something, but nothing comes out. 

Instead, you look down at your hands. Frankie takes the opportunity to slot his fingers between yours, his calloused skin catching against the soft give of your palm.

“I know what the jukebox meant to you,” Frankie says. “I should’ve said something different. I’m sorry.”

You nod once, still not looking at him. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does,” he says. And his voice dips lower, almost a whisper. “Because it made you look at me like I wasn’t on your side. And I don’t like that. I’m always on your side.”

Of course he’s on your side. He’s never given you a reason to doubt that.

A groan leaves you, an exhausted one that feels like a weight off your shoulders. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if it’s a control thing with losing the jukebox or,” More gibberish flies out of your mouth in a way of trying to explain this reaction. 

Then it clicks as fast to you as it does to Frankie. 

His signature smirk graces his lips. He glances around the grassy parking lot, adjusts his hat, and stands with his hands on his hips. “When’s the last time you got off, cariño?”

YOUR POV

That pulls your gaze back. 

What did he- oh. The fishing trip. He’s been gone all week. You were in too much of a mood to notice the signs earlier. 

The coiling in your stomach, the electricity snapping across your skin, an ache that could only be solved by getting off.

Heat rushes to your face, warmth spreading across your body as you sit there, dazed and unsure what to do with yourself. 

Not a moment later, Frankie releases the tailgate and tips his head to the side, motioning for you. 

“Get in.” His tone is calm, but the authority in it settles over you like a hand at your back. 

Your stomach drops, a sudden rollercoaster plunge. You obey, your feet sinking into the dewy grass as you quietly follow his instruction and climb into the truck bed. 

Instead of your knees digging into the floor panel, they crawl across a dark blue furniture pad. 

Frankie shuts the bed with you inside, his hands catching the side panel as he pulls himself up. One cowboy boot finds the tire, then he lifts, swinging his other leg over in one practiced motion to join you. 

“What are we-”

“Shhhh.” His voice is low and steady as he settles back against the truck’s rear window, legs shifting to make space. He extends a hand toward you, an unspoken invitation to come closer. 

You slot your body between his legs, your back meeting the warmth of his chest. 

Like a lock and key, you piece together and he kisses you slowly. 

All the stress of today seems to melt and you’re at his mercy. 

Frankie’s tongue glides against yours, a hand of proud ownership holding your face by the underside of your jaw. Mine. 

A heavy breath fans out between you as Frankie’s other hand slips under your shirt, feeling the way your belly tightens as his featherlight touch tickles at your skin. 

His kisses pull your focus, easing the tension in your shoulders and loosening the tightness in your posture, and your legs spread just a little wider. 

A cocky scoff leaves his lips, shaking his head at you and your nose brushes his. 

“Needed this real bad, didn’t you, baby?” The palm of his hand cups one of your breasts, greedily squeezing at the bra-clad flesh. 

The grip he has between your jaw and your tit leaves you breathless already. It’s embarrassing to feel so fucking needy. 

“Please, Frankie,” you plead, large eyes with pupils the size of saucers staring up at him. 

“Please, what?”

An impatient groan fills the air and he clasps his hand over your mouth. He stares daggers down at you, so chilling that you freeze. 

A couple that you couldn’t hear before walks closer, their distant chatter growing louder as they walk near. 

Frankie bites down on his lip and your eyes gloss over at the sight. An insolent moan muffles against his hand. 

His eyes snap back down at you, the hold on your mouth tightening. He shakes his head at you, holding back a smirk. 

The couple’s words start to echo, something about the games being rigged but the fried oreos tasting good. 

Your lips part as Frankie’s teeth sink into your earlobe, a pitchy little whine muffling against his hand as the sensation makes your nipples tingle. 

His hand slowly releases from your mouth, moving back to the underside of your jaw as he makes you look up at him. “You can be as much of a slut as you wanna be, but you need to be a quiet little slut. Can you do that, angel?” 

Somehow he works angel and slut in one sentence and all you can do is desperately nod against his chest. 

“Good girl,” Frankie praises as his soft lips attach to yours once more, but now with a bit more hunger and bite. 

His scruff grinds against your face and all you can think about is how badly you miss that feeling between your legs. 

His large palm pulls down your bra, your breasts spilling over as he moves from one to the other, always giving his favorite girls equal attention. 

Your hand clutches at his shirt, his mouth concealing your desperate whine as he tugs and twists at your taut nipples. 

It gets all too real as his hand slips between your legs, blindly undoing the button to your jean shorts as he moves his kisses down to the supple flesh of your neck. 

You tilt your head, giving him better access, and the zip of your shorts cuts through the quiet darkness. 

The sensation hits you, eyes going bleary once his thick fingers start feeling over your wet panties. He circles his domain before pulling the material aside. He can’t help but break his kisses and take a look at your glittering pussy. 

You whisper, “Seems like you missed me too.” 

He groans out something needy. “Fuck, yeah I did.” 

Another group of people are heard weaving through the lines of vehicles and Frankie’s got his hand on your mouth again. 

He slides two of his thick fingers between your slit, the slip between your aching hole and your pulsing clit has you breathless. 

You curse against his hand, and his forefingers tap your cheek a few sharp times, a firm reminder to stay quiet. The sharp pain only excites you more.

“You want me to stop?” he growls, and you shake your head fast. “That’s what I thought.” 

The motions start slow, gentle ministrations to ease the nerves jittering through your body. He works you up slowly, creating a pace that has you wiggling in his lap and gasping against his hand. 

There could be people staring at the two of you and you’d have no idea, your eyes are rolled into the back of your head as he plugs you with two of his thick fingers. 

The stretch is glorious as he slowly works himself deeper and his thumb takes over massaging your clit. He’s knuckle deep and you start to see stars in your vision. 

“Fuckkk,” you moan against his hand, biting your words as he slowly starts to spread his fingers inside of you. 

A distant high-pitched whistle grabs your attention, Frankie’s too, but his movements don’t stop. 

“Look up at the sky, baby, look up,” he encourages as he fills you to the brim again, enough to make your jaw drop. 

You want to release your screams, your moans, it’s not something you can hold back much longer.

Frankie’s hold on your mouth turns lax as a bright red and blue firework blasts into the dark sky, the colors blurry as you curse into the open air. 

“Fuck, I’ve never felt you so wet,” Frankie mutters into your ear, nipping at your helix as the pace of his fingers work you to an approaching crest. 

Your orgasm bubbles inside of you, desperate for release. The squelching noises of your juices are hidden by another firework soaring into the air. Then another. And another. All different shapes and colors as they fill the sky’s starry canvas. 

Frankie guides the underside of your jaw upward and all you can see is the hazy heavens filled with rainbow colors and the smoke of the pyrotechnics. 

Your walls clench around his fingers and the ache in your stomach only grows. His thumb adds more pressure to your clit. Faster than you realize, you’re grinding your hips against his hand and getting his fingers into that perfect spot only he knows. 

“Fr-Frankie, I’m coming, please, please,” you start to beg, as if he’d stop. 

“That feels so fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, princess? Cum right on my fingers, missed you all week, all I wanna do is taste you.”

The fireworks rumble, the big finale approaches. 

The sky erupts all at once, a storm of color clawing up the sky and fighting for space. Bursts overlap, crackling and booming, like the night is shaking apart. 

They bloom in layers, first blue, then green, then purple, and red, each explosion chasing the next until the sky is nothing but bright lights. The drumline makes your heart pound, your jaw going slack as your orgasm strikes deep in your cunt. 

Sparks rain down like falling stars, until everything fades into drifting smoke and silence. 

Your body goes limp and exhausted in Frankie’s strong arms, still framing you and keeping you upright as applause erupts in the distance. 

Your boyfriend praises you as you come down from your high, gently stroking your sensitive clit every now and then just to see you jump like his little play-thing. 

Finally, he slowly removes his digits and brings them to his lips. His tongue glides effortlessly before his mouth consumes. There’s nothing left to see but the way his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Frankie’s dark eyes open and he looks at you fondly. 

“God, you looked so fucking beautiful with fireworks in your eyes.” 

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

I love you, I'm happy you're here, and I appreciate you.

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Okay, first of all? HI MY GORGEOUS GAL 💕 I’ve missed you loads, how are you doing?

Second of all, AN APOLOGY! This was posted during the penultimate week of the end of term for me, and I missed it with being away from tumblr, and also I didn’t realise i wasn’t following the notifs blog and so it has taken me almost four weeks to see this!! And that is totally unacceptable on my part!! I’m so sorry I missed this!!

Edit bc i went back to follow the blog and make sure i had notifs on and i was already doing both - TUMBLR JUDAS-ED ME!!!! 🔪 f u tumblr 😭

And now? 😈 to business 😈

His signature smirk graces his lips. He glances around the grassy parking lot, adjusts his hat, and stands with his hands on his hips. “When’s the last time you got off, cariño?”

HELLO?!?!???!!??! This was insane, I actually went slack-jawed here hahaha. The image of him checking over his shoulder, fixing his hat, acting so discreet 🫢 I need him so much you do not understand.

​Not a moment later, Frankie releases the tailgate and tips his head to the side, motioning for you. “Get in.” His tone is calm but the authority in it settles over you like a hand at your back.

I couldn’t quote all of what I liked about this part because honestly it would be the entire fuckin’ thing 😭 im gonna say it again I NEED HIM!

Also, all of the mouth covering? Glaring daggers? Being mean but calling her an angel in the same breath? Tapping the side of her cheek when she was noisy????

Give. Me. STRENGTH, lord have mercyyyyyy I cannot cope 😭

I absolutely loved getting to delve back into this world, i wasn’t exaggerating when i said i think about these two all the time. All the god damn time. I love them!

Me to you!!

[hellishjoel]

fireworks in your eyes

4.7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: frankie's romantic fourth of july plans go awry when your boss pulls the plug on your beloved jukebox.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, dual POV, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.), angst, pet names (baby, angel, carino, etc.) explicit smut

A/N: thank you to everyone who has sent messages for the past sixteen months encouraging me, checking in to say hi, all of the above. I'm not on tumblr often, but this series is one I hope to finish, even if it's with spans of time in between. our diner babies have an ending in mind <3

The Fourth of July lands on a Friday this year. 

For most, that means a three-day weekend filled with fireworks, a case of cold beer, and backyard barbeques. 

But for the people in the service industry? 

“What do you mean my time-off request is rejected?” Frankie tails the mother manager of Tommy’s Diner, Carla, as she weaves through the kitchen. A symphony of water spraying dirty dishes and chatter of the fellow kitchen staff fills the room. 

Carla lets out a light, dry laugh, a playful grin dancing on her lips as she studies the work schedule with keen eyes before she hangs that clipboard right up on the wall. “Well, sugar, the Fourth is our third busiest day of the year, right after that first Saturday of summer and just behind when the county fair’s demolition derby wraps up. All those hungry folks need a place to settle in, and bless their hearts, Golden Corral shuts down by eight.” 

She operates like a well-oiled machine, using the plush of her ass or hips to bop open the swing door between the kitchen and the dining area, grabbing the decaf and non-decaf pots from their station. “You’re the best cook we got and the only one trained enough to handle rushes. I’m counting on ya, baby.”

Frankie forces himself to slow his strides, because with Carla’s body shaped like a teacup, he could easily outpace her. So instead, he trails her with his tall body looming over hers, his hands anxiously running through his hair before he adjusts the red bandana back around his forehead. 

“Come on, I don’t ask for much,” Frankie smirks as he takes the coffee pots off her hands and tops off the next few tables. 

Carla mutters something snarky about the vacation time he just took off to go fishing.

“Please,” he opts for his softer tone, honey-amber eyes meeting hers. “I have a hot date this weekend.” 

Frankie’s gaze drifts to you, leaning against the wall by the landline, the phone nestled between your ear and shoulder. The to-go order stretches on as you scribble on your notepad. Your nose twitches like a bunny, fingers twirling the phone’s cord. Frankie feels like his chest might burst from the inside.  

He turns to Carla and lowers his voice. “I’m takin’ her camping. Romantic, right?”

At that, Carla laughs hard enough to hold her stomach and tilt her head back. “Child, what about that girl makes you think she likes camping?” 

Frankie presses his lips together, thinking it over. A weekend in the wilderness, twinkling stars above, hard ground below, probably isn’t your idea of a getaway. He’d have to think of something else, and fast. 

Carla rolls her eyes and promises to cross him off the schedule for the fourth time, adding with a snide little sigh that she can’t wait to see what he comes up with. 

On the morning of the Fourth, you’re greeted by a not-so-welcome sight. 

There’s an I’M BROKEN :( sign on the jukebox. 

Your fingers trace the Sharpie on white printer paper and push down extra hard on the tape at the corners, holding it in place. 

Why does it bug you so much? The ache plagues you even after you put your purse in Frankie’s locker and clock in by the back entrance. 

Sure, it had been stuck on four songs for a few months and the keys were sticky, but it marked the start of the morning routine. A few quarters in the slot, a song to match the mood, then a wipe-down of the counters and pie case.

Now, it was broken, and so was your goddamn mood. 

It’s a last resort to end up in the owner’s small back office. Everything was dingy from cigarette smoke, and the curtains were stained by the sun. There were unmentionable colored stains on the carpet, and the tiny room was cramped with disorganization. 

Sat behind the desk with his tiny reading glasses was the owner’s son, Rudy. 

Rudy’s been out of town a lot. Strange, but honestly a relief. He’s an asshole. The sleazy moves he used to pull are gone, but only because Frankie’s presence has grown more physical. A firm hand at the waist, thick fingers threading through your hair, a kiss pressed to your lips in the back lot before leaving at the end of a shift.

Those things send a pretty obvious message. Not just to Rudy, but to everyone you work with. 

You and Frankie are together. A romantic pair. 

Carla’s started glancing at Frankie whenever she asks about the weekend. Do-it-all Paul brings the shift meal ticket straight to him, knowing he makes it exactly how you like it. Even Lou, the sixteen-year-old busboy who mopes while he mops, put together a playlist for the two of you.

The best part? It fills your stomach with butterflies. Excitement. Happy nerves. It was a weird type of new attention you were receiving. The other thought that has surfaced is that everyone was acting extremely normal about it. 

Did they see it coming? Did your personalities make sense together? Has this been brewing in plain sight since the day you were both hired? That was the bamboozle of it all. 

How it made sense to everyone else before it made sense to you. 

“Shit,” Rudy said breathlessly, his fist clutching his short sleeve button up shirt at the heart.  Your wide eyes greet him as you finally knock on the doorframe to his office. “You know I hate loitering.” He huffs, shuffling some papers into a manilla folder and out of your sight. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you start, staying firmly at the entrance of his office and not coming in any further than one has to. “I saw that the jukebox was down. When is the repair guy coming?”

Rudy sighs and meanders around his office, closing the empty safe that sits on the floor in an old closet while he paces. “Well, the old girl isn’t actually broken.” His admission makes something in your blood boil. 

“Don’t tell me you’re selling it.” Your voice is warning, wavering with heat. 

Rudy doesn’t look at you, only shakes his head and slides his jacket on. He grabs an old baseball cap and pops it on, merely shrugging. It makes you feel inferior. 

Rudy’s always been known for shady dealings. Selling the food was never enough. If he thought he could make a quick buck, he’d pull out the ceiling tiles and scrap metal from the diner’s core without a second thought.

“Listen, sweetheart, I know you’re fond of the thing. It gives the place character, sure. But it’s too much to keep her running. I-, I mean, we need the money. A collector’s swinging by this weekend to take it off our hands. Carla’s got the instructions. It’s already handled, alright? We’re lucky he’s taking it as it is, it’s really a piece of junk.”

His hastiness alerts you. 

Crossing your arms, you frown as your lips settle in a snarl. “So, where are you going during this lucrative sale?” 

He mutters as he locks the office door, barely glancing at you while nudging you aside. “You’d be a lot easier to deal with if you smiled more and kept your mouth shut. Hold down the fort. Don’t screw it up.”

The busy morning does little to keep your mind at bay, something uncomfortable still itching below the surface. Your gut has always been strong, but this time around, you really have no idea what it’s trying to tell you. 

Is the jukebox some weird omen describing your relationship with Frankie? If something is broken, don’t even bother trying to salvage it, get rid of it? Or was Rudy just continuing his usual sketchiness? 

The stress of the jukebox makes your stomach uneasy. Knowing you only had another twenty-four hours with the classic beauty made your fuse short. 

Frankie could tell. And as much as he tried to help, the crowding around you only made things worse. 

“You’re cranky.” He obviously states on the drive home. 

You scoff, jaw twitching with annoyance. “Thanks, really appreciate that.” Your apron’s sticky with syrup, and you reek of the grease trap. You lean against the window, letting the breeze slip through the cab of his truck. You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. 

Your body says enough.

The really annoying part is that you hadn’t seen him all week. He went out of town to go fishing with Santi and Benny, so that knocked out Friday night through Monday evening. That meant taking opposite shifts to earn back the cash he lost during vacation. And you’re pissed at yourself that this is the mood you’re in by the time you finally get to be together. 

Irritated. Prickly like a cactus. 

So you sulk for the entire ride home. And him making jokes trying to lighten up the mood only twisted the knife. 

“I need a shower,” you sigh, dropping your purse on the kitchen counter upon entering his apartment and pulling at the black elastic in your hair. 

“Can I come?” Frankie asks slyly to which you snidely smile. 

“I think not.”

Frankie shrugs casually and leans against the bathroom’s door frame. “Fine by me, but then you’ll be sittin’ next to an awfully smelly fry cook on top of the ferris wheel.”

Ferris wheel?

Your eyes lock onto his. The smug curl of his lips makes it hard to stay mad. It's annoying how easily he gets your attention. You were set on sulking, but now you're caught wondering what he's going to say next.

You cross your arms and lean against the opposite side of the door’s frame. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you slowly unzip your apron, the material falling to the floor and pooling around your ankles. “Fine. But no funny business. I had a bad day, and I’m not in the mood.”

Frankie grins like he’s already won something. You ignore it, stepping into the bathroom and flicking water toward him when he gets too smug.

The sky is navy blue, but the lights from the carnival are what captivate your attention. 

Frankie parks his truck in the grass and immediately takes your hand as you walk under a large, lit-up white and red-striped tent where he pays for admission. 

It’s beautiful chaos. Food vendors have their trucks lined up, electric signs blaring what they cater from corn dogs to deep fried turkey legs. You can hear children screaming as you pass each ride, a familiarity from childhood passing through you. 

“I love the carnival.” You admit slowly, still a bit hesitant from your day earlier. You’re here, but not in it yet. Frankie can sense the hesitancy in your body, but the curiosity in your eyes makes him hopeful he can turn your day around. 

“Here,” Frankie offers you a cotton candy cone, pink and blue fluff intertwined. “A sweet for my sweet.” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes, taking the stick nonetheless. “Who made you so cheesy?”

“You think I’m cheesy? You would’ve loved my abuelita. All she did was watch telenovelas. She’d sit me in her lap and watch my expressions. I’d get extra candy if they were big, exaggerated.” Frankie smirked as he plucked pink floss from the cone, letting it melt on his tongue. 

As the two of you continue to walk down the lane, a kid running after his friends trips and falls right in front of you. Before you even have time to react, Frankie knelt down beside the boy, offering him a hand. 

“Hey, y’okay?” Frankie brushes some dirt off the kids shirt and the boy lets out a tired huff. 

“M’okay, thanks,” he says shyly to Frankie, smiling sheepishly before he stands and returns to chase after his friends. 

Your boyfriend straightens up beside you and you hold his hand a little tighter, your walls finally down for the night. 

Frankie’s eyes light up, his amber ones staring down at yours. “There’s my pretty girl.” He murmurs, pushing the brim of his hat up just a smidge, so that when he leans down and kisses you, it doesn’t bump your forehead. 

He hums softly, the taste of your lips always something that brings him joy. “You wanna go on the ferris wheel?”

Side by side in the green painted cart, you’re slotted in at the hip so close that your knees bunch up next to Frankie’s. His arm easily slips around your shoulders and the back of the seat bench, always looking for a way to be closer to you. 

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, eyes attached to the skyline. There wasn’t much out here in the means of cities and skyscrapers, but it was the beautiful twinkling sky that was better than any city lights. 

“See? Carnival magic. You almost stopped scowling.” 

You shoot him a look, but all the scraped edges of it are gone. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Once the ferris wheel is full, you start going. It’s impossible not to laugh like a little kid, especially with Frankie by your side. He makes you lighter. He’s comforting, able to calm your bad weather with a few validating words. 

He asks to kiss you at the top. It might be the most romantic moment you’ve shared.

As the cart lowers and there’s a lull, Frankie sighs and says, “Heard they’re hauling that old jukebox out this weekend. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t catch fire last summer.”

Pursing your lips, you can feel your mood shift. Your body stiffens and your gaze lands somewhere by the corn dog vender as you pass the first full spin of the wheel. 

“It still worked fine.” 

Frankie doesn’t pick up on your body language. So he keeps talking. 

“It’s ancient. Nobody uses it. I think you’re the only one I know who…” 

It clicks. It’s like you can hear it registering in his brain that the dusty, old piece of crap actually means something to you. 

But it’s too late, because all that annoyance comes bubbling fast back to the surface. 

In a warped part of your brain, becoming the old dusty jukebox is your fear. A metaphorical one. If something sentimental and familiar can be discarded, maybe the same could be said about you. 

FRANKIE’S POV

She’s gone quiet again. It’s impossible not to notice when her energy shifts. Some people might describe it like a hurricane, and maybe she is, but that’s not how Frankie sees it. 

Imagine driving through the rain. All grey clouds and windshield wipers squeaking as her tears fall from the sky. The droplets are so heavy, they beat down the road and the rooftop, it forces you to take notice. The rain is so loud, so strong and commanding. But then, passing under a bridge for the briefest of moments, everything is silent. 

She can be a hurricane all she wants, and Frankie will be the bridge. 

He lifts his tattered cap, runs a hand through his waves, and tucks the hat back on tight at his forehead as he catches up with your fast pace towards the exit of the carnival. 

“You gonna tell me what just happened?” 

You shrug. “Nothing happened. You just made your opinion very clear.”

“About what? The jukebox?”

You give a short laugh, your jaw twitching as your fingers flex with all the extra energy you’re building up. “Forget it.” 

The tension simmers between you both and he’s still lost in the interaction. And you certainly won’t spell it out for him, beautifully stubborn. 

You parade through the lanes of parked vehicles, the night sky casting a navy blue film across the trees that line the grassy lot. It’s the peak of the carnival and most folks are inside, the grassy area of parked cars quiet. They leave a waft of warm energy as he weaves through the aisles, hot on your trail. 

He speaks your name, but before he can say anything, you’re tugging at the passenger door harder than necessary. It flies open with your strength.

Before you get the chance to crawl into the truck and slam the door, he’s got his hand on the frame. 

“You close the door, you break my fingers.” He warns. 

“Then move.” 

You pull. Frankie stalls the door again. And you look at him like you might just kill him with fury. 

“What the hell is your problem?” You snap. 

Frankie inhales deeply, pausing in silence for a moment. He presses his tongue against his cheek, glancing from the carnival, then back to you. 

“I thought we were havin’ a nice time. I don’t know what happen, spell it out to me like I’m fuckin’ stupid.”

You frown at that, a flash of pain flickering behind your eyes. 

“You’re not stupid, Francisco." 

He tries again. “You’ve been pissed since this morning. And now you're throwing daggers at me because I said the jukebox was busted. I don’t get you sometimes.”

You finally snap, not shouting, but your voice is sharp as nails. “It wasn’t just busted. It was mine. And nobody even told me it was being sold. They just decided it didn’t matter anymore.”

He watches you, then says carefully, “This isn’t about the jukebox.” You look at him, walls flickering at the sincere brown eyes he lands on you. “Maybe not.”

A laughter from a couple down the lane breaks his focus, and he takes you by the hand and guides you to the cab of his truck, where it’s more closed off. The silence turns heavy but different. His eyes drop to her mouth, then back up.

“You always get mean when you’re scared,” he says, voice low.

“Don’t be an ass,” you shoot back, but the edge is gone. It sounds more like a sigh.

His eyes are on you now, steady and unreadable. You hate that. You’d rather he laugh it off or tease you. But he just watches you, eyes growing darker.

“I’m right here.”

Your breath catches just slightly, but you cover it with a scoff. “You say that like you’re some big emotional safety net.”

“I’m not. But I don’t leave when you get hard to deal with.”

You glance at him, lips parting like you might say something, but nothing comes out. 

Instead, you look down at your hands. Frankie takes the opportunity to slot his fingers between yours, his calloused skin catching against the soft give of your palm.

“I know what the jukebox meant to you,” Frankie says. “I should’ve said something different. I’m sorry.”

You nod once, still not looking at him. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does,” he says. And his voice dips lower, almost a whisper. “Because it made you look at me like I wasn’t on your side. And I don’t like that. I’m always on your side.”

Of course he’s on your side. He’s never given you a reason to doubt that.

A groan leaves you, an exhausted one that feels like a weight off your shoulders. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if it’s a control thing with losing the jukebox or,” More gibberish flies out of your mouth in a way of trying to explain this reaction. 

Then it clicks as fast to you as it does to Frankie. 

His signature smirk graces his lips. He glances around the grassy parking lot, adjusts his hat, and stands with his hands on his hips. “When’s the last time you got off, cariño?”

YOUR POV

That pulls your gaze back. 

What did he- oh. The fishing trip. He’s been gone all week. You were in too much of a mood to notice the signs earlier. 

The coiling in your stomach, the electricity snapping across your skin, an ache that could only be solved by getting off.

Heat rushes to your face, warmth spreading across your body as you sit there, dazed and unsure what to do with yourself. 

Not a moment later, Frankie releases the tailgate and tips his head to the side, motioning for you. 

“Get in.” His tone is calm, but the authority in it settles over you like a hand at your back. 

Your stomach drops, a sudden rollercoaster plunge. You obey, your feet sinking into the dewy grass as you quietly follow his instruction and climb into the truck bed. 

Instead of your knees digging into the floor panel, they crawl across a dark blue furniture pad. 

Frankie shuts the bed with you inside, his hands catching the side panel as he pulls himself up. One cowboy boot finds the tire, then he lifts, swinging his other leg over in one practiced motion to join you. 

“What are we-”

“Shhhh.” His voice is low and steady as he settles back against the truck’s rear window, legs shifting to make space. He extends a hand toward you, an unspoken invitation to come closer. 

You slot your body between his legs, your back meeting the warmth of his chest. 

Like a lock and key, you piece together and he kisses you slowly. 

All the stress of today seems to melt and you’re at his mercy. 

Frankie’s tongue glides against yours, a hand of proud ownership holding your face by the underside of your jaw. Mine. 

A heavy breath fans out between you as Frankie’s other hand slips under your shirt, feeling the way your belly tightens as his featherlight touch tickles at your skin. 

His kisses pull your focus, easing the tension in your shoulders and loosening the tightness in your posture, and your legs spread just a little wider. 

A cocky scoff leaves his lips, shaking his head at you and your nose brushes his. 

“Needed this real bad, didn’t you, baby?” The palm of his hand cups one of your breasts, greedily squeezing at the bra-clad flesh. 

The grip he has between your jaw and your tit leaves you breathless already. It’s embarrassing to feel so fucking needy. 

“Please, Frankie,” you plead, large eyes with pupils the size of saucers staring up at him. 

“Please, what?”

An impatient groan fills the air and he clasps his hand over your mouth. He stares daggers down at you, so chilling that you freeze. 

A couple that you couldn’t hear before walks closer, their distant chatter growing louder as they walk near. 

Frankie bites down on his lip and your eyes gloss over at the sight. An insolent moan muffles against his hand. 

His eyes snap back down at you, the hold on your mouth tightening. He shakes his head at you, holding back a smirk. 

The couple’s words start to echo, something about the games being rigged but the fried oreos tasting good. 

Your lips part as Frankie’s teeth sink into your earlobe, a pitchy little whine muffling against his hand as the sensation makes your nipples tingle. 

His hand slowly releases from your mouth, moving back to the underside of your jaw as he makes you look up at him. “You can be as much of a slut as you wanna be, but you need to be a quiet little slut. Can you do that, angel?” 

Somehow he works angel and slut in one sentence and all you can do is desperately nod against his chest. 

“Good girl,” Frankie praises as his soft lips attach to yours once more, but now with a bit more hunger and bite. 

His scruff grinds against your face and all you can think about is how badly you miss that feeling between your legs. 

His large palm pulls down your bra, your breasts spilling over as he moves from one to the other, always giving his favorite girls equal attention. 

Your hand clutches at his shirt, his mouth concealing your desperate whine as he tugs and twists at your taut nipples. 

It gets all too real as his hand slips between your legs, blindly undoing the button to your jean shorts as he moves his kisses down to the supple flesh of your neck. 

You tilt your head, giving him better access, and the zip of your shorts cuts through the quiet darkness. 

The sensation hits you, eyes going bleary once his thick fingers start feeling over your wet panties. He circles his domain before pulling the material aside. He can’t help but break his kisses and take a look at your glittering pussy. 

You whisper, “Seems like you missed me too.” 

He groans out something needy. “Fuck, yeah I did.” 

Another group of people are heard weaving through the lines of vehicles and Frankie’s got his hand on your mouth again. 

He slides two of his thick fingers between your slit, the slip between your aching hole and your pulsing clit has you breathless. 

You curse against his hand, and his forefingers tap your cheek a few sharp times, a firm reminder to stay quiet. The sharp pain only excites you more.

“You want me to stop?” he growls, and you shake your head fast. “That’s what I thought.” 

The motions start slow, gentle ministrations to ease the nerves jittering through your body. He works you up slowly, creating a pace that has you wiggling in his lap and gasping against his hand. 

There could be people staring at the two of you and you’d have no idea, your eyes are rolled into the back of your head as he plugs you with two of his thick fingers. 

The stretch is glorious as he slowly works himself deeper and his thumb takes over massaging your clit. He’s knuckle deep and you start to see stars in your vision. 

“Fuckkk,” you moan against his hand, biting your words as he slowly starts to spread his fingers inside of you. 

A distant high-pitched whistle grabs your attention, Frankie’s too, but his movements don’t stop. 

“Look up at the sky, baby, look up,” he encourages as he fills you to the brim again, enough to make your jaw drop. 

You want to release your screams, your moans, it’s not something you can hold back much longer.

Frankie’s hold on your mouth turns lax as a bright red and blue firework blasts into the dark sky, the colors blurry as you curse into the open air. 

“Fuck, I’ve never felt you so wet,” Frankie mutters into your ear, nipping at your helix as the pace of his fingers work you to an approaching crest. 

Your orgasm bubbles inside of you, desperate for release. The squelching noises of your juices are hidden by another firework soaring into the air. Then another. And another. All different shapes and colors as they fill the sky’s starry canvas. 

Frankie guides the underside of your jaw upward and all you can see is the hazy heavens filled with rainbow colors and the smoke of the pyrotechnics. 

Your walls clench around his fingers and the ache in your stomach only grows. His thumb adds more pressure to your clit. Faster than you realize, you’re grinding your hips against his hand and getting his fingers into that perfect spot only he knows. 

“Fr-Frankie, I’m coming, please, please,” you start to beg, as if he’d stop. 

“That feels so fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, princess? Cum right on my fingers, missed you all week, all I wanna do is taste you.”

The fireworks rumble, the big finale approaches. 

The sky erupts all at once, a storm of color clawing up the sky and fighting for space. Bursts overlap, crackling and booming, like the night is shaking apart. 

They bloom in layers, first blue, then green, then purple, and red, each explosion chasing the next until the sky is nothing but bright lights. The drumline makes your heart pound, your jaw going slack as your orgasm strikes deep in your cunt. 

Sparks rain down like falling stars, until everything fades into drifting smoke and silence. 

Your body goes limp and exhausted in Frankie’s strong arms, still framing you and keeping you upright as applause erupts in the distance. 

Your boyfriend praises you as you come down from your high, gently stroking your sensitive clit every now and then just to see you jump like his little play-thing. 

Finally, he slowly removes his digits and brings them to his lips. His tongue glides effortlessly before his mouth consumes. There’s nothing left to see but the way his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Frankie’s dark eyes open and he looks at you fondly. 

“God, you looked so fucking beautiful with fireworks in your eyes.” 

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I love you, I'm happy you're here, and I appreciate you.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Good Morning*

This is the sequel to my Goodnight fic. I'll tag it just below.

Word Count: 2582

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Smut. creampie. pinv oral(m) Read at your own risk.

Goodnight*

The sunlight filters into your bedroom, waking you up from a delightful dream. Frankie has one arm around you, holding you to his chest while the other is thrown over his head against the headboard. He’s fast asleep, snoring softly. 

He’s your dream come true. Everything you could possibly want in a man and he wants you, too. You rest your head on his chest, trailing fingers over his soft skin. You should make coffee. He’d appreciate that. 

You carefully slip out of his grasp and he snuffles, shifting more comfortably without you in his arms. You pull on his shirt and head to your kitchen. You turn on the coffee and start making a cup for him. 

Leaning against the counter while you wait, you remember last night, how soft and sweet he was, taking care of you. He always makes sure you’re satisfied first and foremost. Most guys can’t be bothered to learn your body the way he has. But Francisco Morales is an artist with the way he makes you cum. You never get bored with him. You sigh, lifting the collar of his shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply. He smells so good. 

The machine beeps and you turn to pour the cups. You take his to him, pausing to scratch Salem on his head, promising to feed him in a little bit. coffee in hand, you pause at the doorway, seeing him in your bed. 

Sometimes, you’re struck by a realization that Frankie is really yours. This beautiful man with the chocolate eyes, and big hands, and kind soul is in your bed, loving you. He takes up so much space, dominating one half of your bed, but that doesn’t bother you. You love seeing him there. 

Your eyes trail over his naked body, admiring every curve of his muscle, the tired lines around his eyes, the messy curls, the soft belly. Fuck. The bed sheet is draped over his hips, covering the tops of his thighs, and your not-so-little friend. 

His bicep is bulging from being hooked over his head, and you need him. You’re hungry for him the way he was thirsty for you last night. 

Time for a little self-indulgent payback. 

Rearranging his shirt so that only one button in the middle is done up, you set his coffee on the nightstand and start with his exposed arm. Kissing softly up his bicep, the smooth as silk skin is warm against your lips. Licking against the crook of his elbow, he shifts, eyes half opening with a sleepy hum. You continue down his muscular forearm, dragging your nose against the soft skin of his wrist. 

“Little fox, what’re you doing?” He mumbles, flexing his hand open as you kiss his palm. 

“Just saying good morning. Go back to sleep.” You tell him softly. Then you take two of his fingers into your mouth, running your tongue over the calloused pads. 

“Oh, I’m awake now.” He says, using his unoccupied hand to pull down his shirt, sneaking a peek at your cleavage hanging in his face. You hum around his fingers and he groans softly. You take him deeper, running your tongue along the lengths of his fingers, dipping between. “Baby girl,” he sighs, tweaking one of your nipples. “Feels so good already.”

“You didn’t get any relief last night.” You say, kissing back down his arm. 

“I was satisfied.” He clarifies, wrapping his muscular arms around you and scooping you back onto the bed.

You shriek with a laugh, clinging to him. “I want to take care of you, baby. Will you let me?” You ask, propping your chin on his chest. 

“Anything you want, honey.” He says softly. 

You hover over him, kissing him deeply. The scratch of his beard on your skin, the way his big hand cups the back of your head, while you have his other hand pinned above the pillow. His tongue is soft and searching as you kiss him. He shifts his hips to be more flat on the bed, but he’s in no hurry to let you go. 

Kissing is a favorite pastime that you both share. Many a date night has been spent making out on your couch with heavy petting and missing the movie completely. 

You pull away reluctantly, he sighs, hand falling back to the bed. You, instead, kiss your way down his jawline, down the prominent muscles in his neck, licking and biting gently, leaving your mark and claiming this hunk of a man for any woman who might want to try to see. He moans, tilting his head to give you better access. 

“Like that spot, honey.” He praises and you work it a little more, darkening the hickie just a bit. You grip his curls, pulling his head back more, giving you free range to his neck. It’s like the man invented neck porn just to torment you. Licking and sucking your way across his throat, he moans for you, encouraging you to take what you want. Frankie has always been vocal about when you make him feel so good. 

“That’s it, baby girl, love when you mark me up.” He hums. “Show the whole world I belong to you.” He praises and, of course, you’re getting wet. This man could read you the phone book and it would turn you on. 

You kiss down his chest, pausing to tease his nipples. His hand is back on your hair, holding you there for as long as he can. You swirl your tongue around the pebbled skin, flicking it and sucking it teasingly. You can feel his hips lifting in the space beneath you, responding to your touch. 

“Love your pretty mouth, baby. Always feels so good.” He moans, letting you go. You move down his abs, kissing every inch that you can. He’s been a little self conscious about his tummy but you adore him, all of him. You drag your long nails down his sides, over his hip bones and he hisses, lifting his hips frantically. 

“Baby, please,” he groans. “Again.” 

Your mouth is busy working above his pubic bone, kissing and marking up his stomach, so you drag your nails down his ribs, over his waist, his hips, and his v lines. The sensitive skin of his pelvis is tickled by your nails and he’s squirming, cock twitching against his stomach. 

“Mierda, amor, again.” He croaks, voice deep and raspy. How can you refuse? You tease him again and again with your nails, his skin getting marked up with your nail lines. You lick, dragging your tongue along his hip bones and he moans desperately. You suck a deep red mark right there, gently running over it with your teeth and feel him jump under you. 

You’re careful about using teeth. Several of your exes used to bite down on your clit and nipples. You don’t know why, you’d cry and protest, but they did it several times until you stopped accepting oral from them. Maybe that was the point. But Frankie. 

Frankie is perfect in every way for you. He listens, he cares, and he shows you exactly how good it’s supposed to feel. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s perfect for you. 

You smooth the bite over with your tongue, rewarded with a deep moan. He adjusts, propping his pillow up under his head to watch, his arm holding it in place. His bicep is bulging again and you want to feel him take you in those big, muscly arms. 

“What?” He asks, confused why you stopped. 

“You’re gorgeous.” You breathe, smiling at him. 

“Did you hit your head? Are you delirious from cumming so hard last night?” He asks and you laugh. 

“No.” You grab his phone, since it’s closest. “Don’t move, baby. Stay just like that.” You snap several pictures of him looking like a Greek god, stretched out on your bed, divine in the sun beams. 

“Crazy.” He shakes his head as you drop the phone back on the bed. 

“That’s going in my spank bank for later.” You say, laying back down between his powerful thighs. He laughs, a deep rumbly sound. 

You nudge his thighs apart, settling happily between them. Your arms hook under them, back to teasing his sensitive skin slowly. His cock is hard and dripping right in front of your face. You lick a decisively slow strip up from his balls to the tip, swirling your tongue around and gathering the clear candy. He moans softly, watching you. 

“Love that wicked tongue, pretty girl.” He praises, breathing getting faster as you flicker your tongue down his length and back to the tip. You wrap your lips around the swollen crown as it rests on his thigh, sucking hard and teasing it with your tongue. He hisses, hips bucking into nothing as his hand finds your head again. 

“Baby, baby, feels so good. Keep going.” He praises, and you do. You bob a little deeper, hoovering him in your mouth. Your nails are matching your speed, lazily, dragging it out. You release his cock from your mouth, licking and sucking it down to his balls. They’re heavy, desperate to be inside you, pumping you full of him. But not yet. 

You lick at them, kissing open mouthed to suck them up. He moans loudly, praising you in Spanish that you don’t understand, but you know he wants more. You suck them into your mouth one at a time, massaging them with your tongue, worshipping them in your mouth, burying your face. 

“Shit, shit!” He gasps, hips lifting, grinding against your mouth and fingers. Your goal is to get him to whimper. It drives you insane, practically cumming on your own. It turns you on so much to hear him that needy for you.

You flick your tongue out at his taint while still worshipping his balls. “J-just like that, pretty girl.” He praises, never taking his eyes off you. You close your eyes, savoring the taste, the feel, his words. 

You want to feel him in your throat, gagging you, dominating you. You release his balls, licking your way back to the tip, wrapping your lips around the head again, delivering amazing suction to his already desperate cock. You take him deeper and deeper, quickly approaching your Too Far zone, but you want him there, throbbing down your throat as you drool and heave. 

You meet his eyes, already trained on you, and push deeper. Your throat tightens, spasms, fights against the massive intruder. He groans and you take his hand, placing it on the back of your head. 

“Oh f-fuuuuuck.” He moans, hips bumping up further and you gag visibly. “Fuck! S-sorry.” He manages but you start bobbing your head deeper and deeper, doing the gagging for him. His crystal candy pre-cum floods your mouth, coating your throat. 

“Ba-baby!” He gasps, and you keep pumping, eager to make him cum. His hips start lifting eagerly, holding your head down, he grunts, chasing a long-awaited release. “That’s it, honey, making me feel so fucking good.” He moans, fucking your mouth roughly. “Shit, eyes on me, pretty girl. Thaaaaat’s it. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He manages. You never take your eyes off him, tears streaming down your face as he chokes you with his big, thick cock. You push down lower, taking him deeper. Christ you’re soaked. Your thighs are slick with want and desire. He ruts up desperately, holding onto your head still. 

“Gonna cum, baby. You got me feelin too good with your sexy mouth. Gonna take it?” He moans and you wink at him. “Fuck!” He ruts up, unloading in your mouth, flooding down your throat. You swallow the best you can, gripping his throbbing cock in your continuously clenching throat. 

“Shit shit shit.” He gasps, pulling you off him and onto your back on the bed. “Fuckin perfect girl.” He growls, kissing you deeply as he lines his cock up with your drenched opening. “So fuckin wet, sweetheart.” He moans, devouring your mouth between sentences. Sometimes not even pulling far enough away to properly talk. “All for me?” Heatedly, his tongue delves into your mouth. “You all soaked from suckin my cock, honey?” sucking at your bottom lip, he pushes in slowly. 

You keen, lifting off the bed, desperate for more of him. He obliges happily, scooting forward until his big thighs are tucked right up under your hips, holding him deep inside you. 

“That’s it, baby. Takin my whole cock, fuck you’re so perfect, baby.” He groans, dragging his lips to your jaw, down your neck. He encases you in his big, powerful arms, mouth working at the sensitive spots he marked last night. 

“F-Frankie!” You moan and he ruts in sharply.

“That’s it, beautiful, scream my name for the whole world to hear.” He praises quietly against your skin. “So good, baby, feels so good. Made to take me.” His hips are thrusting shallowly now, still buried inside you, he’s stroking slowly inside you, driving you crazy. “Your pussy is squeezing my cock like crazy, baby. I’m going nuts, it feels amazing.” He groans in your ear, sending it vibrating to your cunt. 

You wobble on the precipice, but just then he lets of a noise between a moan and a whimper, your favorite noise from this man. You arch up, cumming hard on his steadily thrusting cock. He buries his face in your chest, breathing hard as he fucks you in the most amazing way. 

“Come on. Gimme another one.” he begs. “You can do it. Gimme it, baby. Cum on my cock again. I’m in heaven.” He moans, thrusting faster and deeper. One hand slides down to your ass, holding you up against him while the other cups the back of your neck and turns your head to kiss him. 

It’s sloppy, lips dragging against yours, your cheek, your jaw. He’s buried as deep as he can get, taking short, sharp thrusts. Your breaths are staggered, absolutely destroyed by this man inside you. 

“Pl-please.” You whimper into his neck. “Frankie, pl-please.” You pant, arching up for him. He moans against your throat, reaching between your bodies and thumbing your clit blindly. You cry out, cumming desperately, clinging to his shoulders, his big, powerful arms. “Let me have it.” You plead and he ruts inside you with a moan, rutting, hips jerking as he fills you full. Your body drinks it up, cumming still. Your head is dropped back, breathing raggedly. He buries his face in your chest, beard scratching at your skin as he pants just as hard as you. 

He sets you back down gently, collapsing on top of you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, keeping him buried inside. 

“Pretty girl, baby girl. God, you feel so good, honey. Took me so well.” He praises, kissing your cheek, down your jaw.

“Love you.” You sigh, dragging your fingers through his messy curls. He licks back up, nipping at your earlobe. 

“I love you, too.” He grins against your cheek. “I would love to wake up to this every day.” He peppers your cheek with kisses. 

“Mmmmm. Good morning.” You smile up at your beautiful boyfriend. 

“It’s a great morning.” 

It doesn’t take you both long to fall back asleep, wrapped in each other’s embrace, satisfied and comfortable, only waking up again when Frankie decides he’s hungry for a repeat of last night. 

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Omg it got hotter IT GOT HOTTER.

All of his praiseeeeee during this part? I am unwell

[mermaidxatxheart]

Goodnight*

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Porn without plot, overstimulation, Franciso Morales is a menace. Mentions of past inadequacies? Reader has trust issues down south due to some biting. Frankie has worked hard to help her out. Honestly- it's smut. If you can't vibe, that's cool. Read at your own risk. No mention of Y/N.

Word count: 3085

A/N: this is all thanks to his stupid arms in that stupid black shirt on stupid Jimmy Kimmel. I'm mad about it, who does he think he is???

Frankie, your soft, beautiful, exhausted boyfriend has been out at boys' night. Poker, beers, football, shots, whatever the agenda was. Sometimes all at once. He doesn’t live with you. Yet. He keeps his own apartment for when he needs a break from the world, from people. You respect it. There’s a room in your house off limits to everyone else. That’s your zen space so how can you fault him for having one? 

But tonight Frankie doesn’t want a break, he wants you. It’s late, he knows. But he lets himself into your house, locking up behind him. He’s not leaving again tonight. He makes his way through the familiar space, pausing to say hello to your kitty cat. He arches against Frankie’s thick and calloused fingers as he scratches down the all black feline’s back. He doesn’t usually care for animals, doesn’t wanna see ‘em hurt or nothin, but never had any interest in owning them. But Salem is pretty chill. 

Frankie continues on, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. He makes it to your bedroom, leans against the doorframe to admire you. Hair fanned out over your pillow, eyes closed and the softest, sweetest mouth Frankie has ever had the pleasure of kissing, parted slightly as you exhale through it. The blanket is only up to your hips, showing off your pajama top, a cream colored lacy thing that clings to all your beautiful curves. He did a good job picking it out for your birthday. He could stand here and admire you all night, his gorgeous girlfriend. You hate when he stares, makes you self conscious. You whine and complain, hold whatever up in front of your face so he can’t see you, but then he’s admiring your hands, remembering the night before when those pretty hands were wrapped around his thick cock and he’s staring more. 

God, he loves you. There’s no two ways about it, no denying it, hiding it; he’ll shout it from the rooftops. 

You roll over away from him, the blanket being tugged down to your thighs, and he can see your matching underwear, lace, cheeky, just as form fitting as the top. Shit. He pulls his hat off, scratching at his scalp. 

He strips, tossing his clothes in the hamper and easing himself on the edge of the bed, one arm braced on the inside of the bed, leaning over you. He feels you flinch, waking slightly. 

“Frankie?” You mumble, lifting a hand. He takes it, kissing the back of it before turning it over and kissing the palm. 

“Hi baby. Sorry, you can go back to sleep.” He murmurs, dragging his nose up the inside of your wrist. Christ you smell so sweet, his tongue darts out to taste you. 

“How’re the boys?” You yawn, using the same hand to cup his face. 

“Great.” He says, kissing up your arm, over the crest of your shoulder. Your arm falls around his shoulders as he kisses your cheek, your temple, and then you’re turning your head sleepily to search for his mouth. He obliges, softly, then as you hold him to you, deeper. He lifts to pull away and you follow, not done. You pull him back down, his hands bracing on either side of your head as you kiss him. It’s sleepy, lazy, but he’ll never pull away when you have him how you want him. He’d give you anything. 

“Missed you.” You mumble against his lips. He kisses you again, tongue flicking against your lip, inside your mouth, tasting the wine you had earlier. He moans softly and you arch against him, searching for more friction. 

“Missed you more.” He whispers, one hand cupping your head, the other your hip. Your hand trails down his bare back, sending shivers down his spine. “Can I taste you, baby? You can go back to sleep.” He murmurs, thumb on your hip rubbing back and forth gently. 

“You want to? You’re not tired?” You ask. As if he could ever be too tired for you. 

“Wide awake, honey.” He says, placing another kiss on your lips. 

“Okay. Anything you want.” You hum and he groans, kissing you so deeply that you can feel it in your toes. “How do you want me?”

“Every way I can get you.” He says hungrily and you chuckle, dragging your fingers through his messy hair. “But, nothing complicated tonight, beautiful. You just let me take care of you.” He says, lightly guiding your shoulder strap down your sun kissed skin. Kisses along the path it takes to your hand and to remove it from the barely there sleeve. He loves this ritual, undressing you like a present. Every inch of exposed skin the best gift in the world, and he worships all of it. Your other arm follows after you shift to your back, he traps the fabric under your breasts, kissing his way down your neck, your chest, always pausing to pay attention to your perfect body. He flicks his tongue against your nipples, tasting them before wrapping his lips around them. He sucks and teases them, rubbing his tongue on them. Your hands are in his hair, playing with his curls as he worships you. 

Your chest is rising and falling a little faster, getting worked up the longer he spends there. It’s half for you and 90% for him that he lingers so long. The way you react to nipple stimulation really pleases him, and it feels good for you. It’s a win-win-win for you both. You’re watching him drown in your cleavage, he meets your gaze and you smile softly. 

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh and he rolls his eyes. He’s a mess, you’re the pretty one. He surges back up, kissing you hungrily now, tongue buried in your sweet mouth, bodies pressed together. You roll yours along his length, always seeking to touch him more. His hands are on your tits, massaging them, teasing your nipples as he kisses you. Your legs spread around his hips and he’s reminded that he has a mission to do. His fingers trail down to your underwear, sliding them as far down as he can get them in this position. Mouth back on your tits, careful not to use teeth, he gets a little further down your thighs. 

Ever since he found out that several of your last boyfriends almost ruined your desire to receive oral, he’s been determined to show you how good it can be. Sex the first few times with you was very much trial and error, heavy on the error. You didn’t want oral, he was too big to push in without warming you up. Finally, after promising to adhere to a thousand guidelines, you let him show you how it should be done. He was careful not to overstimulate you, didn’t want to send you running, but two or three orgasms on his mouth and fingers and you could take him easily enough. Everything got a million times better after that. 

You trusted him not to hurt you. 

What idiot uses teeth on a clit? 

He pulls back, hooking your legs on his broad shoulders as he frees you of the lace. You’re watching him in the darkness, streetlight falling across your bed, highlighting your curves, your perfect body. He admires the way you’re posed for him, legs crossed, ankles on his shoulders, chest exposed, lips parted and puffy from kissing him. He kisses your ankle next to his face and shifts on the bed, lifting your hips by your ankles and angling you towards the center. 

“Go back to sleep, honey.” He says, knowing you won’t. Knowing he’s gonna gorge himself on the prettiest pussy in the world. You uncross your legs and brace your feet against his chest. 

“Not yet.” You say, dragging your toes down his chest, abs, pelvis, before dropping them wide open to the bed. Shit. He stretches out, lying with his head between your thighs. He drags his nose up your bare skin, licking your thighs before working his way slowly towards his prize. Letting you anticipate when he’s gonna go, gonna start, what his next move is. Pretty girl with the delicious pussy. He could eat you all night. 

In fact…

He licks a slow stripe up your cunt, ending with a little tongue wiggle on your clit. His hands are gripping the meaty underside of your thighs, holding you open. He repeats the process a few times, letting you coat his tongue, get used to him using his mouth on you again. His eyes move between your face and your cunt, focusing on your reactions, making sure you’re okay before he moves again. 

His tongue pushes into your entrance, spreading it open a little. Your mouth parts, hips roll. He does it again and again, fucking you with his tongue slowly, letting his nose rub against your clit for now. 

His name falls softly from your lips and he drags his tongue through your folds, ending with a flick on your clit. He teases it for a moment, getting you used to his tongue there again. Your hips twitch, lifting for his face as he teases pleasure from you. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you to his face as he delves in deeper. He will happily drown right here, suffocate as he gives you pleasure. 

He focuses on your clit now, just for a moment to really get you going. He can see it on your face, the way your eyes flutter shut, the way your stomach tenses and your hips roll against his mouth. He stretches up a hand, resting two fingers against your lips as he licks and sucks on your clit. She peeks out of her little hood, coming to say hi. Sweet girl is so ready for him to pay attention to her. You open your mouth, sucking on his fingers. Tongue delving between them, sucking them back down your throat. God, he loves your mouth. Loves the things you do to him. 

“There’s a good girl.” He purrs against your clit, sucking her back into his mouth, tongue swiping down the slick underside to your entrance. You whine around his fingers, letting him pump them in your mouth. Your hands cling to his wrist, keeping him there to suck on. He hits a spot on your cunt with his tongue and your mouth parts, breaking the suction. He holds down your tongue, feeling your mouth flood with drool. His tongue never stops and that heat coil in your belly is getting tighter and tighter as he takes his time tasting every inch of your pussy. He goes from your clit to your asshole, driving you crazy as he teases endless pleasure from you. 

There’s no end goal, he’s not getting you ready to fuck him, this is just about your pleasure and his thirst. He pulls his fingers slowly from your mouth, covered in your drool. Trails them down your nipples to your cunt. With his mouth back on your clit and his tongue teasing all around, he pushes his two fingers into your slit, stretching you slowly. He takes his time, enjoying the way you gasp and grind on his fingers, working them deeper inside you. 

“F-Frankie,” you gasp, reaching for his other hand. You drag it up to your tit and he cups it, playing with the soft globe, teasing your nipple as he works you open. His tongue drags through your folds, around his fingers as he pushes them inside you deeper and deeper until they can’t go any further. He pumps them slowly, sucking and licking and humming delightfully on your clit. He can’t help but moan as your slick floods his mouth. 

Delicious. 

He teases your nipple, hooking his fingers against that spot inside you that only he seems to know about, rubbing it slowly in time with his mouth. He’s in no rush, he has all the time in the world to walk you to the edge. Not everything has to be a sprint, a mad dash. 

At Benny’s barbecue when he fucks you in the bathroom? Sure hot fast and heavy.

But here and now? He takes his time, savoring you. 

The longer he works you, fingers and mouth, the wetter you get, the more he works you. It’s like pushing the treat button and every time he presses it he gets more treats. His mouth is getting louder, slurping, sucking, moaning. His own hips are rutting against the blanket, desperate for friction, but he’s only interested in you. 

Your legs are beginning to shake, hands fisted in his curls as you keen and moan, gasping his name which goes right to his cock. He works you steadily, drinking your sweet nectar as you get closer to cumming. A pinch to your nipple, a suctioning flicker to your clit, and alternating fingers rubbing your g-spot and you fall over the edge, cumming with a cry. Your legs clamp around his head, hips grinding, pulling on his hair the way that he loves. 

That’s it, pretty girl. 

He licks down around his fingers, collecting your cum, slurping it obscenely loud for such a quiet room. He moans happily and your legs start to release around his head, but he’s not done. He starts all over, working you, stretching you, pleading you. Little whimpers break free from your lips, his fingers move easier with how wet you are. 

He flicks his eyes up to you, gauging you in the darkness. Your mouth is open, eyes on him. He pulls his fingers free, feeding them to you. You deserve to taste how delicious you are, too. 

You swallow them up, slurping, sucking, licking, gagging. He remembers how incredible that feels on his cock and his hips thrust. God, you turn him on. 

He lowers his tongue to your entrance, giving your little clit a small break, paying attention to your other areas. Your entrance, your taint, your asshole, all while you take his fingers down your throat. 

He’s not sure who has the oral fixation first, but you share it now. You’re whimpering around his digits, letting him pump them in your mouth, gagging you with them as he devours your cunt. You’re well on your way to number two. But it won’t be long before you can’t remember how many, or how to walk. Or your name. Just that the man between your legs adores you. 

He pulls his fingers free, bringing them back to your pussy. He pushes them inside just as slow, watching you gasp and grip the sheets. 

“There we go, pretty girl. Doing so good for me. Are you okay?” He asks and you nod, whimpering his name. He pumps his digits slowly, letting you grind on his face, taking his time. His thumb massages the slick underside of your clit and your whole body tenses, curling up as you fight off the pleasure instinctively. He loves the way your body moves, in a constant battle of trying to fight it off while simultaneously searching for more. He knows you can take it, so he gives it. 

His tongue is relentless in your clit as he sucks on it, driving you higher quicker. Your hands fly to the mattress, his hair, the mattress, his hair until your sweet body arches, tunnel clamping on his fingers, pussy drenching with your second orgasm. 

He slurps it up, desperate for every drop, keeping everything the same, fingers moving inside you and switching to your other nipple. You whine and keen as he keeps you there, hovering in orgasmic bliss. 

“F-Frankie!” You cry out, hips bucking and grinding. 

That’s it, honey. Let the neighbors know who’s making you feel so good.

His mouth roams, fingers working you in tandem, your silken walls are fluttering and gripping his fingers desperately. Another. And another. And another. 

Sweat covers your body, tears leaking out of your eyes, your cries of his name louder and louder. His jaw aches but he doesn’t care. You have more left in you, he’s sure of it. Your clit is so sensitive that he barely has to swipe it and you’re on the edge. So he teases it, over and over, darting away to catch the slick dripping down your ass. You’re completely strung out, body clinging to him, crying so prettily for him. 

Fingers still buried inside you, he kisses his way up your body. Your sweet, pliant body. Trembling as his fingers work you over, he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Baby girl, prettiest girl. Doing so good, honey. Tasting so good.” He murmurs praises against your lips and cheeks and neck and lips-he can’t stop. He’s drunk off you, your noises, your taste. You’re fading, overwhelmed and exhausted from cumming. “You can give me one more, darlin. Just one more. Let go, I can feel you fighting it.” He moans, kissing at your throat. “I’m here, I’m gonna catch you. Let go.” He praises, fingering you faster, harder, his digits working overtime. You’re about to squirt, he can feel it in the way your body’s tensing, the way you’re fighting him. “Let me have it, baby girl.” He whispers, kissing you deeply. 

You gasp raggedly, feet bracing against the bed as your hips lift, bucking in the air as you drench his fingers, his arm, your thighs, his abdomen. 

“F-fra-“ you cut off, choking on his name as he works it all out of you. 

“Good girl.” He praises, fingers a blur. “Good girl. That’s it, let me take care of you.” He croons, keeping you there until his fingers cramp. He slows down, letting you slump back to the bed, chest heaving, sobbing for him. You’re clamped so hard around his fingers that he can’t even move. 

Finally, he pulls them free, sucking them clean. Your eyes are closed, breathing raggedly. He gets off the bed gently, groaning as he stretches. He gets a warm washcloth and cleans up between your sticky thighs, the sweat off your body, the tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. Your face is flushed as you watch him sleepily. He climbs into bed next to you, pulling you against him. You curl up bonelessly against his chest, falling back asleep easily. 

He’s everywhere, brushing your hair, down your naked back, caressing your temple. Until finally, he falls asleep to you mumbling his name. His sweet, beautiful girl. 

Part Two

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Oh my WORD 🥵

Oh how i wish frankie morales was realllllll 😂

This was so hot!!

[milla-frenchy]

The buttoned dress

1k0 | Javier Peña | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: after coming back from Judy Moncada’s house, Javi can’t stop thinking about fucking her

warnings: 18+ mdni. Javi jacking off, fantasies, light dacryphilia, degradation

a/n: thank you for the ask, anon ❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta ing 💕💕💕

Javi turned off the tap, stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He dried his hair, leaving it tousled, then quickly rubbed his back, chest and lower body. He wiped the steamed up bathroom mirror with a palm and looked at his reflection. Water droplets still dotting his tanned shoulders and running along his freckles.

Ever since he came from Montecasino, Judy Moncada hadn’t left his thoughts and he’d been half hard.

No, actually, he had already popped a boner when she had followed him outside of her house, and asked him for a cigarette with that fucking attitude, in her expensive dress and high heels clicking on the ground.

Javi threw the towel into a laundry hamper, went to the bedroom and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. He tossed the lighter onto his nightstand, next to his badge and his gun, and flopped naked onto his bed.

He exhaled smoke, gazing at the night lights through his window.

He had thought about going to the brothel at some point, but let go of the idea when he realized all he wanted was to fantasize about fucking Kiko Moncada's widow. 

The widow of one of Escobar's lieutenants. 

Make her submissive and wipe the smirk off her face.

Javi imagined approaching her, before pulling at the fabric of her white dress and tearing off all the buttons. She’d gasp in surprise being half naked in front of him.

He wondered what the color of her underwear was, then decided on black.

Was she wearing tights? Stockings?

Stockings, he thought. Flesh-colored.

Cigarette hanging between his lips, Javi pictured her trying to cover herself with her hands.

It made his cock twitch and he stroked it up and down loosely. 

“Take it off,” he would say, nodding at her bra, her surprised expression now transformed into a defiant one.

“Take it off,” he’d insist. “I won't repeat myself.” A smirk would twist his lips when she’d comply. 

Javi wondered if he'd be the first DEA agent to fuck her.

He crushed the cigarette in an ashtray and spat into his hand, settling in more comfortably in the bed. 

He was so hard it was almost painful.

Javi wouldn’t even have to ask her to blow him, he’d just pull his cock out of his jeans, her eyes would widen at the sight of his girth and she’d kneel in front of him.

“Your husband had a small one?” he’d taint.

“Asshole,” she would spat back, but lick at his length nevertheless, her eyes raised towards him while she’d be teasing his slit. He’d grab her hair tightly in his fist and would thrust in with a growl “don’t tease.” 

Javi would hold her hair firmly, keeping her where he wanted, his condescending gaze lowered toward her.

“I thought you’d be better at sucking cock” he’d say when she started to suck him off. Anger would flash across her eyes for a split second, before giving way to confidence as she’d round her lips around his fat tip, then adjusted to its size.

He imagined her eyes filling with tears when he’d shove his dick in her throat, then they’d trickle down her cheeks, her mouth so full of him that she’d almost choke.

“Balls now,” he’d steer, grabbing his shaft in his hand and giving her full access to them, watching her weigh their mass with her tongue and lick at them.

“That’s better,” he would say, trying hard not to groan when she’d trace a path with her tongue along the thin skin just behind his sack.

It made his balls tighten, thinking about it. He slowed down his fist around the shaft and squeezed the tip. He didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Javi imagined fucking her mouth again, just to shut her up, then would grab her by the throat to pull her up, push her against a table, kick her feet apart.

“I bet you’re already dripping,” he’d say.

“No. Not at all,” she’d answer, looking at him like a brat, like she had done in her house, earlier. 

He’d settle between her thighs, tracing the seam of her cunt under her soaked panties. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought… She's aching. Desperate for cock.”

He would brush her clit with his thumb before pushing the fabric to the side, making her shiver under his touch, her stomach hollowing, her chest rising and falling faster, her lips quivering.

He’d spread her wetness along her folds, thinking how good he’d feel when he’d push into her heat. 

He’d stretch her with two fingers, then. Curling them up to hear her breathing go quicker. She’d let him work her open and come quickly, while his cock would be about to explode in his jeans.

His hand, sliding up and down the shaft, tightened and he sped up, imagining her pussy clenching on his fingers.

“Shit,” he growled, his balls desperately aching. 

Then he’d grab his cock while she was coming, and push in, working her open inch by inch to make it fit, a brief moment of shame lingering in her eyes. 

“Now look at that… falling apart under a DEA agent's touch, sucking me in.” 

Hands on her hips, he’d keep stretching her, feeling her about to unravel again. His jaw would clench as he’d fight the urge to bottom out, his leather jacket creaking repeatedly, again and again. 

And when he wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore, he’d push in, filling her fully, his hips snapping forward.

“You’re gonna come on it. Queen Moncada’s gonna come on my fucking cock,” he’d say, brushing her clit with his thumb, watching a mix of shame, defiance and need in her glare.

He’d follow her when she’d come on his shaft, balls deep in her cunt.

“Yeah, that’s it. Milk him,’ he’d grumble.

Thinking about it, picturing her, spread wide on her table, pussy clenching on his cock, Javi covered his fist with cum. He panted heavily for a few seconds, catching his breath, then wiped his hand, cock and balls with a cloth.

He lit another cigarette, and looked at the lights of the city. He wondered if she was fingering herself, thinking about him. 

It made him smirk.

Javi p masterlist

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @ess-evo

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

HOT.

This is definitely canon 😂

[bibigo-lover]

sucker for a good cliché.

summary: you and steve have to fake-date after an awkward dinner at the wheeler-byers household—all while you're sure that he still wants nancy.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

word count: 6.9k

tags: (set before stranger things season 5 !!), fake-dating, friends-to-lovers, fluff & angst, requited unrequited love, miscommunication, awkward family dinners, robin = wingman, steve = clueless

cross-posted to ao3

a/n: had to rush this out before vol. 2 came out, just in case steve dies (if he dies, i die) — merry christmas if you celebrate !!

“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you admit it right now.”

“I’m broke, but I’m not that broke,” you shake your head, “Jesus, Rob.”

You’re mildly offended, but not remotely shocked, by the proposal. It’s easier to pretend to sort between The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Stone Roses and Modern English than to listen to Robin try to pry her way into your personal life; your fingers slide against the paper covers as you slot them back into their alphabetical placements. Even if your friend is well-intentioned, she’s completely out of her depth.

“A hundred bucks. A hundred bucks, and I’ll let you select the entire noon roster. That’s a bargain!” Robin rattles on, close on your trail; if she was any closer, she’d probably give you a flat. “Do you know how many times the boys have tried to get me to play The Cramps on-air this month? I’ve lost count. And, sure, the psychobilly stuff isn’t bad—but, hello, it’s the middle of December, not, like, Halloween night. What I’m trying to say is: it’s a pretty hefty deal I’m offering up here. Limited time offer.”

“You’d have to give me a thousand bucks. Or, put a gun to my head.”

“Dramatic,” she murmurs under her breath—not nearly enough to seem any less rude than it sounds, “Does that imply you’re only worth a grand?” You decide to let her think it out, but it doesn’t last for nearly long enough. Robin’s eyes flit from the ground, to the ceiling, and then back to you. She exclaims, “It’ll exponentially improve your mood if you just let it out. It’s psychologically proven!”

Though she’s been trying to convince you for the better part of a month, you still haven’t let up: you will not admit that you’re jealous of Nancy Wheeler. By no means is it Nancy’s fault. In fact, you adore her just a little bit more everyday with the way she takes lead on the crawls and makes sure that everyone’s in top shape for any major emergencies. The fact of the matter is that Nancy Wheeler is still the centripetal force of Steve’s affections. Steve sees her shaggy curls, the denim-jackets placed over floral blouses, the stack of metal bracelets, and his brain goes on the fritz.

The way that he looks at her makes you want to retreat into your own skin—siphon yourself out of existence—and still, you stick around to watch. A train crash you can’t bring yourself to look away from. Part of you wonders if it’s the nostalgia factor of it all—if Steve’s just one to reminisce about the good old days, still caught up on “King of Hawkins.” The worse, and fearfully more accurate alternative, is that Steve is in love with Nancy as she is now. Clever, witty, journalist Wheeler. The kind of gal to chew the ends of her pens and weasel the right information out of people. Strategist with a sawed-off shotgun. Though you’re not one for comparison, you’re sure that she must win in some way or another.

But, your harbored feelings for Steve are hardly anything new. Robin’s known about your little schoolgirl crush—you try to tell her, We’re early-twenties! Not early-tens, to no avail—since you started working at Family Video. You’re sure that’s when it started, because that’s when you had to start being around him five days of the week. Though you’d been a particularly good fly on the wall in high school, graduation swung around quickly. You needed a job to pool up a good sum of cash to move to some far-off city (the cliché smalltown transplant). Family Video was conveniently there. So were Steve and Robin.

Robin takes the record—U2, you think—gingerly from your hands and deposits it into the shelf in some off-place you’ll likely fix within the hour. She places both of her hands atop your shoulders. “Okay. You cannot tell me that you weren’t trying to laser-blast her with your eyeballs last weekend at the Wheeler’s. I saw it.”

You snort skeptically, “Why would I do that?”

“Because Steve was being all Steve. He offered to serve her plate and you were all weird and zoned and didn’t talk until Mrs. Wheeler started asking you about where you got your blouse.” Robin tugs at your collar—hung smile, like she’s got you all figured out—and it nearly makes your left eye twitch.

“Well, maybe, I’m just watching out for Jonathan. He gets all weird and jealous whenever Steve’s involved, and we kind-of, sort-of don’t have time for infighting.” You retreat from Robin’s touch, taking yourself into the little seating area the WSQK has set aside for breaks. You crash down on the coffee-stained orange couch, trying to be as leveled as possible with Robin; she lands just beside you, half-leaned on the back of the couch, legs crossed.

“There’s actually plenty of time for it. It’s been months with zero action in the Upside Down—minus the stupid patrols. Hop’s found nothing. You are scot-free to play this whole thing out. Finally!” Aside from Vickie and radio-hosting, you’re absolutely convinced that this is the only entertainment that Robin gets. “You are the master,” she claps her hands together, bows down to you just slightly, “of the long-game.”

You hate to think of it like that. Like you’d had some deliberate motive. For the first month of knowing Steve (Mr. Cologne-Heavy) in the flesh, you were just slightly dazed by the normalcy of him. He was just a guy—and, frankly, a bit of a dork. Clumsy sometimes, and easy-to-please. You weren’t nearly as serious about your little boy-crush then. Steve was just the nice back you got to look at during your morning shifts, you labeling the VHS tapes and him re-alphabetizing the romcoms.

You liked Steve; he was attentive. He knew that you liked to park your car under the fir in the backlot to keep the leather from frying up under the sun. He knew which customers you despised, and he knew when to step in. He knew that you wanted nothing but silence for the first hour of your shared morning shift—and was ready and willing to sort tapes conversation-less with you. He was your very good friend.

You sat through every single one of his failed matches with a strong-held despondence—even the desperate one-night stand he’d had with one Priscilla Allbright, a matchmaking scheme hatched up by Robin herself; she was the older sister of one of Robin’s theatre-kid buddies, but a tad too mean towards waiters—so it was easily one-and-done. And though Steve had rambled on about his continuous dry spell, you didn’t see it fit for you to throw yourself in the ring. It wasn’t until Steve’s dating ceased that you started to get concerned. He’d just stopped trying after Hawkins split in two. Nancy’s unintended doing.

Robin can’t help it. She wants more than anything to see the two do to shack up. She’s been making nothing but stupid bets and wagers for the past year—and even though she hasn’t made even a dime from it all, she still gets to revel in the satisfaction of you and Steve even being in the same room.

“I’m not jealous,” you affirm—easily ignored by Robin, who stretches her back left-and-right on the cushions.

“I don’t blame you. I’d be freaked too if Vick had some super-cool, fiery ex-girlfriend. No—I’d die!”

—

The next time the five of you get together—you, Rob, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve—is at another one of those Wheeler-Byers dinners. This is the routine under your newfound militarized quarantine, especially when the Hawkins movie theater has tired of playing the same collection of movies five times over and you can only hit the same bar up so many times. All things considered, you think it’s a nice gesture that the Wheelers have offered up their home; it works out to have everyone under the same roof. They’re just as charitable when they host their little dinners, foldable chairs pulled from the basement and stuffed leg-to-leg at the dining table. Everyone pitches in to help prep—save for Mr. Wheeler, who slouches at the television box watching old tapes of football games from the year prior.

You have a decent spot at the corner of the table, wedged between Robin and Steve. Then, Steve next to Nancy, Nancy across from Jonathan… the usual. Steve has the tendency to jump his leg up and down underneath the table; the friction of his against yours isn’t easily ignorable, and yet you try to keep yourself quiet. In your peripheral vision, you can see the dad-looking sweater he chose for tonight, and his coiffed black hair. 

You hate sitting next to Steve. It’s like this every dinner. You, getting passing whiffs of sandalwood and hairspray—trying not to look him in the eyes. Him, oblivious. There’s lots of ruckus; you’re pretty sure that there are four different conversations being shot across the table between the boys (save for a recluse Dustin), the parents, and you half-adults. Though Hop and El are still where they always are at the cabin, you’re sure that Joyce will bring them a well-packed plate the morning after. This dinner, Jonathan has persistently wrestled to pick up Nancy’s plate and serve her food; you’re very sure that she’s irritated by his insistence, because she gently scolds him with “I’m not a child.” Steve snorts, and you… don’t do a single thing. The chatter carries on, and you sit scooping peas over your mashed-potatoes.

You feel Steve lean his shoulder against yours, a too-warm attempt to get your attention. You’re too quiet for his liking. You crane your neck to look up at him, with a too-casual, “Yeah?”

“You know, the ‘indie’ stuff is really growing on me,” Steve chews, “I mean, I don’t really like how it’s all British—Go, Boston Tea Party, right?—but, they sound great.” You’ve been tossing in your personal favorites into Robin’s morning setlists. He’s clearly noticed.

You almost have to laugh. It’s a shocker, coming from him. “You like indie.”

Steve’s brows furrow, nodding his head along mid-question. “I do now. You’re, like, the connoisseur of the stuff. No offense, Rob.”

Robin beams. “Sure. None taken.” You hate sitting next to Steve. Especially when he acts like this.

The conversations carry on. Topics are restricted to normal, non-Upside Down, non-military—a house rule set by the kids. It’s like you’re spies. Steve picks up his reindeer-shaped ceramic mug—no thanks to the cup shortage (the Wheeler’s never hosted parties this big before)—takes a big swig of water out of the top. “You know what I miss? County fair.” Random. He continues, “I would kill for a churro. You guys ever ride the Zipper?”

Will diverts his attention from whatever pre-Calculus assignment Mike keeps moaning about to over to the other half of the table. “Jonathan threw up after the Zipper. Didn’t you?” Though he’s flat-faced, Jonathan’s clearly frothing with embarrassment.

“I did not throw up,” the older Byer brother insists, tone wavering just slightly. Will takes the win, turning back to the rest of the boys to continue rattling on about trigonometry.

“No throw-up talk at the table, please. Dinner,” Joyce warns, lifting her fork pointedly at Will and Jonathan. Tight-leash. You’re sure that she tries very hard to push good manners, especially under the Wheelers’ roof.

Steve carries on, trying to recall under his breath: “I took… Dana Mattey to the county fair? Think I won her a bear.”

“That was me, actually,” Nancy amends. Too loudly. Any existing conversation ruptures, leaving only the lingering silence of a dinner turned sour. Steve softens in his chair, looking at her meekly—before looking straight down at the table; he stops his jittery leg, eerily still. You’re very sure that you can see Jonathan’s knuckles whiten as he grips his fork. Mr. Wheeler grumbles some string of expletives that you can’t quite catch, and little Holly’s eyes flit between her parents and her siblings.

Mrs. Wheeler—already half wine-drunk—jumps to turn the conversation back around. She slurs, “The two of you aren’t seeing anyone?” The direction of her question toward the half-adult end of the table tells you that the question is pointed. The interrogatees: you and Robin. Steve is exempted, clearly. Mrs. Wheeler does this most nights, because Steve’s still very much her daughter’s preppy, popular high school ex-boyfriend.

Robin coughs up a bit—caught off-guard: “Oh. No. I’m not really looking for dates right now. Very career-focused. Radio’s, like, the new TV.” Robin lets out an affirmative, little “mhm!” before scarfing down too much food. Shitty liar. You try to give a nod in agreement, hoping that Robin’s response is satiating enough.

Mrs. Wheeler takes another swig of her wine, and then points lazily with her glass at you: “You?”

“Me.” You feel clammy.

She giggles coquettishly, “Well, you’re gorgeous. There’s got to be guys flocking to see you.” The wine in her glass sloshes left and right with the beat of her matter-of-fact explanation. You hear a little bit of a snort coming from the other half of the table.

“Lucas had a crush on you in middle school after you babysat him for Memorial Day,” Mike snickers, “Does that count?” 

“Dude, shut up.” Lucas smacks Mike’s hand down into the table brusquely. You can see the two of them shove each other back-and-forth just beneath the sightline of the dining table. Robin gives you a nudge; the sole of her shoe juts into your calf, trying to urge a response out of you.

You’ve got a choice: tell the truth (you’re the modern-day equivalent of an old maid) or, opt for the easy way out. You choose the latter, replying wondrously—and maybe too proud: “I actually have a date on Saturday night.” Robin stifles her loud guffaw; she’s loving your improv. The rest of your friends—no, the entire table—look quite caught off-guard. Seems like everyone’s hushed up, save for the metallic scraping of forks against plates. It’s the puzzled tilt of Steve’s head that really does you in. 

Though, Mrs. Wheeler is pleased enough with your response. “Of course you do, honey. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s… uh…” Now, you’ve really dug your own grave. Your stammering dims her grin, and you’re afraid Mrs. Wheeler can see right through you.

It’s taking you far too long to spill. Robin brings her own drink slowly to her lips—wineglass, filled with apple juice—trying not to wear a sorry look on her face; it’ll only make it worse if she tries to come up with something for you. You’re just about to say a measly “boyfriend from Canada” joke, when Steve wraps his hand around your knee. “I’m taking her to Enzo’s.”

Robin makes a quick inhale-and-snort of her apple juice, and grabs for her napkin to try to wipe away the mess under her nose, dribbling down to her chin. The rest of the table reacts similarly—doe-eyed and curious. How did this happen? Mike murmurs a quick “Bullshit” under his breath, to which Nancy shoots out a stern “Mike!” By the looks of it, though, Nancy and Jonathan are the most confused out of everyone; after all, they spend the majority of the week with you guys at the Squawk, and they’d be able to see if you two were hooking up. And, it certainly doesn’t pair well with Steve’s here-and-there advances towards Nancy. The only person who’s mildly amused happens to be Will, who wears a proud, open-toothed smile on his face.

You try not to look as astonished as they do, but it’s taking a lot of work considering the fact that Steve’s hand is still landed on your knee—fingers edging toward your inner thigh. You’re so packed together in this dining room that you’re sure that the heat pooling off your cheeks easily reaches the other end of the table. You sum up just enough courage to look Steve in the eyes—maybe, to try and seal the deal, convince everyone that you are going out. Steve only gives you that tender, puppy-dog sort of look that he gives to pretty girls. You almost want to punch him for doing this for you. It’s too big of a lie.

When you swivel your head to look back at the rest of the table, everyone’s rather occupied by the sight of the two of you: Steve’s watchful eye and your electrified posture. You smile weakly, “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Lotta pressure.” An un-entertained Mr. Wheeler excuses himself to the living room (presumably, to watch last year’s baseball), and all the chatter resumes accordingly.

—

Robin’s the first to leave. A promise to Vickie to bring coffee for her late shift at the hospital gets her out the door promptly by nine o’ clock; she uses an easy excuse—need to make sure Grandma takes her meds. She doesn’t leave without giving you a wary look—you’ll get a stern talking to tomorrow—before she makes it out the door.

There’s a handful of things that run through your mind as you’re washing the dishes after dinner—up to your elbows in suds as you wash everyone’s plates. It’s Steve who insists on helping you dry them all off with a kitchen towel and file them back into the cabinets. Together, you create a two-person factory line. Wash-and-dry.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you murmur to him—hoping that the sound of the sink running will drown out your voices. Everyone else is scattered back around the house by now, but you’re quite sure that the boys are gathered in the living room. Nosy.

Steve shrugs. He leans in to murmur back to you, “Isn’t that what friends are for?” Right. Friends. “And, besides, it’ll get old Jonathan off my back about being around Nance so much.”

Now, you’ve got a better picture. If Steve “dates” you, he’s not nearly as much of a threat to their relationship. You’re not sure how much you like the sound of it. “Yeah. It’s a… good trade.” It’s hard for you not to wince. You focus more ardently on scrubbing the fork in your hand. “But, if they ask about the date—“

Steve tosses the towel over his shoulder, leaning against the counter beside you.  “You’re right. Enzo’s is a stretch; I’d pay for it if you wanted me to, but realistically, you’d probably insist that I not do that. We would probably go for fries and a shake at Dee’s. Then, a late showing. Top Gun.” It’s the same old routine you go through every other week: post-work snack and a movie.

You snort, trying not to spritz soapy water on yourself: “God, we’ve seen it like a trillion times.” Steve pops a grin, too—satisfied with making you laugh for the first time tonight.

He leads, “Which is exactly why we would totally go see it again. Boom: flawless plan.” As soon as you slot the last plate into the dish rack, Steve takes the towel over his shoulder and tosses it to you. After drying up, you toss it over the rack of the oven. “Let me walk you out to your car, babe?”

“Asshole.”

—

You’re on one of the wheelie chairs back at WSQK. Saturday opening shift—you and Robin. It’s still shivering-cold this time of year, and there isn’t a bit of insulation. Steve’s not due for thirty, so the two of you are stuffed into the sound booth wrapped in blankets pulled straight from Robin’s trunk. You talk about the dinner, and after the dinner, all while you’re queuing up the setlist and sound cues for today’s morning segment. Robin’s too excited—flailing her arms around, up and at ‘em, pacing back and forth in the studio—while you scribble hard on the clipboard on your lap.

“This is perfect!” she shouts. It makes your right eye twitch; her volume is fifty decibels too loud for six-in-the-morning.

“No, Rob. It’s embarrassing.” You check off cassette numbers, placing the janky plastic cases into their respective slots.

“Sure, he volunteered to be your boyfriend—fake boyfriend—to save you the embarrassment of being a perpetual single. That’s nice and all. But, if you guys keep this up—“

It’s a nightmare just to think about. Every Wheeler-Byers dinner spent with Steve pretending to coddle you. Now, you’re really feeling sick of the military quarantine; New York sounds especially appealing. Or, Antarctica. You have to interrupt her. “We can’t keep it up.”

Robin goes blank, dingy-old Converse glued to the rug beneath you both, before shaking her head with an especially sharp-edged stare. “Sure you can. You have to. Or, it’ll disappoint the hell out of everyone.” ‘Everyone’ and ‘Robin’ are somewhat interchangeable, you think.

“I don’t think he’s going to want to keep it up that long.”

“He might surprise you,” she says earnestly. You wonder if you should trust Robin a little bit more than you do with these matters; after all, she is his best friend as much as she is yours. She carries on, “And, he’ll eventually face the fact that you are the top-tier option. Can’t get better than this.” Robin tugs cheekily at your collar, flouncing your hair a bit. It isn’t until you hear Steve’s Beamer roll up onto the gravel out front that you begin to shove her wriggly hands away. “Okay, okay,” you tell her, “Cool it, Buckley.”

As you carefully smooth down your hair, Steve makes it through the metal front door with a carton cup holder balanced on one hand and his keyring swinging in the other. “Coffee delivery,” he shouts over to the two of you, shoving his keys into his back pocket.

“Robs,” he deposits the cup on the nearest surface by her: counter by the microphones. “Steve, equipment. We talked about this,” she squeaks out, picking up the hot drink and placing it outside of the booth on the sturdier surface of a coffee table.

“Sorry, sorry,” he spews out haphazardly, before sliding over to you. You prop the clipboard gently onto the floor so you can take the coffee cup from his grip. Leaning down to bestow the cup upon you, Steve mumbles, “Girlfriend.” Your hands tremble just slightly as he hands it over to you—fingertips pressing against yours. A strong grip around the coffee cup quells your shaking—but you feel extremely hot-faced. Through the waxed-glass window of the sound booth, you can see Robin flags you with a crazed, wide-eyed smile. You’re only thankful that Steve has his back turned away from her.

“You don’t have to fake it right now,” you tell him. He knows and you know and Robin knows. There’s absolutely nothing to hide amongst the three of you.

Steve tuts softly, “Well, I know that. I’m just trying to build a good habit. I don’t want to be the one who slips up.”

“Well, I definitely won’t be the slipper-upper,” you retort. It’s a half-competitive, half-truthful sentiment that urges you to stand up, shedding your blanket over the top of the rolling chair—still gripping your cup tight. This brings you and Steve chest-to-chest, you tilting your head up to meet his gaze. You swear to God that the sound booth usually feels a lot bigger than it does right now. Steve pulls at the hem of your shirt as he looks over you.

“Actually, speaking of,” Steve perks up, “I wanted to run something by you.” You try to keep it cool, letting a lowly breath pass your lips.

“Yeah?” You can feel heat fanning across your body.

“If any of our friends ask about our little movie-date—like the little P.I.’s that we know they are—we should probably make sure that our stories line up.” Right. Steve wants to make sure that you both have all your bases covered. Clever. You give him a curt nod, under the impression you’ll both just have a little study session after Robin gets off-air, when he says: “We’ll just go on it—the date. As friends.”

You’re not sure whether you should be pleased or frightened, but Steve looks rather adamant about carrying through with the whole ordeal. “Are you sure?”

“Well, yeah. We’ve already put in all this work to keep it up, so we can’t just back down now,” he tells you plainly, “I’ll even bring you flowers to seal the deal. Still, flawless plan.”

The thought of Steve showing up to your doorstep with his stupid cologne and bouquet of lilies is nice. Too nice. A part of you has to wonder whether he’s still doing it for you, or if he’s doing it for himself. Realistically, it’s a bit of both—and you’re not sure if you see this working out well for either of you. You want to tell Steve, No, you should just tell her that you love her, but the sound of Robin knocking over a stack of cassettes just outside the booth makes you falter.

“Flawless plan,” she crackly echoes, before ushering herself to the vinyl shelves. You’re certain that if she turns around to face the both of you, her face will be highlighted red from top to bottom. But, Robin merely huddles herself against the wall—face out-of-sight.

—

Steve doesn’t show up with lilies, because you both leave straight from the WSQK. The sappy offshoot: a couple of daisies picked off the lawn outside. Curfew in Hawkins means any plans are pushed back at least a couple of hours. So, your Saturday night date is more like a Saturday afternoon. The two of you roll up to Dee’s with a Daryl Hall & Oates cassette slotted into the player of his Beamer. It’s better this way, you think. More like you. You’re just glad it’s not Enzo’s, and that neither of you had to dress up. Steve spritzes his cologne, you spruce your hair up a bit. It’s comfortable.

Not too many customers at this hour—so you and Steve get placed at a booth in the corner right away. You wonder how it looks from an outsider’s perspective—if it looks right, the two of you sitting on the same side. The waitress sure buys it, with Steve ordering for the both of you with his arm scooped around the back of your seat. She takes your orders as quickly as she can so she can skitter away to the kitchens, out of sight—probably to smoke a cigarette out back. 

Once she’s gone, you turn to Steve with a hint of a smile on your face. “Okay. We should have, like, a good anecdote. Something really cute.” You want to be able to make this whole thing believable for the entire clan that is your friends.

“Right.” Steve tries to think something up, hand rubbing his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. He’s sifting through the possibilities. Then, he gets it—finger successively tapping on the surface of the vinyl table: “This old couple sat right by us and told us that we reminded us of them.” He looks so exhilarated by the little made-up scenario, head perked up like a meerkat out of Nat Geo—that you almost don’t want to shoot it down…

Still, you shoot out: “...Yeah, that sounds like bullshit.” He’s just a little bit offended—shoulders dropped, huffing out in only slight irritation.

He nudges his shoulder against yours. “Go ahead, then. Come up with something better.”

“Okay—we… got bored and played hangman on the placemats,” you volunteer. It’s not a terrible lie; Dee’s has the plain-white paper placemats, and crayons in cups just behind the counter for kids. A pretty good way to stay entertained.

“Just as bad as mine,” Steve retorts, stretching back out with his arms folded by his head, extended against the back of the seat. You’re very sure that Steve has some kind of back issues from everything you’ve been through—he’s always complaining about knots—and it worries you every now and again. Twenty-one going on sixty. It worries you even more when he does the little stretch-and-groan, an occasional test of your self-restraint. You try your hardest not to flick your gaze down to the sliver of stomach that gets exposed in his movement. Steve grumbles out: “My God—that’s gotta be from a movie or something.” Absolutely clueless. 

You keep your eyes locked on the table in front of you—hands locked neatly together. “It probably is. God knows how many bullshit romcoms we sped through back at Family Video. Probably printed onto our brains by now.” He snorts.

The waitress comes with the fries—a large plate of them for the two of you, and a cookies and cream shake with two straws plunged into the cup. You don’t remember Steve asking them to group it like that, but to ask the waitress to send it back sounds like so much of a hassle, and you’re already pretending—it would be weird if you didn’t split it. The image of the two of you sharing the shake, nose-to-nose, makes your palms sweat.

Steve doesn’t give you any flack for the panic setting in on your face, just scoots the shake towards you with a nod. You first. “I know you totally dig that stuff. You don’t have to lie,” Steve carries on, “Hots for Swayze big time.” Relief. You pull the straw into your mouth, sipping up a gulp of the shake. It cools you down, only by a bit, and you spend the next couple of seconds focusing very intently on mashing the cookies around the bottom of the cup.

“Swayze’s not my type,” you say. Too much conviction. You know your type well—got it all figured out. So, this piques Steve’s interest; his eyebrow raises up just a tad, and you can feel him eyeing you.

Steve tries again, not before chewing on a couple of fries. “Then, what is your type?” Tall, dark hair, loyal as a German Shepherd, maybe a little bit dense…

“Don’t have one.”

“Everybody has a type,” Steve insists, “I’ve got a type.” He drags the shake towards himself, out from your hands, to take a generous sip. You’re very sure that you have his type all figured out, too.

“Witty and unavailable?” Nancy Wheeler, in two words. This gets him straightened out, trying to check the validity of your suggestion. Steve mulls it over, while you find yourself grabbing for a messy stack of fries to shut yourself up. This is small-talk Hell, and you’re only making it worse for yourself.

Finally, Steve gives a noncommittal shrug—wick of black hair falling over his forehead. You’re even sure that his ears have turned a bit pink; the overhead lights of the diner are bright, not doing him any favors in concealing it. He hums, “That’s one way to put it.” Then, he slides the cookies and cream shake back over to you insistently: finish it. “You’re sure Swayze doesn’t do it for you? No? Okay. The, uh, the Indiana Jones guy,” he guesses.

“None of the above,” you retort, shaking your head with a faint grin on your face. Steve smiles to himself, only satisfied with the fact that he’s giving you a light bit of entertainment.

You spend the rest of the meal—as short as it is—thinking about his answer. It’s still daylight by the time the two of you make it out of Dee’s and back to Steve’s Beamer. On the drive to the movie theater, you’re still thinking about it. About him. It puts you into a bit of a crisis, really. Steve’s in love with Nancy, but he’s out on this date with you. It takes a bit of time to settle with it again: it’s fake, it’s a favor, and Steve’s only half-there on your behalf. He isn’t yours.

Your contemplative silence on the drive to the movie theater makes him only a little bit unnerved. Steve decides to drive the two of you around to the back of the theater—“knowing a guy who knows a guy who’ll let him park his car in the backlot.” You’re pretty sure it’s one of Steve’s old basketball teammates, but you’re not particularly inclined to call him on it. You know it’ll all be pretty patched-up once you make it through to Top Gun. Quoting lines to each other, all whispers and airy laughs, like always. Good friends.

—

You decide to go in one car for the next Wheeler-Byers dinner a week after. Robin’s already inside, planning some monthly interview for the WSQK with Nancy—so it’s just you and Steve in the Beamer, parked up on the end of the block. “Should I give you my sweater?” he asks you, shifting his gear shifting into park, “I feel like that shouts ‘We’re together now.’ You can leave your coat in the backseat, we’ll say you forgot it, and I’ll freeze my ass off. Totally sells it.” He doesn’t wait to hear your response, just slides out of the car and shuts the door soft behind him. Steve swings his keyring around his index finger, coming around to the passenger’s seat to open your door for you. He grabs your hand, helps you out of the car with a steady grip.

Once he shuts the door, you jump to ask him: “How long do you think we should keep this up?” Like a deer caught in headlights, Steve stares at you. He purses his lips. 

Erring on the side of caution, he replies, “That’s a good question. How long do you want to keep it up?”

“Well, what if there’s somebody that you really, really like and we have to stage a massive fake-breakup?” A worst case scenario given Nancy breaks up with Ionathan. Even worse: “Or, what if they expect us to kiss?” So, maybe you sound a bit immature, but it isn’t out of the realm of possibility. There’s a chance that—given enough wine—Mrs. Wheeler will become just audacious enough to ask you about the more intimate aspects of your relationship; it’d be strange for you and Steve not to be all attached at the hip. And, other places. Steve seems to think it over, hands moving to rest on his hips. He looks troubled, tapping his sneaker against the sidewalk, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to glean something off of you.

“Okay,” he decides, a short sigh—before sidling up closer to you. He tries to kiss you—and you let him. He leans in, plants his lips onto yours—your noses tentatively bumping against one another in the quick motion. Steve’s face is hot against yours, and you can hear him let out a guttural sigh as your lips move to meet one another. It’s like a dream, the way he walks you back against the Beamer, and runs his fingers through your hair… He stops as soon as he feels you push against his chest. Your lips brush for a second more, before Steve retreats away from you. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He peels off of you to lean on the side-door of the Beamer beside you. Steve’s hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, as he looks gravely down at both of your shoes on the concrete. “Stupid idea.”

You have your arms crossed, hand over your mouth. He just kissed you—hard. You can’t say you’re not pleased with it, because you are. Extremely so. But, you’re even more confused by it than anything else. “You’re in love with Nancy,” you spout.

Steve’s head whips up, dumbfounded. “No, I’m not.”

“Uh… yeah, you are. You hate Jonathan, you get all close and weird like you do, and you can never stop staring at her.”

“I don’t hate Jonathan. I love pissing him off,” Steve corrects you. The lack of reaction that you give him makes him startled. He backtracks, “Okay, okay—maybe, I thought I had a shot with her last year, but that was last year. I wasn’t thinking straight, I was all over the place. We’re friends and all now, but that’s it.”

“But, we were talking about—y’know, on Saturday,” you stutter out, “Nance.”

“I was talking about you,” Steve shakes his head, “You’re witty and unavailable and…” His train of thought takes him right up against the truth. Steve is nearly glowing with recognition—you don’t respond, reticent, face hardened with embarrassment: “You’re jealous.”

You almost feel like bolting down the edge of the street, ditching Wheeler-Byers’, and maybe even running home. You open your mouth to protest against the claim, and Steve’s astounded expression just makes you more fired up to prove him wrong. There’s a long string of “I’m not’s” and “You are’s” that passes between the two of you, enough to lose count—God, he’s so like Robin in his stubbornness. No wonder they get along—before you finally shut him up with a loud: “I am! I’m jealous of Nancy, and it drives me crazy. Happy?”

With a tilt of his head and a shrug, Steve murmurs, “I mean, yeah.” You can only reach out to shove him by the shoulder. He lets you push him back a couple of feet, soles scuffing against the sidewalk, before he plants himself more solidly on the ground. He’s trying very hard to conceal the growing grin on his face as you swat at his arms, all pissed and flustered. The second you let up, he grips you by your arms. “I should’ve just asked you on a regular date,” Steve admits, “I kept on putting it off because you’re just so…” He moves his hands to gesture over you. “You. And, with the whole dinner thing, I thought, ‘What the hell, why not take the easy way out of friendzone?’—even though I could’ve just asked you out months ago and solved the whole issue in the first place.”

“We’ve been dancing around each other for no reason,” you murmur.

“Not a lick of it,” Steve nods, shooing you aside a bit to pull open the backseat of the Beamer. “Now, toss your coat in the back.” You shrug your coat off of yourself, taking the heavy lump of fabric and tossing it haphazardly on the leather cushions. It’s shivering cold without it on, but the heat emanating off your face makes up for the lack of layers.

It doesn’t last for long. Steve shuts the door, before grabbing at the bottom of his sweater and pulling it over his head. He gestures for you to come closer to him, before tugging it carefully over your head. You slot your arms through the sleeves, well-wrapped in the warmth of the plush fabric. He makes sure the hem is straightened out, and fixes your hair accordingly. “You’re it for me. No fake-outs.”

You hook your pinkies into his belt loops, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. A flat “oh” slips past his lips as you pull him in, and he makes sure to place his hands around your hips as your lips slot together. Again. And, again. Steve’s wearing a smirk through each of your kisses, nothing but pleased about how it’s all played out. “Can’t wait to do this all the time,” he exhales.

“Let’s get inside. I know you’re freezing to death in just this.” You pull at Steve’s white t-shirt. His shoulders are tightened, arms quickly crossed, and you can tell very clearly that he’s trying not to shiver.

—

Entry into the Wheeler house isn’t anything but excitable. As soon as you're through the front door, Robin peeks the two of you from the staircase—Steve’s red face and your swollen lips; she nearly pushes Nancy over to tumble down the steps, inspecting each of you closely. “Holy shit,” she gasps quietly, “Holy shit! Did the two of you hook up? Say yes.”

“We kissed, you dork.” You have to slap her hand away as she pokes her index finger against your bottom lip. “Don’t say the H-word. There’s kids around.”

“Holy shit, or hook-up?” Steve asks. Neither of you respond.

“Well, I’m just saying that the credit for the H-word should be given where it’s due.” Robin points two thumbs in her own direction, and you reach up to noogie her hair. She yelps, trying to pry you off of her. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up,” she tells you, but you can see her divert her attention towards Steve with a devilishly pleased expression. Robin punches him without restriction on the arm with a cheerful “You did it, bud!” 

Your eyes flit suspiciously between the two of them. She’s proud, and he’s sheepish. God, Robin’s a meddler, but you can’t be completely irritated with her. Nancy makes her way down the stairs behind Robin with a pleased smile—and a teasing “nice”—shot at all three of you before she passes through the hall. You follow her trajectory to the dining room, where you can see the rest of your motley gathering of family moving around to set the table. You’re not nearly as scared to play boyfriend-girlfriend with Steve—especially when you can feel his hand resting securely on the small of your back.

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Fake dating and steve were meant to go together!

I loved the characterisation in this, you absolutely nailed robin! And the others, too, but i was especially blown away by Robin.

This was great!!

[milla-frenchy]

Lust (Taste in men part 2)

(mood board by my baby @aurorawritestoescape 😘💕)

2k1 | Joel Miller x Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | se7en collection | masterlist

Summary: you’ve spent a perfect night with your best friend Javi and your ex-boyfriend Joel, and the next day holds the promise of what’s to come Warnings: 18+ mdni. Threesome mmf (Javi and Joel are bi), 100% smut, praise kink, size kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart), cum eating, spitting on cock, oral (m/f), piv, creampies, aftercare. No age specified

a/n: this is a part of the se7en collection, and part 2 of Taste in men (you don’t need to read part 1, but it adds depth and plot to their story and background ❤️) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and always being a sweetheart 😘💕 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

You woke up to the sound of groans and moans, mind blurred, not sure if you were awake. You feared that it was just a dream and your fingers would have to put out the needy heat in your lower belly.

But the sounds didn't stop, and you felt cum leaking from your pussy. You turned your head to the side, and a new hot wave ran through your core as you saw Javi lying on top of Joel, the two men kissing, awakening the memories of last night in your mind.

It was early morning, but there was enough light to see them clearly — Javi's digits around Joel's throat, Joel's hand squeezing the back of Javi's neck to keep him pressed against his lips. They were grinding against each other, naked, obviously trying not to make too much noise, unaware that you were awake. You slipped your hand between your thighs, collected some cum on the tip of your finger and rubbed your clit lazily. A moan immediately escaped your lips. 

“I think we have an audience,” Javi smiled against Joel’s mouth and they both looked at you splayed on the bed next to them, touching yourself slowly while watching them. 

Your friend crawled towards you like a wild animal, agile and silent, a smirk on his face, his cock hard as steel and leaking precum on the sheets. The vision made you shiver and your bud throbbed under your finger. Joel lay on his side, bent his arm and propped his head on his hand, settling comfortably to watch the two of you. You glanced at his cock - it was hard, too.

“Good morning, baby,” Javi said, his playful gaze fixed on you then lingering on your body until it reached your crotch. He settled between your thighs, pushed on them with his shoulders and lapped at your cunt, swallowing the sperm flowing from it, running his tongue flat against your folds up to your clit. You jolted with overstimulation.

Javi pressed a soft kiss on your mound and climbed up your body, peppering your belly with kisses on his way, his hands cupping your breasts. You moaned when he brought his mouth to them and nibbled at your tits, your hands lost in his hair. 

“You’re needy, baby, aren’t you?” he smiled while sucking at one then released it with a pop. He raised your arm to kiss your side and armpit, up to your neck and finally reached your lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him a little closer to you, your tongues mingling.

You loved feeling his moustache on your skin, how soft it was. Kissing Javi was always hot, always enough to turn your panties into a sticky mess, but it was even hotter now, knowing he was making out with your ex boyfriend moments ago. He rubbed his cock against you, probably just to make you feel how hard he was, and smirked when your breathing quickened. He licked at your lips and slid his hand between your two bodies, brushed your folds up to your clit, and you shivered again.

“Your little pussy’s sensitive, baby?” he asked, straightening up. With his hands by either side of your head, arms outstretched, he was taking in the full view of your disheveled hair and features drawn by the delicious fatigue after the short night.

You also had the most delightful view of his gaze set on you, his sinful and gorgeous face, his teeth nibbling at his lip. You stroked his taut triceps, so round and firm beneath your fingers.

“I guess. But it’s not like I can’t take it anymore,” you smiled, and Javi brushed his lip with his tongue, as if he was ready to devour every inch of your body.

“Wanna check if our girl can go for another round, Joel?” Javi asked, and Joel sat up to take Javi’s place between your legs, mumbling a “yeah, lemme see,” that made you drool while Javi laid next to you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Pussy’s so wet, Jesus…” Joel said when he pushed his fat cock in, sliding in easily. “Not just from our cum. I’m gonna put it back in, d’ya want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck… yeah…” you whined, feeling his shaft filling your core so perfectly, the thought of him thrusting in both their seed making you arch your back and groan.

“So sensitive, baby… so fucking sweet and needy, Javi’s right,” he growled, gripping your hips, kneeled between your thighs, watching his thick cock slide in and out. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Javi start to jack off slowly, clearly enjoying this sharing vibe between the three of you. You smiled at him, before looking back at Joel.

“Balls soaked by you two, damn…” he hissed, thrusting in harder, then paused to spit on his cock and fucked it back in.

“Oh my god, Joel…” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Bet you’ll come when I touch your clit right now, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Javi leaned over, as if he wanted both of them to make you come, and pressing his head against Joel's crotch, circled your clit with his lips and sucked on it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, pussy full of Joel’s cock brushing your spongy spot, Javi’s lips around your bud, and you came quickly on Joel's shaft. Joel’s and your fingers intertwined in Javi's messy hair.

“Squeezing me so goddamn hard, fuck…”

He pulled out and gripped the base to stop himself from coming as Javi manhandled you to lie down on him, your back against his chest. He slid his tip into your cunt, his fingers pressing on his shaft to keep it in, and you tightened around him.

“Fuck, she's still cuming,” he groaned.

He grabbed the back of your thighs and spread them wide, keeping you open for Joel’s sight. Hunger darkened his eyes as he watched your glistening pussy dripping cum and clenching around Javi’s tip.

Joel growled as he lay down, his large hands keeping you wide open, and you nearly fainted when you realized he was sliding his tongue from Javi's length to your clit. 

“Mierda,” (shit) Javi whimpered, before kissing your neck, just below your ear, knowing full well how much you loved being kissed here.

Joel's fingers brushed against your folds down to your friend’s tip, then he wrapped them around Javi's girth, licking pussy and cock, pulling it out lightly to slide his tongue from your friend’s crown to your folds. He licked up and down, again and again, his moustache and nose brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck… the two of you are gonna kill me,” you whined, feeling a new climax already rising in your core. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Javi growled, cupping your sweaty breasts in his hands and nibbling at your earlobe, then you heard him moan louder in the hollow of your ear and his cum spurted against your folds. Joel took him in his mouth, sucking on the tip, and you felt Javi shudder beneath you.

Joel sucked him clean, his eyes fixed on you, looking hotter than ever. Once done, he knelt back between your thighs, wiping his beard and mustache, and caressed your belly softly. 

“Gonna be right here in a minute, sweetheart. This is all for you,” he said, and you nodded. You couldn’t wait to feel him again. To feel him push in you, spreading your folds on his way. 

He took his time, feeling your stomach move up and down under his touch, then grasped your hip with one hand and lined his cock at your entrance, brushing against Javi's softened dick before pushing in.

“That's it,” he murmured, looking at your cunt swallowing him, clenching on him. “Taking me so well. Right, baby?”

You nodded, mind blank, unable to speak, watching drops of sweat beading at his hairline.

“You’re perfect, baby. Making us come, over and over,” Javi said, your back against his chest, his cock folded under Joel’s, the three of you a mess covered in cum and wetness.

“Your little pussy’s all swollen and aching, sweetheart… We’ll kiss it better soon. She’s so fucking pretty around my cock, covered in our cum,” Joel said, his eyes roaming over your spent body. He was so gorgeous, his muscles all tensed while rolling inside you, watching the way you were breathing and biting your lip.

Javi slid his fingers down to your clit and started rubbing it with his digit.

“You’re doing so good for us baby. So gorgeous, all spread out.”

“Are you gonna get wet tomorrow at work, sweetheart? Just thinking about how good we fucked?” Joel smirked, holding your hips firmly, pounding into you harder, chasing his orgasm, mubbling “god you're so fucking pretty” his cock slamming into your drooling cunt, while Javi’s pad was still on your clit, and you felt your climax rising, stronger and stronger under their touch, thrusts and words.

“You're taking him so well,” Javi whispered, playing with your hair and kissing your neck. “Doing so good, always so fucking good…” he added, his praise going right into your cunt.

“Fuck. Fuck! I’m gonna come. Fill me, Joel.”

“Yeah? Want me to shoot my load, keep you full of us? ‘M gonna give it to you. Just come on it, and I’ll fill you” he said, eyes locked into yours until you started coming, mouth wide open in a cry.

“That’s it baby, come on his cock. Keep taking it, just like that. Yeah, there you go,” Javi said, your legs shaking, inner thighs covered in cum and your slick. 

“Gonna fill you up. Now, look at me. Fuck… Look at me, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that. You feel so fucking good, yeah that’s it….” Joel groaned then whimpered when he started sending hot spurs of cum inside you, his hands squeezing your hips.

He stayed buried deep inside you, cock throbbing, until your cunt milked him dry, Javi murmuring “you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, baby,” against your skin, your body and mind so full of emotions and sensations that you were afraid you might cry.

Once his cock stopped twitching, Joel leaned forward and kissed you, his tongue sliding between your lips. You cupped his cheeks, your tongue teasing his.

He then pulled back and his thumb gently brushed your cheek.

“This was… amazing, sweetheart. So fucking good,” he said, his soft gaze locked with yours, then he looked at Javi and nodded.

He withdrew, his cum dripping from your pussy onto Javi’s cock and Joel went to get a towel to clean you both up.

“We need a shower,” Javi laughed.

“Yeah, come on. It’s big enough for the three of us,” Joel said, helping you up.

The hot water felt amazing against your bodies. Javi and Joel washed you, their four hands roaming over your body, sharing kisses here and there, with you or each other. You washed them too, taking the time to feel their skin and muscles under the tips of your fingers, your eyes moving from one man to the other, grateful for this moment full of sharing, full of trust, where everyone just wanted to make the others feel good. 

Javi knelt in front of you to wash your thighs and pressed soft kisses on your belly then your mound. You trembled. 

“I know, baby. I know. She’s sensitive. I just couldn’t resist, she’s so pretty. Like every inch of you,” he smiled at you before getting up.

“Are you going soft, Javi?” you asked mischievously.

“With you? Always,” he added, looking so pretty and tender that you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressed yourself against him and kissed him while Joel was peppering kisses over your shoulder.

You had breakfast at Joel’s place, and they smiled, watching you devour every bite. 

“What?” you asked, mouth full. “You drained all my energy, I gotta get it back!”

“You’re not wrong,” Joel chuckled.

“So,” you started to say. “This was… unexpected,” you were twirling your fork between your fingers. “And maybe I’m still high from it, but… I’ll be honest, I hope this isn’t just a one-time thing. What do you guys think?” you asked, looking at them.

“You already know my answer, baby. I’m all in,” Javi replied. You smiled at him, then looked at Joel, unsure what he’d say about that.

He took his time, watching the two of you. Even grabbed a bite, then put down his fork.

“‘course I’m all in. I’d be a fool to say no to this pussy. And this cock,” he added, looking at Javi, who leaned back against his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He clasped his hands behind his head, full of self-confidence. So… Javi, right now. Your gorgeous, amazing best friend.

“Yeah, you’d be a fool, for sure,” he smirked and gave you a wink.

More Javi x reader x Joel: Blackmail series (different AU)

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Hot hot hotttttt!

[half-moon16]

Claroscuro

pairing: Javier Peña x f!bartender reader

summary: After being dragged to Laredo, TX by your ex, you take up a job as a bartender at a local dive bar. Originally, it was just to to get back on your feet but after 3 years of stagnation, your world gets shaken up when a new visitor begins to frequent your bar.

tags/warnings: E-rated: MDNI!!, alternating timelines, heavy smut, unprotected PIV, oral (m & F), edging, hella dirty talk (it's Javi), pinch of mirror sex, pet names (pretty girl, hermosa), a little bit of protective Javi, a little bit of trauma'd Javi, smoking, drinking, cursing, gun use, no physical descriptions of reader outside of having thick thighs and long-ish hair (header pic isn't completely accurate but damn it was hard to find much of anything I had envisioned in my mind lol) but she does have a Southern drawl.

word count: 13.2k 😬

note: no note just smut. byeeee.

You didn’t mean to end up in his bed again.

Yet here you are—propped up on the edge of it with your legs tossed over his shoulders, his face buried deep between them as he brings you to the edge for the third time tonight. He seems to revel in the way he takes you to the brink of pleasure only to leave you in limbo, barely hanging on by a lousy thread.

You don’t know how or when he learned your body so quickly—the ins and outs of you that make your chest heave and your body shudder as you chant his name—but now that he has, you don’t think you ever want him to stop.

And he doesn’t seem to want to stop either.

He has become your entire summer. The time you’d usually spend taking weekend trips to the coast or going out to tear up town with your friends has fallen by the wayside—all of your free time completely encompassed by him. When you’re with him, you want time to stand still. And when you’re not with him you’re constantly thinking about when you’ll see him again.

……..........................................................

The first time he showed up at the bar where you work wasn’t anything special. It was like any other early summer night in south Texas and your bar was like any other typical watering hole in the area.

He could’ve wound up at any of them but he landed in front of you.

He walked in like a slow roll of thunder during a late night summer storm as it blows in on a warm gust. One that hesitates for a beat after a blinding flash of lightning off in the distance. Nothing loud or flashy—he didn’t have any need to call attention to himself—just a steady presence that rumbled with something more just under the surface.

His eyes were a deep chocolate brown. It’s the first thing you noticed about him. They had something so warm and inviting yet guarded behind them when he looked up at you to order. You didn’t realize the two characteristics could co-exist.

Out of the curiosity that comes when a fresh face walks in, you’d asked him that first night what brought him to your bar specifically. He said you carried a Colombian beer he liked and couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Oh? How’d you first try it? Was it here? Maybe before I started?”

“No,” he said as he took a swig from his bottle.

“‘No’ That’s all I get? It’s not exactly a common one—at least not around here. My boss just happens to be somewhat of a beer connoisseur,” you probed as you wiped down the bartop.

“Well then—I just so happen to be a beer connoisseur myself,” he huffed as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

You tossed him a matchbook. “Strange coincidence,” you said with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“Guess so,” he ripped a match against the striker and placed the flame to the tip of his cigarette until it scorched the white paper with the hue of freshly burning tobacco.

You didn’t press him any further. You’re well versed in the business of making small talk that comes with being a bartender.

And you also know when someone wants to be left alone.

He’d come and gone nearly as quickly as your conversation. After his second cigarette and the single beer, he’d left while you were chatting with one of your regulars—his spot at the bar replaced with cash for the drink and your service.

……..........................................................

At this point in the night, you’re hot, sweaty, frustrated. You have no idea what time it is or how long he’s been denying you your release. All you know is you’ve never been so fucking desperate to come. When he said he was going to take his time with you tonight you didn’t think it would involve so much…torture. Every pass of his tongue through your folds makes you dizzy with lust, your core fluttering and squeezing tight when he pushes a finger or two between them teasingly.

He had positioned his standing mirror directly in front of where he knew he was going to have you for the night. He wanted to make sure you’d be able to see how much of a fucking wreck you are when he’s got you like this. Anytime your head has dipped since he started to work you, he’s made sure to tip your chin back up to exactly where he wants you to focus.

So, you look up again at the reflection in front of you. Your skin, dewy from the sickly summer humidity, practically glows in the soft lighting of his room. Your lips stay permanently parted as he draws little gasps and moans from you. You wish you could say your hair is perfectly sex-toussled, but there’s nothing perfect about it as it plasters itself to the sweat on your neck and cheek. Your favorite part of the reflection though, is the way the muscles of his back look like perfectly sculpted art from the way the warm lighting casts dramatic shadows through his room. You whimper quietly every time his shoulders flex when he repositions you as he pleases.

You watch with your jaw dropped open as his hand caresses up your body to roll a peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your brows furrow as you cry out in a pathetic whine that you expect him to understand.

Whether he cares though is a different story.

“What’s wrong, hermosa?” He rasps before he nips lightly against your inner thigh.

“Javi, please,” you pant above him, your body involuntarily rolling, desperate for friction. “I need to come.”

……..........................................................

The next time he showed up, your back was turned to the door as you counted the pallets of beer that had been delivered that morning. You instinctively greeted him with the standard “hey welcome in, be with you in just a sec,” when you’d heard the rusty bell above the door ring.

After you’d finished your pre-rush inventory, you turned around only to be met with those same brown eyes that had caught your attention the last time you saw him. He seemed more on edge tonight than before as he sat there fidgeting with a paper coaster, his eyes flicking back and forth as he scanned the bar.

“Oh, hey there! Welcome back….” You trailed as you waited for him to fill in the silence with his name you didn’t happen to catch before.

“Javi,” he said with a dip of his head.

“Javi,” you smile. “Seems like you could use somethin’ a little stronger to take the edge off tonight?” You suggested.

“What makes you say that?”

“That coaster was fresh before you sat down,” you leaned against the bar in front of him, playfully plucking the destroyed cardboard between your fingers.

“Shit. Sorry,” he laughed under his breath.

“I’m just teasin’,” you drawled as you flung the mangled paper into the trash. “What’re you havin’ tonight, honey?”

His first and second rounds, he ordered the same beer that had initially drawn him in, but as the night went on he switched to whiskey which he seemed to savor longer.

For the first part of the night, the bar was slammed—a typical Saturday. It didn’t leave you much room to converse, only checking in with him when he needed a refill, but you could still feel his eyes on you as you buzzed around the bar through the rush.

Lucky for you, the switch up of booze and the time it had to settle into him gave you more of an opportunity to get him talking. He finally seemed somewhat relaxed compared to when he first sat down.

The end of the rush has always been your favorite time of the night. The bar settles into such a calming energy. You get a breather plus a chance to actually talk to your regulars—but tonight your focus is all on him.

“Felt your eyes burnin’ a hole in me all night, Javi. You got somethin’ to say finally?” You gave him a sly glance as you removed a fresh batch of glasses from the dishwasher.

He smirked at your call-out, “was it that obvious?”

“Maybe not to some people, but I’m very observant,” you flirted.

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled and pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket, extending it out to you in an offer you politely declined.

“I sure am,” you smiled at him and leaned over to rest your elbows against the bar. You took note of the way his eyes dropped to your cleavage despite how brief it was—another part of bartending you’ve grown accustomed to. You usually play it up anyways since a glimpse of tit gets you more tip money but you didn’t want Javi’s money.

You wanted his attention.

“I guess I do have a question for you,” he rasped as he flicked his cigarette into the ashtray. “What the fuck are you doing in this place?”

“Uhh bartendin’?” you looked around confused.

“No, not in the bar,” he laughed, “in Laredo. Not much going on here unless you’re a farmer or stay-at-home mom,” he took a drag from his cigarette as he studied you.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” you laughed, “Okay…I’ll tell you—but—you have to promise not to laugh at me,” you said in a hushed voice.

“I don’t usually make promises but I guess I can make an exception for you,” he shot back.

Your cheeks grew hot with a quick flush, suddenly much more nervous with all of his focus on you. He seemed kind but even in his kindness he was laced with a quiet intensity that equally made you cautious and curious for more.

“Uhm well, it’s really not that interestin’—moved here from Dallas for a boy. He broke my heart. Took this job while I worked on figurin’ out what I wanted to do next—get back on my feet—and now here it is 3 years later and I still have no fuckin’ clue what I’m doin’. Tale as old as time, I guess,” you shrug.

“His loss,” he said as he flicked more ash into the tray in front of him.

“Damn straight,” you shot back proudly. “Now, what about you? I gave you somethin’ you gotta return the favor,” you grabbed the bottle of whiskey and topped him off—a friendly bit of encouragement to get him to stay just a bit longer.

He leaned back in his chair, cigarette hanging from his lips, “Well, what I give back to you all depends…what do you wanna know?”

“Hmm, I finally got your name earlier, so I suppose I’ll move on with the standard script— where ya from?” you leaned back onto the corner of the bar next to where he sat.

“I’m from here—from Laredo,” he said before taking a swig of fresh whiskey.

“Oh—really?” You asked quizzically.

“Is that hard to believe or something?” He chuckled.

“No, it’s just—are you a farmer? You don’t seem the type,” you said with an inquisitive brow raised. His clothes and hair were much too clean and neat compared to your regular clientele.

“Not exactly, but my Pops has a ranch. He’s getting older so I’ve been helping him out,” he shrugged.

“Aww, bless. You’re a good son, Javi,” you said as you reached over the bar to give him a playful pat on the shoulder. “Wait…Javi—are you Chucho Peña’s Javi?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I am,” he leaned forward to stub out his cigarette into the ashtray, seemingly somewhat bashful that you made the connection with no other information.

“Well, I guess that explains a lot,” it rolled off your tongue, sounding worse than you intended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He huffed in amusement.

“Oh! Nothing bad! Not at all! I’ve just, ya know, heard some things while out and about. You’re kinda famous around here I guess.”

“Famous, huh?” he questioned sarcastically.

“Don’t worry. I don’t get starstruck,” you winked.

“Small-town bullshit,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I’ve come to learn all about it—it’s a lot more political than I expected,” you laughed.

“They gotta figure out where to put you in the hierarchy so they know how much shit they’re allowed to talk about you. It’s serious business,” he said with a raised eyebrow before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“Well, you don’t seem to have that problem. You’re basically the king aren’t ya?” you teased.

“It’s not so easy being at the top, you know. That’s when they talk the most shit,” he trailed off before continuing, “so, what else have you heard?”

You felt his energy shift—not enough to be outwardly noticeable to others, but you could tell he was at least a little worried about what you might say despite his nonchalance.

“Uhm, well—I know you worked in law enforcement here before leaving to join the DEA…” you started.

“That it?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, no,” you paused and cautiously weighed how to continue, but he gave a reassuring glance that it was okay for you to complete your thought.

“I also heard you left your fiancé at the altar a while back,” your face twisted up like you were bracing for impact.

“Fuck, they still talk about that?” He huffed and squirmed in his seat.

“Yeah, I’m sorry! I really didn’t wanna say, Javi—didn’t wanna make you feel bad,” you laughed and brought your hands up to cover your face sheepishly.

“Didn’t wanna make me feel bad?” he said, shocked.

“Well, yeah? I mean, you musta had your reasons—I don’t know, it’s none of my business,” you shrugged and waved it off.

The longer you talked the more you realized that despite the face he shows outwardly, he’s actually softly charming and funny—able to go back and forth with you with relative ease. Didn’t hurt that he was handsome as hell either. You wondered why he walked around like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders all the time—or at least the times you’d seen him.

“Aye! Left you a lil’ somethin’ down at the end of the bar, sweetheart,” you heard someone call out behind you.

“Oh, shit, Larry! I thought you’d left ages ago. Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you clasped your hands over your heart.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Luisa’s out front to get me anyways. I’ll see ya next week, darlin’,” he shot you both a knowing wink and was out the door.

“Shit,” you whispered when you turned back to Javi, “I really fuckin’ forgot about him,” you giggled.

“We’re gonna be the talk of the town now,” Javi sighed.

“Especially if Luisa gets a whiff,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “Well, I better let you get goin’ before they can make up any more gossip fodder. I should’ve started closin’ up a half hour ago,” you said as you took his empty glass and placed it in the sink.

“The owner makes you close up alone?” He stood up from his seat to lean against the bar.

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” you rounded the bar and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder before wiping his chair down and stacking it on the bar top.

He followed your lead and started to stack chairs on tables across from you.

“What’re you doin’, Javi? Get outta here it’s late,” you waved him on.

“Which is exactly why I’m staying to help you. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be in here alone this late,” he said as he stacked another set of chairs.

You hold it together just enough to not let his complement get the better of your independent spirit even if you were screaming inside.

“Baby, this is Texas. I’m armed,” you shot back with a smirk.

……..........................................................

He slinks up from the floor, never coming to a full stand as he pushes you up the bed with heated, sloppy kisses. Your hands instinctively fly up to tangle in his soft brown locks as you nip at his bottom lip.

He groans above you, finally giving you the first glimpse of how gone he is at this point too. Now that he’s not buried between your thighs, you can see how glazed over in pleasure his eyes are, his pupils blown out wide to the point you can’t see their chocolate brown at all.

“Fuck, Javi,” you pant and reach out to start slowly stroking him. He hisses followed by a low groan as he pulses in your hand. “You know you didn’t have to wait this long? Didn’t have to do this to yourself,” you coo.

“Wanted to see how far both of us could go before fucking losing it,” he captures your lips with his and teases the tip of his tongue at your top lip. You gasp and part your lips so you can roll your tongue against his languidly.

“Who’s winnin’?” It drips from your lips like honey as you stop pumping him to plunge two fingers into your aching pussy.

“Ohh fuck,” he moans as he looks down in awe at where you gather your slick and use it to slowly start pumping his thick length.

You watch with kiss-swollen lips, parted in raw desire as his brow furrow in concentration as he starts to fuck your hand.

“Need you inside me, Javi,” you pant as you squeeze him, “need to feel you.”

He groans as he leans forward to kiss you heatedly. You breathe into him and trap him close to you by pulling at the waves at the back of his head. He drags his tongue lazily against yours, mirroring the way he drags his throbbing cock through your soaked entrance.

“This what you need, pretty girl?” he taunts against your lips as he pushes his swollen tip through your folds.

“Yes, more, please,” you beg in a pant.

“You want more?” he says as he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger to force you to look at him. You look up at him lazily through your lashes, eyes half-lidded and clouded with need as you nod and arch your back into him.

Without a word, he licks your bottom lip and has you chasing his kiss before unexpectedly flipping you over onto all fours before your brain can even process it.

You let out a surprised whine as he spreads his hand across your back and presses your chest down into the mattress. He slips his other arm under your hips to support your weight and so your ass is up and on full display for him.

He groans from deep in his chest at the filthy sight in front of him. He rubs his thumb tantalizingly slowly through your puffy folds and all you can do is whine and squirm beneath him as another wave of arousal floods you.

“Fuck, hermosa, look at you,” he rasps as he spreads your cheeks apart. The sound of your pussy lips separating drags quiet moans from both of you.

He keeps a hand on your upper back so that you stay pressed into the mattress as he starts to tease you again, pushing his tip in slowly through your slit, mesmerized as your needy pussy tries to pull him in.

“Tell me what you want,” he groans as he ruts against you, barely holding it together himself.

You squirm under him as you try to push yourself back onto his cock, “please fuck me, Javi, fuck—please.”

“You’re so fucking wet for me, hermosa, think you can take it all at once?” he murmurs against your skin as he leans over to leave hot kisses against your back.

“Yes…I can, I can,” you babble against the bedsheets.

You hear him adjust his stance behind you as he positions his hands on your hips. He squeezes the soft flesh there hard as he pulls you back onto him and thrusts forward until he’s buried in your fluttering pussy to the base.

Primal sounds rip deeply from both of your throats as he settles inside you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming relief of finally being so fucking full of him.

He pulls his hips back almost completely as he hisses and moans behind you, entranced by the way your slick shines and covers his entire shaft. When you’re about to beg him for more, he slides back inside you with one slow but forceful thrust, punching the air from your lungs.

He slowly starts to pick up his pace, dragging in and out of you against that spot that makes you lose your breath and see stars.

“Ohh,” a drawn out moan leaves your lips and fills the space of his room. It spurs him on more, gradually thrusting harder with every sweet sound that you bless his ears with.

“Taking me so well, hermosa. Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunts as his hips stutter, your sign that he’s barely hanging on the same as you.

……..........................................................

A couple weeks later when he showed again, you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at the sight of him walking through the door—a nervous surge of excitement at seeing him again.

“Well hey stranger! Thought you’d left me for good,” you said with a million watt smile plastered on your face.

It was an extra hot late July evening. Wearing as little clothes as possible without being an indecent exposure case was basically a life skill here. You had shimmied your way into a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a tight white scoop neck cropped tank. You figured the way the shorts hugged your curves would rack up the tips tonight, at least. You’d been too rushed and irritated to bother with your hair or makeup, so you left your place with your waves wild from the humidity and nothing but the glow of your own sweat on your face.

It didn’t seem to deter Javi from raking his eyes over you from top to bottom as he crossed the floor to take his seat at the bar. You couldn’t help yourself from doing the same to him. His shirt was unbuttoned even lower than usual and the sheen of sweat that glistened across his freckled chest sent your mind to places you weren’t proud of.

“I could never,” he rasped, “came out in this heatwave just to see you.”

“Oh please, you came for the finest whiskey in town,” you teased with a side eye as you grabbed a rocks glass from under the bar and started to pour.

“And to see you,” he smirked as you slid the glass over to him.

“Sure,” you said with a playful eye roll, “So where ya been? Anything fun happen?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it fun,” he said, swirling his drink, “I was traveling around the state—going on job interviews.”

You laughed to yourself at the way he said it like it was the most painful thing he’s ever had to do.

“Interviews huh? You gettin’ antsy at the ranch?” You probed as you leaned your hip against the bar to get comfortable.

He chuckled low, “No, it’s just—I’ve also been trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. The ranch is mostly temporary.”

“Well, look at us. Two wanderin’ souls—at least you’re takin’ action. What kinda jobs you interviewin’ for?”

“Teaching jobs, actually. At whichever university will take me—but I’d prefer it to be one that’s closer by so I can still be at the ranch when my Pops needs me.”

“Oh that’s great Javi!” you reached across the bar to put your hand on top of his, “I’m sure any and all of ‘em would be lucky to have you. I bet there’s a lot you could teach those kids.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he smiled, “I’ve got a bunch of bullshit stored up here I don’t need anymore. Figured I could do something useful with it,” he said as he pointed to his head.

“Well, you just let me know when they all call you back with offers and I’ll treat ya to a night of drinks on me,” you assured with a wink as you skated away to take another customer’s order.

Throughout the night, you both continually caught each other’s eye. Nearly any time you turned around from helping another patron, he was already watching you. You gave small smiles at first, which he’d return. Sometimes he’d look away, embarrassed that you kept catching him, but then something in you shifted. You’d been keeping things friendly between the two of you, but you wanted to push your luck just a bit more to see how he’d react.

You swayed over to the tap to refill a beer and caught his eye again, except this time you looked at him with more fire behind your eyes. It elicited a curious eyebrow raise from him and a barely concealed smirk as he brought his glass to his lips. You turned around to serve the beer to its rightful customer before you turned back around in Javi’s direction, bottom lip pulled in between your teeth, ready to make a move when you froze in place.

You ex.

Your eyes got big, the lip that had been pulled between your teeth now dropped open in shock. Javi looked at you, confused at the direction your cat and mouse game took, before he turned around to see a man standing at the entrance of the bar staring directly at you. A wave of cold ran through your body as he lurked there, waiting for a reaction.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between Javi and this ghost from your past. Part of you wanted to run to Javi—something about him screamed protective to you—yet, another part didn’t want to give your ex the satisfaction of running to another man for help.

You looked over at Javi as you tried to hide the anxiety thrumming through you.“Um, excuse me just a minute,” you said.

You marched over to him, catching his elbow in your hand to guide him back outside. "Mateo, what the fuck are you doing here?” you gritted through your teeth.

“Wanted a beer. Figured I hit up the bar where I have a connection,” he said smugly.

“You showed up here—at my bar—expecting to get free booze? Unbelievable,” you shook your head and crossed your arms, closing yourself off.

“C’mon baby don’t be like that,” he reached out to touch your face. You turned your head away from him in disgust.

“I’m not your baby and you’re not gettin’ anything from me, so get the fuck out of here and don’t come back,” you said sternly.

The two of you went back and forth quietly outside as he tried to appeal to the part of you he knew he’d hurt. It used to work on you when you actually still loved him. You gave him so much of your heart—your life— that he never deserved in the first place.

He wasn’t about to get anything else from you.

You subtly peeked back through the open door of the bar to see if anyone was standing around, possibly waiting to pay or for a refill—anything that you could use as a reason to get out of having this interaction last any longer—when you saw Javi turned around in his chair, watching everything go down.

You turned your focus back to Mateo who had been blabbing on even though you hadn’t been paying any attention.

“Look, can you just—shut the fuck up? I don’t know what you expected to happen here but it’s not going to. Whether its free booze or gettin’ back in my good graces—not gonna happen,” you raised your voice with the hope that he’d understand you’re not fucking around—that you’d get louder if you needed to.

“Pretty rude to tell a guest to shut the fuck up don’t ya think?” he took a step towards you, forcing you to take two backwards.

“You’re not a fuckin’ guest, you’re a trespasser,” you spit back.

“Just let me talk to you,” he said as he reached out to grab your arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you yelled as you jerked your arm from his grip.

“Is there a problem here?” Javi rasped as he lit up a cigarette, slowly slinking his way over to you.

“The fuck do you care? Who the fuck even are you? Some customer? She’s not gonna fuck you, pendejo,” Mateo chuckled.

Javi huffed out a sardonic laugh before taking a long drag of his smoke, his confidence never wavering as he looked down his nose at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Mateo? Who says somethin’ like that to somebody?” You shoved his shoulder before turning towards Javi, “I’m sorry Javi—go ahead back inside. I’ll take care of this.”

“Are you sure?” Javi said gently. His gaze never broke from yours. He was determined to make sure that when you said you were fine, you really, truly were.

“Yes, it's okay,” you said with an exhale, “nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before.”

He looked at you softly, his deep brown eyes rounded with quiet concern for you. You couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at you like that and you barely even knew him. You felt your chest swell at the realization he might care for you at little more than you thought as he walked back to the entrance of the bar. He didn’t go back inside, but instead, leaned by the door frame casually to keep a watchful eye as he smoked.

You turned your attention back to Mateo. “You need to leave. I have to get back to fuckin’ work,” you said with an exhausted eye roll.

“Yeah, okay. Head back to your dead-end life as a small-town bartender. You’re really gonna go far,” he scoffed.

“Oh, fuck you,” you pointed your finger into his chest,” You’re the reason why I even had to take this job! Or did you forget that you dragged me here just to implode my life when somethin’ new and shiny came along? You don’t get to bulldoze your way back into my life cause she likely dumped your sorry ass. Now go on and get the fuck on away from my bar like the fuckin’ dawg you are before I call the cops.”

He stared you down in silence. He knew you were right. There was no way to dispute it. You weren’t the same sad sack he’d left broken and crying on the floor of your shared apartment three years ago.

“Yeah. Got nothin’ to say, huh?” you smirked, “your car is that way you stupid son of a bitch,” you pointed in the direction of his truck.

He walked away with his tail between his legs and one last look back which was met with a stern middle finger from you.

“Sorry piece of shit,” you huffed as you walked back to the front door where Javi was waiting. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. God, that's embarrassin’.”

“So that was the guy?” He chuckled.

“Hey, don’t judge, okay. I was young and stupid—very stupid. Probably still am for the way he can still upset me all this time later,” you sighed as the two of you walked back to the bar.

Javi hopped back up in his chair, “I definitely have no room to judge—but I know you aren’t stupid for loving someone who pulled the wool over your eyes,” he looked up at you with complete sincerity.

“Thanks, Javi,” you said as you reached across the bar top to place a gentle hand on top of his. You didn’t realize you’d lingered a bit too long until he started to rub his thumb lightly against your skin.

You gasped quietly, coming back into your consciousness. “Sorry, uhm—let me get you another drink.”

As you walked to the center of the bar, you picked up the cleared tabs and tips along the way. There were a couple of stragglers chatting by the door as they worked towards saying their goodbyes for the night.

Once they left, it was just you and Javi.

You grabbed the bottle of whiskey and made your way back over to him, pouring it slowly, “tell me when,” you sighed, exhausted. You couldn’t be fucked to care at this point if he took a little extra, but to your surprise he told you to stop at his usual order of two fingers.

“You don’t want more? Last chance,” you laughed.

“No, but I do want you to pour one for yourself,” he said with a persuasive pout.

“I’ve got to start closin’ up, Javi,” you waved him off playfully.

“Well then, I’ll help you close up again and then you’ll pour one for yourself. It’ll go faster with both of us anyway,” he got up off his chair, pushing his drink off to the side so he could stack the chair in its place.

“Javi,” you said with a coy smile and an eye roll.

“What?” he looked at you quizzically, feigning confusion.

“Fine,” you said as you started to stack chairs on the other side of the bar, “but I get to ask you some questions while we close.”

“I’m an open book,” he assured.

“Right,” you said skeptically. As open as a jail cell, you thought to yourself. “So, how long were you with the DEA?”

“Uhh—I guess about 15 years give or take,” he shrugged and stacked another chair on a table.

“How many of those years did you spend in Colombia?” you walked around the bar, wiping it down as you went along.

“About 10 or 11 probably? Kind of all blurred together, ” he responded shortly as he stacked the last chair on a table in the corner.

“Oh, wow! That’s such a long time,” you said somewhat shocked. “So you pretty much had a whole established life down there and everything.”

“I dunno if I’d say established—had to move around a lot. Travel at a moment’s notice. That kinda stuff,” he seemed less enthusiastic the more you asked as he finished making his way around the bar.

“Well, that seems excitin’—was it?” you asked innocently.

He got quiet as he met you back by the bar top, “don’t know if I’d say that either,” he said quickly, “pour your drink, we’re all closed up,” he said.

You thought it was curious how quickly he changed the subject, but you poured yourself a glass anyway.

You swirled the amber liquid under your nose, taking in the warm notes of oak and caramel. “Can’t remember the last time I let myself have a good glass of whiskey,” you smiled as you brought the rim up to your mouth.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to your full lips pressed against the glass.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “that’s good shit.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” he agreed and tilted his glass towards you.

You clinked yours against his, the crystal rims meeting with a bright ring, “salud,” you smiled and took another sip.

“Salud,” he tossed back what he had left in his glass.

You lifted up the bottle in a silent ask to see if he wanted more. He gave you a thankful shake of his head, but declined. “Come outside and have a smoke with me though—and bring that gun you said you’ve got. I wanna see you shoot.”

“Uhh—what?” You laughed as you plucked a cigarette from the pack he extended out to you.

“C’mon it’ll be fun—plus, being armed doesn’t mean shit if you can’t shoot,” he grabbed a few empty beer cans from the bag you had filled to line up on the top of the fence outside the bar.

“I hope you know this is fuckin’ patronizin’, Javi,” you teased and followed him anyways, gun in tow.

“I just wanna make sure your ex is too scared to show up here again. I might have some tips for you,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t remember askin’ you for tips,” you sassed.

He walked over to the side of the building and balanced each can carefully along the uneven wood of the fence. You laughed to yourself at how excited he was about it.

Once the makeshift range was set up, he returned to your side. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said and stepped behind you.

You turned around towards the fence with a huff and grounded your feet to prepare yourself. You placed your cigarette between your lips, letting it dangle loosely as you gripped the gun in your hands then raised your arms until they were out straight. You watched Javi out of the corner of your eye. You swear you saw his breath hitch as he studied the thickness of your thighs as they glistened in the heat while he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“Eyes up here, Peña,” you winked, trying to play off the way his gaze made warmth begin to pool in your lower belly.

He cleared his throat, followed by a raspy “alright, shoot.”

Feeling confident in the way you played it off, you braced yourself and pulled the trigger like it was the most natural thing in the world to you.

A miss.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath.

You reset yourself

A graze but still a miss.

“Shit!” You stomped a foot in the dirt, sending a dusty cloud into the air. “Guess I’m kinda rusty. Haven’t made it to the range in a while,” you smirked, slightly embarrassed.

“Give me the gun,” he demanded with his hand outstretched.

“Excuse you, Javier?,” you gasped in offense, ‘May I have the gun, please?’ You mean? Don’t make me tell your daddy you went and lost your manners” you raised a stern eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t,” he walked closer to you, hand still outstretched, waiting for the gun.

“You don’t know me well enough to know if I would or wouldn’t,” you smirked.

“Well…I’d like to,” he kept his eyes locked on yours until you couldn’t take their eagerness anymore.

You smiled coyly and looked away from him, completely caught off guard by his forwardness. The butterflies fluttering in your stomach almost distracted you from your little game of keep away.

“Oh, you’re smooth aren’t ya?” you feigned offense.

He didn’t say anything in response, just plastered a lopsided smirk on his face that all but said “yeah I know” for him.

“May I have the gun? Please?” he pouted as he dragged his thumb across his bottom lip.

You pretended to contemplate giving it to him while your brain felt like it was short-circuiting at his attempt to seduce you into handing it over. You had no doubt that pout usually got him anything he wanted and you didn’t want to give him the immediate win, despite the way he made your pussy clench.

“Please?” he repeated.

You bit your lip and side-eyed him before rolling your eyes and handing it over.

“Fine,” you said and crossed your arms.

“Thank you, hermosa,” he said with a wink.

You stood off to the side, your nervous energy displaced only slightly by the repetitive tapping of your foot as you flicked your cigarette butt into the dirt.

He quietly set himself up, even further back than where you had been standing, then fired off round after round as each can clinked to the ground in succession until they’d all been hit.

“Show off,” you huffed. He shot you a sly smile and slinked back towards you, his chest out proudly.

“So, you want those tips or not?” He teased.

“Fine. Gimme your tips,” you resigned. “How’d you even learn to do that so good anyways?”

“Practice,” he said matter of factly as he re-loaded the gun for you and passed it back. 

Before you could shoot off a snarky response, he ran off to gather more cans and set up a new line across the fence before jogging back over to you.

You walked over to the spot you originally chose, much closer than where he’d shot from. He positioned himself behind you to mold your body into what he deemed to be the correct stance. He lightly tapped his knee against the back of one of your legs to get you to spread your legs wider and it shot an unexpectedly strong bolt of arousal to your core. Your breath hitched quietly enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—though the low, half-snicker he huffed out behind you told you your hope was likely useless. As you tried to regain your composure, he placed his hands on your hips to angle your body in the right direction.

You couldn’t help how badly you wanted their warmth to return once he let go.

“Okay—now square your shoulders, put your arms out straight but don’t lock your elbows this time, brace them just enough,” he said as he guided his hands under your arms, his lips so close to your skin his breath tickled the side of your neck, sending another involuntary wave of heat between your legs.

“Um okay, fuck,” you whispered, suddenly lacking in sass after feeling his body pressed against you. You were now acutely aware of how broad his shoulders were as his frame felt like it was engulfing you.

“Okay, now take a deep breath, slowly—in and out—steady yourself,” the low rasp of his voice was so close to you it nearly made your knees give out. “Now, when you’re ready, take the shot,” he said as he backed away to give you space, pleased with his instruction.

You took a moment to breathe one more time in an attempt to refocus yourself now that he had taken a few steps back—but god all you could think about was how the sound of his voice shot straight to your pussy. You wanted to hear it, low and gravely, in your ear as he talked you through something else. You shook your head at your body’s ridiculous response before you pulled the trigger immediately after—as if you were shooting down the thoughts for even fucking crossing your mind.

Clink

You spun around on your heel towards Javi’s direction, your jaw dropped open in amazement at yourself. He smiled back at you, seemingly as proud of your shot as you were.

“Hit one more. Go on,” he smirked as he waved you to turn back around.

“Okay, shoulders back like this, legs out this far, arms—not locked,” you whisper to yourself as you go through the inventory of tips he just gave you. “And breathe,” you exhaled.

Clink

Breathe.

Clink

You jumped up in excitement while Javi came to stand next to you again with a pat on the back and a proud “that’a girl.”

“Thank you, Javi!” You said excitedly as you threw your arms around his neck for an appreciative hug. Your wish to have his hands on you again was granted as he wrapped his arms around your waist cautiously, as if he felt like he might cross a line if he held you any tighter.

You’d come to the conclusion that although he clearly knew the effect he had on women, he was still a born and raised Texas boy at heart. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable despite the way you threw yourself onto him.

You pulled back, your arms still lazily draped over his shoulders as you looked over to the fence, proud that all the cans were now lying on the ground.

You didn’t even realize how close you really were until you turned to face him again. You dragged your eyes from where they’d landed on his lips up until you met his gaze. There was something more behind his eyes now, an ounce of nervous restraint infiltrating their usual intensity.

“Can I…can I kiss you?” He asked as his eyes flitted back and forth between yours in anticipation.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you breathed out as your lashes fluttered.

It started out innocent at first, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he gently pulled your lips to his. Your knees wavered at how soft they felt against yours as his mustache tickled your upper lip. He broke the kiss first, his lips hovering just above yours. He stroked his thumb gently across your cheekbone as he waited for you to be the one to make the next move if you wanted.

You definitely wanted more than that. You needed more than that. The suppressed arousal that threatened to overtake you earlier returned as you surged towards his lips again. He let out a surprised moan into your kiss and tangled his hand in the hair at the back of your head as you deepened it, pulling you closer to him. He teased his tongue across your bottom lip, coaxing you to part your lips wider. You obeyed without hesitation and slowly rolled your tongue against his. He pulled you into his chest harder, more desperate, and licked into your mouth pulling a quiet whimper from you.

“Wanna lock up and meet me at my place?” he murmured against your lips. You nodded your head quickly before he kissed you again and sent you off towards the bar with a light tap on your ass.

You gasped in surprise as you looked back over your shoulder at him, swaying your hips seductively to toy with him. He watched you with furrowed brows, his hand twitching at his side. You jogged back over to him and threw your arms over his shoulders as you crashed your lips against his. When you took a step back, breaking the kiss, he chased after you as you guided him to back you up against your car.

“Follow me?” he asked in between your increasingly desperate kisses.

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded and bit your lip, your pupils already blown out and wild with anticipation.

You’d dated occasionally in the three years since ending things with Mateo—had your fair share of hookups too—but none of them piqued your interest the way Javi did. He was different and you wanted to find out why.

He turned back to look at you in your car one last time before he hopped up into his truck. Once you were out of his direct line of sight, you leaned your forehead against your steering wheel and squealed to yourself.

You followed him off the main road, down a darker gravel road that led to the Peña ranch. Since Javi had returned from Colombia, he and Chucho had worked to build a small suite that extended off the main house so that he could have more privacy. Sleeping in his childhood bedroom as a man in his 40’s just wasn’t very appealing.

You barely had a chance to greet him at the front door before he was on you again. He fumbled trying to get the keys into the deadbolt lock, too focused on keeping himself pressed to you.

You hummed into the kiss, “mmm, do you need me to step out of the way?” He took the brief reprieve to eyeball the lock behind you, finally sliding the key in.

“Nope,” is all he said as the sound of the lock opening hit your ears. He pushed the door open as he dropped his head to your neck, leaving wet kisses against your heated skin. You gasped, then bit your lip as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

He kicked the door closed behind him as he pushed you further backward into the darkness of his apartment until your back hit the wall with a gentle thud. He kept you pinned there as he captured your lips heatedly. You fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt, your fingers shaking in anticipation for whatever plans he had for you. Once you’d managed to pop the final one open, he shrugged the shirt from his shoulders without ever breaking the kiss.

You began to toy with his belt buckle, but before you could tear it open, he dragged his hands up the soft skin under your shirt and removed it over your head in one smooth motion. This was the only time he hesitated as he took time to revel in your tits being bare for him for the first time.

Your chest heaved under the heat of his gaze as you looked up at him through your lashes. He cupped your cheek gently before he pulled you back in for a breathless kiss and started walking you backwards towards his bedroom. The closer you got, the more impatient both of you became, panting and gripping at each other in a frantic manifestation of the tension that had been building for weeks now.

When the back of your legs hit his bed, you laughed devilishly as he pushed you backwards onto the mattress. He leaned on an arm, hovering above you as he dipped his head to suck your nipple into his mouth.

You hissed at the sensation of his tongue rolling against it, your head tilting back as you arched into him, needy for more. You fumbled with the button on your shorts with a frustrated whine.

“I got you, hermosa, hold on,” he mumbled against your skin as he kissed his way down your soft curves. As he moved to undo the metal button, he planted slow kisses across your belly where the top of your shorts sat.

“Javi,” you whined and rolled your hips in frustration.

“So impatient,” he rasped as he pulled your zipper down, "Now, stand up,” he commanded, his voice even more low and gravely than when he was instructing you back at the bar.

You obeyed, unsteady on your legs, your pussy aching for any kind of touch when he pulled your shorts and panties off your hips together, letting them crumple to the floor around your feet.

You stood in front of him, now completely bare, a weird mix of vulnerability and want coursing through you as he exhaled sharply through his nose. You studied each other as quiet pants filled the room when your eyes dropped to where the outline of his cock was straining against his jeans. Desire coursed through you as you closed the space between you, your fingers delicately pulling on the waistband of his jeans before sliding down to undo his belt buckle. Once it clinked open, you wasted no time undoing them the rest of the way, your hand immediately dipping under the waistband to grip his length.

Your mouth dropped open at how thick he was as he throbbed in your grip. You rolled your thumb over the tip where slick precum was already leaking from him, “oh my god, Javi,” you breathed.

Unable to take anymore, you helped him peel off his jeans as you kneeled onto the floor in front of him. He hissed as he finally sprung free, enamored by the way you watched as it bounced in front of your face.

You scooted closer to him on your knees and looked up innocently as you wrapped your hand around his girth before you gently kissed his leaking head. He exhaled long and slow above you, as if he’d been holding his breath the entire night until now. You let out a pleased hum as you licked the underside of his tip before wrapping your lips around it and pulling off again with a pop.

“Fuck,” he panted, almost pathetically. You whined as you took him between your lips again and started stroking his shaft with slow movements of your wrist. He reached down and twisted his fingers in your hair, his jaw dropped as he watched you work him before he slowly started to guide your movements, gently pushing and pulling you up and down his length.

When you switched up and swallowed him all the way to the base, he choked out a moan and cursed under his breath before pulling you off and forcing you to stand. Before you could even get your bearings, he pulled you into him for a breathless kiss and walked you backwards to the bed. You scooted yourself back further onto the mattress as he chased your mouth, his length gently tapping against your dripping core as he moved between your legs.

You looked up at him, heated as your chest heaved. He sat back on his knees, taking all of you in before crossing the point of no return—when the only thing that matters is chasing his own release. You whined quietly as you spread your legs slowly, watching him intensely as his eyes turned even darker as they dropped to your throbbing heat. He only took one last look up to your face before he was on top of you again. You gripped his shoulders desperately as he lined himself up against your entrance and pushed himself in with the same unbridled franticness that brought you here to begin with. You gasped at the sudden stretch, your arm lifting up behind you to involuntarily grip onto the headboard as he groaned into the crook of your neck as if he’d been waiting to feel you his entire life.

You both stilled for a moment as you adjusted to him inside of you, fluttering around him as he twitched and throbbed. “Feel so good, baby—fuck,” he breathed against your skin. You hummed as you kissed his shoulder before scraping your teeth against his skin, overwhelmed by the way he filled you.

That was your last moment of stillness before he started fucking into you wildly, all the tension you’d built between you in the last few months translating into the way he thrusted his body into yours. You clutched at his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist, holding on as you let him overtake you.

Small gasps and moans punched out of you with every thrust of his hips, pulling increasingly loud grunts from deep in his throat. The sounds of your pussy squelching around him as his skin slapped against yours filled the room, spurring the both of you on even more. You rolled your hips against his, meeting each thrust as you chased your orgasm.

He hovered over your lips as you shared pants between needy, messy kisses before he adjusted himself to hook one of your legs in the nook of his elbow. Your eyes fluttered shut as a loud cry escaped your lips from the deepness of the new angle and the way it allowed him to rub perfectly against that sweet spot inside your walls. The pressure that had been building inside you was threatening to finally explode.

“That it right there, hermosa?” he choked out, looking down at you with glazed over eyes, completely lost in his pursuit to see you fall apart around him.

“Ohhh, yes, mmhmm,” you panted as you dipped a hand down to rub delicate circles against your clit. The contrast between the slow drag of your fingers through your slick and the pace he fucked you pushed you that much closer to your end.

What finally sent you over was the way he groaned, long and low, when he looked down between your bodies and realized you were touching yourself. You eyes squeezed shut as your body seized in his arms, your free arm flying up to wrap around his shoulder to hold on as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own.

He followed behind you shortly after as he dropped your leg and braced himself on both arms, entrapping you between them. He kissed you as his thrusts stuttered and lost their rhythm, then came with a wrecked sound, grinding his hips into you as he spurted hot ropes inside your walls. His hands had become wrapped in your hair and he kept them there as he slowly rolled his hips, fucking his spend deeper inside of you. You hissed under him and guided his lips to yours, then teasingly rolled your tongue against his bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you moaned quietly into his mouth as you both came down from your high, your breath beginning to steady though he was still buried inside you.

“Did so good, hermosa,” he rasped hotly against your neck before he leaned himself up on one arm to look down at the fucked out look on your face. “So fucking pretty,” he murmured as he traced his thumb across your cheekbone in a deceptively sweet gesture.

You blinked your eyes slowly, completely exhausted in your post-orgasm bliss as he pulled out of you with a strangled groan. You sighed at the loss of his thickness as he rolled onto his back next to you.

You scooted yourself into his side, draping an arm over his middle and rested your head against his chest as you traced your fingers lazily against his skin. As you settled again, he stroked your hair absentmindedly as you both returned to your bodies. You laid still in the quiet of his room, letting the rise and fall of his chest ground you.

Eventually, he rolled over to reach over to his nightstand and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that were there waiting for him. He pushed himself up so that his back was against the headboard before he brought the cigarette to his lips and placed the flame to the tip.

You sighed and propped yourself up on an elbow as you watched him take a long drag. You smirked at how fucked out he looked as he handed it to you for a hit. You lazily plucked it from his fingers and brought it to your kiss-swollen lips, inhaling slowly before passing it back to him. You let yourself savor the buzz of the nicotine as it injected some life back into you.

Finally, Javi spoke.

“Holy shit,” he huffed with a lop-sided smirk.

“You can fuckin’ say that again,” you shot back as you collapsed into his pillows.

He chuckled under his breath and passed the cigarette to you again. As you stared at the ceiling and took another drag, your mind went back to the bar earlier. The images of the way his face dropped and demeanor changed when you were asking him questions ran through our head. You started to connect that his gruff exterior might be some kind of defense mechanism—a way to keep himself safe from a threat that no longer exists. You weren’t fully knowledgeable about what happened to him while he was gone, but you wanted to be able to give him a space to talk about it. Be someone who could try to understand. To make him see that he doesn’t have to shut himself off. 

You delicately handed the cigarette back to him as you contemplated, spurred on by your growing care for him as you asked, “you know, earlier, at the bar?”

“Yeah, which part?” he sighed as he scooted himself back down the bed, his head coming to land on the pillow next to yours.

“The part when we were asking each other questions…I feel like we didn’t get to finish since we had closed up and then…well,” you laughed.

“Okay,” he laughed skeptically, “what else do you wanna know?”

“Well,” you paused briefly, “you seemed to have it pretty good here before you went to Colombia. What made you wanna leave?”

He pursed his lips as he averted his eyes elsewhere—anywhere but your face.

He shrugged, “I just—wanted to make a difference. Wanted to help people.”

“That’s very admirable of you,” you said as you turned onto your side to face him.

“If you say so,” he breathed out as he reached over to stub the last of the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“Oh stop, of course it is,” you smiled, “did you like it there? Since you were down there for so long?”

“There were things I liked—was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, warm people…” he trailed off.

“…but,” you started.

You waited as the air hung thick with all the words you thought he might’ve liked to say, but couldn’t—or didn’t want to. He laid there, his brow furrowed in concentration, his jaw tensing and releasing as he thought.

“Saw a lot of people die…” the lines between his eyebrows deepened even more, “…I hurt a lot of people,” he said it as if the words were ripped from his throat involuntarily by some force outside of him.

“Oh Javi, I’m so sorry…I’m sure you only did what you had to do,” you looked at him affectionately.

“Would you stop that?” He asked defensively.

“Wh—stop what?” you sat up quickly.

“Acting like everything I tell you is fine or justifiable. You have no fucking idea what I did or didn’t have to do,” he said as he stood from the bed.

A jolt of anxiety replaced your previous sense of calm, the sudden shift in his demeanor shook you. Your hands started to shake and your brain got fuzzy as a lump formed in your throat. 

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything wrong! I just—” you stopped short.

“You just what? Want a chance to act like everyone else around here when it comes to my own experience?”

“No, Javi, I—” you went to start again before he cut you off again.

“You what?” he scoffed.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m sorry,” you stuttered.

“I think you should go,” he sighed as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

You looked at him with watery eyes, but willed yourself to keep them from falling. You didn’t even really know this man. You weren’t going to leave with him seeing you cry.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should,” you said as you raised from his bed to gather your clothes that had been scattered around the room. You hurriedly and silently slipped yourself into your shorts, shoving your panties in a pocket before pulling your tank over your head.

You watched from the corner of your eye as Javi grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, running his hands over his face in frustration.

All you could think about as you headed for the door was how relieved you were that you drove your own car.

You could hear his footsteps as he caught up behind you, “hey, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t even worry ‘bout it. Should’ve just minded my fuckin’ business,” you said without even looking in his direction as you shoved your feet into your shoes.

As you went to turn the doorknob, he stopped you by placing his hand on top of yours. You turned to look at him for the first time since he told you to leave. You could read the remorse all over his face. The part of you that cares for him wanted to make it better. The other part wondered if you needed to be more careful around him. For all you know, he could be dangerous. He said he’s hurt people and just you let yourself go home with him without anyone else knowing where you were.

As if he were reading your mind, he resigned and dropped his hand. You kept your stare focused on his as you swung the door open, then turned away without looking back as you stepped over the threshold.

……..........................................................

After that night you didn’t see him again for at least a month. Maybe longer. It was hard to tell after you decided to push everything about him from your mind the best you could—the intensity of his gaze, the way he lit a cigarette, the way the lights in the bar softened his features…the way he fucked you. You didn’t know if you should be hurt or angry or—hell—even just indifferent about how things went down. It’s not like the two of you really were anything outside of some heavy flirting and a quick hookup.

You’ve never been one to not be able to move on from a one-night stand. Why does this one feel so awful?

You guessed you couldn’t really blame him for not coming back. After sitting with your thoughts after you’d left his place, you felt awful for prodding him about it. You should’ve just left it alone after he got short with you at the bar that night. Whatever walls he built that you wanted to try and take a peek through were very clearly up for a reason. You just hoped that you’d be able to slowly tear them down. What you didn’t anticipate was that even just a few basic questions about his past could spur such a response.

That is, until you truly understood his past wasn’t a normal one.

It’s not like you could call him to apologize—you never exchanged numbers— and you didn’t think it was your place to ask for his number from someone else. You didn’t know if he’d want to be contacted. All of your interactions besides when he took you home were in this bar. You didn’t even know if he was still in Laredo or if he had accepted one of those teaching positions he talked about interviewing for.

Even though Laredo was a small town, Javi kept a relatively low profile for someone everybody pretended to know everything about. His absence only added fuel to their gossip, none of which should be taken seriously, but you guessed you weren’t the only one who hadn’t seen him around much lately, if at all.

You were stocking the bar, getting the place ready to open for the evening. It was a Saturday, so you were trying to make sure you had everything you’d need without having to run off to grab things constantly. The owner, Mike, had come in to help you out today as there had been a particularly large delivery that would’ve been difficult for you to manage alone before opening the doors. The two of you worked quietly, randomly cracking jokes or asking questions as you went along.

You walked over to a corner table to start taking chairs down and started to make your way down the row when you heard a knock at the entrance. You spun around, ready to tell whoever it was that you weren’t quite open just yet, but you were met with a familiar pair of soft brown eyes. You froze in place, as if you saw a ghost, as you wracked your brain for words. The two of you kept your eyes locked on each other. Javi opened his mouth like he was getting ready to say something when your boss rounded the bar to greet him.

“Well hey there, Javi, come on over here and have a seat at the bar. I’ll pour you up somethin’ real quick,” he patted him on the back as he guided him to the bar, giving you an opportunity to disappear into the back office.

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself as you flopped into a desk chair. Your heart was racing in your chest. You leaned forward and propped your elbows up on the desk to hide your face in your hands, your foot frantically tapping against the floor as anxiety flooded you.

You jumped when Mike quietly knocked on the door as he entered the office.

“Fuck, you scared me,” you breathed out with your hand placed over your heart. You tried to act normally, a smile plastered on your face as he side-eyed you. You grabbed the cash drawer and started counting as he hovered.

“You wanna talk about somethin’?” he said with an eyebrow raised.

“Uhh, no? Why?” you said before you started mumbling numbers to yourself as you continued counting the coins.

He sighed heavily at your avoidance, “just go and talk to him.”

“What do you mean? Talk to who?” you asked as if there wasn’t one other person besides the two of you in the bar.

He gave you an incredulous stare, “Peña.”

You rolled your eyes, “Ugh…how did you know?”

“Larry was in here with Luisa the other night. Didn’t know much but you know how that goes with her. I put two n’ two together,” he chuckled.

“Good Ol’ Luisa,” you laid back in the chair with a heavy sigh. “Fine—but if I’m not back in 20 minutes, get your gun,” you teased.

As you appeared from the office, Javi stood from his seat at the bar. He fidgeted with the sunglasses in his hands as you marched over to him with purpose and caught him by the elbow.

“Outside,” is all you said as you led him out the door. You pushed him further out, away from the entrance and closer to your car where there was a little more privacy from any potential prying eyes.

“Really didn’t think I’d see you back around here this time for sure,” you said as you crossed your arms tight across your chest, “think I’m gonna have to revoke your free drink pass though.”

That earned you a light chuckle from him, “guess that’s fair.”

“But really, what are you here for? There’s five other bars within a two mile radius you could hit up,” you questioned as you tilted your head curiously.

“I like this bar,” he smirked.

“Javier—” you rolled your eyes, “you can’t flirt your way outta this one.”

“I know…I know,” he paused briefly in between his thoughts, “I, uh—I just wanted to come apologize to you. I know I shouldn’t have waited this long to do it but the way I acted towards you has been eating at me and—I’m sorry. I’m trying to get better about that,” he said as he averted his eyes.

You let a silence settle between you before you got brave enough to finally make your own apology.

You took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as you started,“if I’m bein’ honest…I’ve been wantin’ to apologize to you too,” you confessed.

“To me? For what? I was the asshole,” he looked at you, puzzled.

“Well—for crossing a line. I pushed too far. I was just curious about you, I guess,” you sighed.

“Everyone seems to be,” he scoffed.

“Maybe so,” you spoke gently, “but I don’t think my motives are quite the same as theirs,” you said with a knowing eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?” He shifted in place and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I actually wanted to know you,” you said softly.

He was quiet as he absorbed your words. It almost seemed foreign that someone was apologizing to him—as if he’s always been the one who’s had to apologize no matter how much he’d been hurt by others.

“Uhm—thank you,” he said quietly, “navigating things since I’ve been back—it’s been hard. Everywhere I go people tell me I’m a hero, but every time they do all I’m reminded of is my failures when I just—kind of want to forget.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Javi,” you reached out to gently rub his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m so sorry—the last thing I wanted was to make you feel that way too.”

He sighed heavily, like a weight had been lifted off his chest, “Well, in other news—I wanted to tell you I was offered a job,” he said.

“Oh my god, that’s fuckin’ great! Which school offered?” You asked excitedly.

“Uh, A&M International,” he smiled—one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

A real one, a modestly proud one.

“That’s perfect since you wanted to stay close. You’ll be right up the street! I’m sure your Pops is thrilled. How you feelin’ about all of it?” you smiled back. You truly were happy for him. It was a chance to give himself a purpose again. A chance to try to move on.

He chuckled under his breath, “actually kind of nervous. I don’t remember starting a new job feeling so daunting.”

“You’re gonna be great. I bet you’ll be everyone’s favorite instructor in no time,” you teased.

He laughed, “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What? Are you gonna be a hard-ass or somethin’ professor Peña?” You smirked playfully.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he shrugged.

“Well, come on back inside. I’ll reinstate your free drink pass for a celebration. I promised it to ya anyway.”

After the two of you had cleared your consciences between yourselves, there wasn’t very much time wasted in the two of you starting to hook up again.

You decided instead of trying to learn about the old Javi, you’d put it to rest and try to learn the new Javi—though it all still lingered in the back of your mind.

As you started to spend more time with him, the cracks of what neither of you dared to talk about increasingly showed. It could be anything from him going quiet of a sudden, his eyes focused somewhere off in the distance like he wasn’t present with you, here, on this plane of existence to giving himself overly harsh criticisms, especially after he started his new job. Nothing he did, in his eyes, was good enough. He never thought he was giving enough during his lectures or during office hours, even though he’d stay late frequently or bring work home with him.

At least with that, you could reassure him. Tell him it’s okay. That it’s something new and no one is expecting him to be perfect at it yet—but you always wished you could do something more. 

You forced yourself to avoid questioning him or acknowledging the other stuff.

If he wanted to talk about anything more serious, you’d let him do it on his own terms.

You guess you convinced yourself that as long as he kept fucking you like a man with nothing to lose, you could accept it. It was a little routine you’d carved out for yourselves—a night of flirting at the bar before he’d take you home to completely ruin you for anyone else.

It still left an empty feeling in your chest every time you’d gather your things to leave. Sometimes he’d walk you to the door to give you a goodbye kiss so intense that it made you wonder if this time could be the last time. Sometimes he’d have already fallen asleep next to you after laying together quietly—but you never stayed the night after the two of you had been wrapped up together in his sheets no matter how close you felt like you were growing.

You did it to protect yourself and you assumed he never asked you to stay for the same reason.

……..........................................................

You chant his name over and over as he pounds into you. Your fingers grip the sheets as if they’re the only thing tethering you to the Earth while behind you, Javi grunts and pants, drunk on the way the flesh of your ass bounces against his hips with each thrust.

“You’re close aren’t you, hermosa?” he chokes out.

“Yes, yes,” you moan, tears now freely streaming from your eyes and staining the sheets.

“Fuck, wanna give you what you pretty girl. You want it?”

“Please,” you cry out.

“You gotta tell me who’s pussy this is,” he slows his pace, dragging himself through your velvety walls tauntingly slowly. He knows that it drives you insane—that you love the way you can feel every inch of him this way.

All you can do underneath him at this point is whimper pathetically.

He leans over your back so he can rasp into your ear, “easy, hermosa. I’ve got you,” he murmured nearly incoherently, “now, tell me who’s pussy this is.”

“Fuck Javi!” you whine as he plants wet kisses to your shoulder.

He groans behind you as he tries to maintain the little control he has left, “I know pretty girl, tell me—please.”

You hummed in satisfaction hearing him start to beg now as he pulses inside of you. You know as soon as you say it, he’ll be sent over the edge.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you pant as you start to fuck yourself back on him needily as you chase your end, “it’s yours. It’s yours.”

You repeat it over and over until you see white flash behind your eyelids as you come with a silent moan, your mouth in a perfect O before a wrecked cry pulls from your chest. Your body goes limp in his arms as he continues fucking you through the length of your orgasm.

A strangled moan pulls from his lips as his thrusts falter and his grip on your hips tightens, “fuck, fuck,” he pants as he thrusts hard into you one last time before he swells and spills into you with a drawn out moan.

You whimper underneath him with every twitch of his cock as he paints your walls with thick ropes. As he comes down from his high, he finally allows your hips to sink back down to the bed while he drapes himself over your back, kissing and nipping at the crook of your neck while he holds you.

“Mmm,” you hum, a satisfied grin spread across your lips as your breathing returns to normal. Javi intertwines his fingers in yours as he places reverent kisses across your back.

You gasp quietly when he reluctantly drags himself from your heat and collapses onto his back next to you. You lay there, the grin still plastered on your face and your eyes fluttered closed in complete contentment.

He props himself on his side before he brings a hand over to caress the soft flesh of your ass, “you okay, hermosa?”

“I’m fuckin’ great. So great,” you giggle exhaustedly.

“C’mere,” he whispered and rolled onto his back again so that he could guide you to lay on his chest.

You snuggle up beside him and rest in your usual post-sex spot, counting down the time to when you’ll have to leave again. After the exhausting session you just had, you figure it’ll be a fall asleep night instead of a goodbye kiss night.

You lay with him in the quiet until the light circles he was tracing on your arm slow to a stop, your sign that you need to open your eyes before you fall asleep here too. You stealthily sit up and slink from under the sheets without disturbing him too much. As usual, once the weight of you isn’t holding him in place, he instinctively rolls over onto his side, his back facing you, as he settles again.

You sit on the edge of the bed and with one last look back at his sleeping form, you lean over and place a delicate kiss to his exposed shoulder before you rise from the bed to search for your dress in the dark.

Once you find it, you carefully sit back down and slip it over your head, taking one last moment before you head towards the door.

This became your normal.So you’re completely thrown off guard when you feel a hand wrap around your wrist as you go to stand, followed by a still half-asleep, “stay.”

Tagging some folks who showed interest (sorry if I forget anyone I don't have a proper tag list or anything lol) @ak-vintage @gothcsz @bergamote-catsandbooks @myownwholewildworld @cozymochaa @kedsandtubesocks

[bergamote-catsandbooks]

Over the Andes | Frankie Morales x ofc/f!reader | 3,5 k

Summary: Frankie has some apologizing to do. So does Tom.

Content warning: Mention of alcoholism and of drug usage, not much more in this one. Reader here is more of an ofc, written as a reader insert. She will have some description and a backstory but has no name.

A/N: I'm back after a vacation break, let's settle in the story. Thank you @sawymredfox and @vodkaandpizza for listening to me yap about this chapter, and to @iknowisoundcrazy for your help finding children's books.

I'm always happy for comments and/or reblogs, so please don't be shy !

Main masterlist | Series masterlist | Read on AO3

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

When Frankie wakes up, the sparse light filtering through the curtains tells him it's early. Earlier than he expected to wake up. It's always when he can actually sleep in that he wakes up early, and when he needs to set an alarm, that he could've slept for hours.

With a sigh, he decides he can use the extra time his internal clock gives him to take care of his truck. It needs some maintenance, and it always helps to clear his head. The past day has been on his mind a lot, and he needs to refocus on the now.

He opens his garage door to let some fresh morning air in, and he puts some music on his old stereo. Hands in the engine, he feels his mind drift, the many thoughts tormenting him finally dimming, the jumble ordering itself neatly, and letting him concentrate on what's in front of him, sometimes humming to the music . After an hour or so, he stands up, stretching his back and assessing his repairs while wiping his hand on a dirty rag, with satisfied hum escaping his throat.

He could change his car, he could buy a new stereo, heck, he could change his whole wardrobe every season and his bank account would still be fine. He made good investments and sensible choices. Maybe not right away, there were a few month where they all went a little crazy. Spending their newly acquired money on foolish things: a Ferrari, or a luxurious house, or traveling around the world, or… drugs.

But they all got better. Well, almost all of them. And honestly, Frankie just doesn't understand the need to buy new stuff when the old one still works fine.

He's not stingy, at least not when it comes to the people he loves. He helped Elena buy a place for herself and Mia. She didn't want to at first, didn't want his money, didn't want to feel indebted to him. She's a proud woman, ambitious and smart, and that's what drew him to her. But that also means she has a hard time accepting help. Not that she needs him, heck, she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself and Mia without his help. But he wanted the best for them, a place close to her work, not too far from him, near good schools. He wanted his daughter, and by extension his ex-wife, to have the best environment possible. And that is something Elena understood.

After investing in Delta Heli Tours, he got himself his own house, a few minutes away from the airfield. It's the smallest one in his fancy neighborhood. Not by necessity, but only because it was already bigger than anything he ever lived in. A 3-bedroom with a nice front porch, a small backyard right on the water, and a small dock, and attached to it, the small sailboat he splurged on.

Yes, he did get himself something he didn't need. Something silly that made him no better than any other rich guy, he couldn't help but scorn. But he always wanted to learn how to sail. And he could envision himself and Mia when she was a little older. He loved flying, he would always love it. But he also wanted to have control over the water. he had land, air, and now water.

His therapist had encouraged him. He needed the distraction, he needed to be busy. When he came back from Colombia, idleness almost killed him. He survived, but it destroyed what was left of his marriage.

Frankie's head wisps when he hears a knock on the wall of the garage. Tom is standing there, leaning on the door frame, his sunglasses hanging by the collar of his t-shirt. Frankie watches him for a second, judging Tom's countenance. He looks contrite, he comes to negotiate a truce.

"Hey," Frankie stays put, doesn't move apart from the nod emphasizing the greeting, "Do you want coffee?" Tom hums in agreement, "Go sit in the backyard, I'll bring it in a sec." Tom turns to walk around the house, while Frankie goes back inside. There is no need to say more, no need to ask how Tom takes his coffee, a little bit of milk and no sugar, no need to ask what brings him here. They are more than brothers after all. And words have never been their forte.

A few minutes later, Frankie arrives at his backyard, with a small tray, carrying two coffee mugs, and a plate full of misshaped Mantecaditos. Frankie's been experimenting with an old family recipe; he wants to make some for Mia, even try to bake with her. He's trying to get the exact same taste from the ones his abuela Nina [grandma Nina] used to make, and he feels like he's almost there.

He sits next to Tom on the mismatched garden chairs that are sitting facing the water, at the end of his small garden the Hillsborough Bay stretching ahead.

Both sip their coffee in silence, munching on the cookies. Silence is also a way of communicating, a way of acknowledging the tension, it letting it ease down, of getting comfortable. And also accepting each other.

Finally, Tom breaks the silence. "I'm sorry for the shitty things I said. I let my anger speak. It's no excuse. But for what it's worth, I admire what you have. Your business, what you built with Elena and Mia." He sighs. Frankie knows there is something more to come, so he doesn't speak, "I might be a little jealous of it."

That gets Frankie's attention, he didn't expect as much coming from him. Tom is still staring at the sea before turning his head to look at Frankie, his eyes red from lack of sleep and also unshed tears.

"Molly agreed to have coffee with me on Saturday." There is a shy hope in Tom's voice.

"That's great, Tom, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." They let another moment pass.

"I'm trying to…" Tom stops, he is struggling to say the words. "I'm trying to quit drinking. I'm… At least trying to drink less."

"I'm proud of you, man. Accepting you have an addiction is the hardest step."

"Yeah." Tom's sigh doesn't sound very convinced. But it does give Frankie some hope. Maybe things will get better, maybe they will all get back to the way they were. Wishful thinking. But Frankie does allow the hope to settle a bit in his mind and heart.

"Do you want my sponsor's number? He could give the names of people to contact, maybe some meetings you can–"

"Nah." Tom sniffs, drains his cup, and stands up, "I think I'm good on my own. But thanks for the offer. I have to go. Have a good day, 'fish." And with that, he crushes the small hope Frankie had let his heart open to.

—

You don't see Frankie for the next two days, his schedule indicating his next flight is on Wednesday early morning. Part of you is glad, you don't like confrontation, and you're slightly nervous after your interaction with him. It's not that you think you are wrong, you're just weary and wish you could get over it fast. And see if what Colin and your colleagues, after hearing about what happened, say about Frankie is true, that he really is a good guy.

When you recount the event to Di, she cheers you for your reaction, and then uses words to describe her feelings toward Frankie that could make a truck driver blush. At least she makes you laugh while you settle on your couch, phone in hand. It's good to know you have her nearby, that you can see her whenever you want. It doesn't feel as hard to be in a new place where you have to make your whole life yours again. It actually makes you feel good, exhilarated.

On Tuesday after work, you make your way to a bookstore, intent on buying a few books, a treat to yourself after your second day, and also because the books waiting for you on your night stand aren't appealing anymore.

As you make your way into the store, you are immediately drawn in by the coziness. It's a small place, cramped, with books all the way up to the ceiling. It makes you want to sit in one of the comfortable-looking chairs with a book and a hot beverage. The staff is friendly, even if they don't have the book you were looking for. Instead, you go, browsing around the place, letting the covers bring you in, attract you, and walk around the different sections. Around a corner, you stumble on someone you recognize.

Granted, you didn't get to look much at him while you were trying to kill him with your words and eyes, but you could recognize the silhouette and hat anywhere, even if his face is turned down, looking at several books on display in the children's section.

Your first move is to back away, turn around, and leave the store, but then, you decide you are in your right. If anyone needs to be ashamed, it's him. And if he is such a good guy, as everyone keeps telling you, then maybe this is the opportunity to find out. So instead, you walk up to him and say. "So that's what you do on your free time, when you are not flying tourists over the bay, or belittling meteorologists?"

Frankie's head jerks up, and you see an array of emotions on his face when he looks at you: bewilderment, recognition, and instant shame. It does make you feel a little guilty, but you stand your ground, a smirk on your face.

He immediately straightens up, taking off his hat, like a kid caught doing something naughty. He murmurs your name before clearing his throat, "I…, I'm happy to see you!" When you give him a quizzical look, he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean… I've been wanting to talk to you. To tell you… To apologize. I was such a jerk. What I said…" He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath. "There are no excuses for what I said, but I really do hope you will accept my apology and that maybe we can start over."

You stay silent, trying to gauge his sincerity. But he mistakes your silence for something else.

"It's OK if you don't, I deserve it. But I hope we can at least work in good harmony."

He does look very sincere. You decide to relent.

"Seems fair," you finally say. You see him relax, his whole demeanor softening. "But you won't get another chance." You add sternly.

"I barely deserve this one, but I'll take it." He smiles and you spot a dimple on his right cheek.

Your eye fall on the array of books laid in front of him, you catch the cover of one called "Stuck in the Middle", depicting a little girl standing between mountains, looking torn apart . Another one with a big family and the title "The Invisible String". Frankie's hand brushes a third book, that has a drawing of a female pilot.

"A story on Amelia Earhart?"

"Yeah, my daughter wants to be a pilot." He says, looking proud and bashful at the same time, "and this book caught my eye, I want her to have examples of female pilots. Might take her to work one day, to meet Alysha." You can't help but smile seeing how proud he seems to be when he talks about his daughter.

"How old is she?"

"She's 3, and already very opinionated about the stories I read to her."

"What's her name?"

"Mia." There is a short lull, then Frankie points to the books you are holding. "What are you getting?"

You look at your books in your hand and show him. "I was going to pick up another book, but they don't have it anymore."

He lets out a small laugh when he sees what you picked. Before you can question him, he tells you, "I'm sorry, I promise I'm not laughing at you. But a romance and a horror novel? I just didn't expect both paired together."

You join him in the laughter, "I actually like to read a romance right after a horror story, it's a palate cleanser to a sweeter world."

"That's actually a great idea. I read this one," he points to the horror, "It's good. What book were you planning on getting?"

"Our Share of Night, by–"

"Oh, I read it! It's great, you are going to love it."

"Yeah? Everyone says it's great, I can't wait to read it."

There is a silence, both of you looking at each other. The kind of silence of people who don't really know each other yet, who don't know what to say next. It's a little uncomfortable, but it's not too bad.

"Well, I should get going." You say, pointing behind you to the cashier.

"I'll let you go. I'm going to see if I can find other books for Mia. Have a good evening."

"You too!"

—

The next day, when you arrive at work, you find on your desk a pristine copy of Our Shared Night, with a scribbled note on top, from one of your colorful post-it decks.

"I already had the copy when a friend gave me this for my birthday. I remembered it when I came back home. It's yours, just tell me once you've read it, if you enjoyed it."

You smile and tuck the note inside the book before putting it in your bag. This small act of kindness warms you. He really isn't that bad after all. You are ready to give him another chance.

—

"How are you settling at work?" Di asks while she digs into your sushi plate.

"Good. Still doing good." You use your chopsticks to fend her off. She pouts, so you relent.

"What about the asshole pilot?"

"Frankie? He's actually not that bad." You answer mindlessly, picking a dumpling from the shared plate.

"Is he secretly a sweetheart under all the misogyny and grumpiness?"

Her tone makes you laugh. "I don't know, I just bumped into him at a bookstore last night, and he apologized. He was actually pretty good about it. And he gave me a book."

"Oo-ooh, so now you have a crush?" She looks at you expectantly.

"What?" You look at her, horrified, "No! He's married, or is with someone, I don't know. He has a daughter. I just think he's decent. Plus, free book."

"OK. If you say so." She looks a little crestfallen. Which is suspicious. She's not the romance type.

"You are acting weird. What's up with you?"

"I'm not weird." She frowns, but doesn't look at you. It feels fishy.

"Yes, you are! You are hiding something."

"I'm not!"

"You are!" You sound like siblings fighting, but that's what always happens between you both; you've known each other for so long.

"Fine! I'm seeing someone!" Di finally relents, sitting back on her chair and crossing her arms.

"WHAT? Since when? What happened to the 'I'm never again dating a guy, they are all dead to me?' Oh! Is it a girl?" Your voice rises, and you try to contain it when she motions for you to speak lower.

"No, unfortunately, it is a guy."

"Is that why you suddenly want me to have romance in my life?"

"Maybe, I just felt it would be nice if you had an crush. It's been nice seeing someone and I wanted you to have the same."

"Who are you, and what did you do to my friend?" You ask her, fake shocked.

"He makes me laugh, OK? He's sweet and really nice, and fun." You sense her defensiveness, so you stop mocking her.

"How long have you been seeing him?"

"A little over 2 months." She relents after stalling for a bit.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You can't help but show your surprise.

"I don't know. I guess I was a little embarrassed?"

"But why?" You are puzzled. Di is never embarrassed; she's the kind of person who never apologizes for who she is.

"It's stupid, and I feel ashamed. He was a one-night stand. I met him at a bar. But then it just… I don't know, I saw him again. And... He's just a guy, guy, you know? A dude bro kind, who's into sports, fishing, and stuff like that. And with all my big discourse, I just felt like a traitor for falling for the exact type of guy that I usually hate."

"Falling?" You quirk your eyebrows.

"Shut up! I don't know."

"Babe, listen." You lean in and put your hand on her arm. "Does he treat you right?"

"Yes." You notice the smile spreading on her face.

"Is he respectful? He isn't angry that you are married to your job?"

"No, not at all! He's really great. He's impressed, and loves that I talk about what I do, he reads my stuff, and asks questions, and gives me compliments. And he's interested in so many things, and… I really, really like him." She sighs with a dreamy look on her face, and you can't help your own goofy smile, happy to see her like this.

"Also, he's crazy hot and has an amazing body, and the sex is unbelievable."

"Girl, I'm jealous!" You both laugh before you sober up a bit, to tell her one last thing, hoping to put at ease whatever might keep her from fully embracing it. "I'm happy for you, however long this lasts. Also, I can understand your reservation, but we aren't in high school anymore. You can date the jock, it doesn't make you shallow. As long as you are happy and he treats you right, that's all that matters. Fuck anyone who tells you otherwise"

"You are the best. You really are. You deserve a nice guy to treat you well, someone who sees that."

"Yeah, well, right now I'm happy. I feel like I'm getting my life back together. I enjoy living alone, getting to know myself again. So it's fine if I don't find anyone."

—

It's Friday evening, and when Frankie just gets back from his sunset tour, he's ready to call it a day and get back to his house. He wants to catch up on the latest series he's watching, maybe make himself a nice dinner, or treat himself to a pizza.

But as he's walking past the offices, Alysha calls him out, "Frankie! We were waiting for you. We are going to grab a drink and introduce the new girl to Joe's. Do you want to join?"

And before Frankie can think of an excuse to say no, his eyes fall on you, and you give him a small smile.

"Yeah sure!" He really is a sucker for pretty eyes and nice smiles. The same kind that makes him go into bookstores late on a Tuesday night to buy a book he already owns.

—

Joe's is a beach shack. Four walls, doors and windows open, fans on the ceiling, set at full speed, not giving a real breeze in the Floridan heat of this mid-September evening. The place sits right next to the airport and is mostly filled by people you start to recognize, seeing them everyday on the airfield. Everyone seems to know Joe, the owner, a guy with no age, tanned and wrinkled skin from the sun and the sea, long gray hair, and unkempt beard. He looks like he was built in with the place and probably has been here since the it opened. He stands behind the bar, bottles lined up in front of a dirty mirror, a few deserted tables inside, and more on the porch surrounding the small building. One-dollar bills are stuck everywhere: on the wall, the pillars, the ceiling, flying around, and you can also make out postcards from around the world. You look around while they all greet Joe and follow them to a table on the deck, overlooking the water. Everything is old and decrepit, but it has such a warm vibe that you feel at home immediately.

Frankie sits next to you, putting down your drink in front of you. You can sense the warmth irradiating from him and can't help being a little self-conscious as you listen to everyone speak. Alysha and Jean are talking about something, but you have a hard time concentrating, you can't help but observe everyone. Jean is trying to draw Fred into the conversation, Alysha is laughing loudly, brushing her braids back her shoulder, Frankie is assessing everyone and staying quiet, sipping his beer, which you notice is a non alcoholic one.

After a moment, on the second round of drinks, Alysha's, they brushed off your offer with a "Newbies don't pay the first time", the conversation settled on the past week and on you. Most of it is done by Jean and Alysha, with a few interjections by Fred, finally opening up, happy to be included with the adults. Frankie is still on the quiet side. He surveys the conversation but does not look bored. He joins in with laugh and jokes a bit. You ease up, and at one point, when Fred and Alysha are discussing a specific technical problem on a helicopter, while Jean is busy at the bar talking to Jo, you turn to Frankie and find his eyes already on you. You try not to get flustered by his gaze and ask, "How did Mia enjoy the books?"

"She hasn't seen them yet." He takes a sip from his drink and adds, "She won't be back until Monday." He must see a bit of perplexity on your face, because he adds, "She is with her mom, we're divorced and have joint custody. So she won't see the books until then."

Suddenly, the books you saw him with make more sense, he was getting his little girl stories to understand parent separation. This information, coupled with the knowledge that he is in fact single, makes your heart flutter. Without even realizing it, your body turns toward him, allowing you to engage more fully in conversation, as you talk about his daughter, work, places to eat.

Time flies by, and it's only when everyone gets up to take their leave that you realize you and Frankie have been talking for an hour, oblivious of everyone else.

Mantecaditos: crispy butter cookies, you can find different versions (with different names) depending on the country, here is a recipe

The books Frankie bought for Mia: Stuck in the Middle, by Tom Tinn-Disbury Amelia Eheart, by Maria Isabel Sanchez Vegara  The Family String, by Joanne Lew-Vriethoff 

taglist - Please let me know if you want to be removed it's not a problem, or if you want to be added: @iknowisoundcrazyreads @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @sunnytuliptime @picketniffler @sawymredfox @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @half-moon16 @sin-djarin @hanahleah @missadangel @simpingforjoel @aurorawritestoescape @kirsteng42 @annwrites24 @vodkaandpizza @quinnnfabrgay @littlepedrito @petalsinblood @savedyounine @isabellaboo2025 @copperhalfcent @the-blind-assassin-12 @madpanda75 @anoverwhelmingdin @inept-the-magnificent @the-blind-assassin-12

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

It was an absolute pleasure to help with the children’s books!

I’m halfway through reading on AO3, where i will leave my comment, but I’ve been thinking about this story for weeks! So excited to get this chapter! 💕

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

tainted love

pairing: javier peña x steve murphy

cws/tags: only one bed, when you gotta jerk off ur partner bc he can't sleep but it's just a platonic thing dw #totallynotgay, use of f-slur, frottage, watching porn together briefly, mutual masturbation, technically infidelity ig but what connie doesn't know can't hurt her

summary: steve can't sleep and he's keeping javi up, so they have to jerk off ???

a/n: homosexual activities return to my blog

thank you to @almostempty for your help w this ! i could not have done this w/o you

wc: 3k

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

It’s not the first time Javi’s ended up with Steve’s name on his lips and his own hand wrapped around his cock. It’s not an everyday occurrence – Javi has tons of masturbation-worthy images in his collection of sacred memories. He’s got dalliances with hookers, something more and simultaneously less with that one communist girl, even Lorraine, back when she was something other than a blurry, ever-present mistake in his periphery. But, these thoughts are finite. In desperation, he’ll search for more. 

Sometimes more is his partner, partner in work, not in sex, not really, not yet. It comes down to the way Steve looks when he’s pissed off, the way anger forces him into physical contact despite the fact that he’s not a touchy-feely guy. It’s the time he had Javi pressed up against the wall in the hallway of the DEA office in Medellin – it felt like deja vu, he’d seen that moment on an x-rated videotape that no one would ever know he rented. Fuck government secrets, it’d take a harsh interrogation to get Javi to reveal the fact that he watched gay porn by his own volition. More than once. 

It’s a sleepless night like any other except Javi’s not in his own bed or anyone else’s, he’s in a hotel room he’s sharing with Murphy. It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened – he could’ve gotten stuck with Stechner, but Messina decided to pair up with him for a reason Javi doesn’t want to hear about. 

There’s alcohol somewhere, but not in his overnight bag – maybe in the minibar, but that’s on the far side of the room and whether it comes out of his pocket or not, the prices make him feel sicker than a hangover would.  

Though he and Steve are facing away from each other, he can tell that he’s not sleeping either. It needles at him in the dark. Steve’s wakefulness bleeding onto Javi’s side of the bed, his body heat threatening to burn through the ever present wall of masculinity that keeps him at a distance. 

Murphy tosses and turns to the point where Javi wonders if he’s doing it for attention – he’s doing a great job if so. Javi rolls over to tell him to cool it. 

“Would you cut that shit out?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I. Because of you.”

Steve shrugs as best one can in his position. 

“What do you want? A bedtime story?”

“Might be kinda nice.”

“Alright,” Javi says, like he’s really committed to the idea. “One night, there was a DEA agent who killed his partner–”

“Okay. I get it.”

“How the fuck does Connie sleep in the same bed as you?”

“I guess I don’t really toss and turn when I’m with her.” He pauses.

“She usually holds me – or I hold her. Not like a baby or anything, but you know…”

“You need to be cuddled to sleep? Seriously?”

He really seems to think about it. “No.”

“‘Cause the only way I’m holding you is in a headlock.”

“How do women sleep with you, huh? You’re wide awake and pissy about it.”

“When I said women sleep with me, I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, you kick ‘em out of bed? Sounds about right,” Murphy says it with a smirk, like he’s gotten one over on Javi, but he hasn’t. 

“No, they know to leave. Or, I do. It’s bedroom etiquette. You wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve got something better – a wife. She sleeps with me for free.”

“God knows why.”

“She loves me. I’m loveable, Javi.”

That one strikes a nerve, but Javi doesn’t dare let it show.

“Maybe by her standards.”

“You saying she has low standards?”

“She could do better. She’s a very nice woman.”

“What does that mean?”

“Relax, man. I’m not trying to fuck your wife. I’m not that much of a scumbag.”

“Good. Not that I think she’d be into you anyway.”

“Plus, I can get laid without traveling to Miami.”

Steve huffs. It was a low blow, Javi’s willing to admit that.

“Okay, listen. We gotta be up in the morning, so let’s get practical here. You with me, Murphy?”

“Aye aye, cap,” he says with the least enthusiasm. 

“So, she’s been gone for a while, and I don’t see you coming to work looking like complete shit – at least, not any worse than you used to — so how are you getting to sleep?”

“I mean, I usually, you know…”

When Javi gestures to say go on, though he’s pretty sure he knows, Steve says much quieter, “Jerk off.”

“Was it that hard to say it?”

“I mean, it’s a little awkward.”

“What are you? 12? Everyone jerks off.”

“So, what? You want me to just jerk off?”

“Not here,” he says incredulously at the notion despite the fact that it does excite him. “In the shower if you have to.”

“I don’t usually do it in the shower.”

“You get to try something new then.”

“If I have to get up, then dry off, get dressed again, I think it’ll just start the whole process over.”

“So what? You want me to go stand outside and wait for you to finish?”

“The idea doesn’t sound unappealing…”

“No way am I doing that.”

Pissed off and admittedly aroused by the thought, he suggests, “You know what? Fuck it – put up a pillow barrier between us, and go ahead. Find something on pay-per-view so I don’t have to hear anything from you.”

“You serious?”

“If it’ll help you sleep.”

They fight over pillows and that’s only half the battle.

“Do you think they’ll know we’re buying–”

“Yes, so get something normal, will you? I don’t want anything weird showing up on the bill.”

“Relax. What’d you think I was gonna pick?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really think about your porn habits.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“What?”

“What do you like, Javi? We should find something we agree on.”

“So, now I’m a part of this?”

“I was trying to be nice.”

Javi stays silent while Steve rattles off possibilities. “We’ve got lesbians, mature women, threesomes…”

Javi gives him an unenthusiastic ‘sure’ to each option. 

“Oh, here’s the gay section,” Murphy says with a laugh.

And to avoid an awkward silence, Javi jokes - or tries to, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

And Steve’s head turns around faster than you’d think was possible. “Oh, so you’ve tried it?”

“I was making a joke.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Why do you even care? Just stop stalling and pick something.”

Though he’s clearly still considering prying, he settles on whatever the most basic shit is – some blonde girl getting railed by some dude with a cock big enough to distract from his lackluster face. 

It’s about a minute of fake moaning that somehow makes things worse before Steve asks, “Do you think if we change the channel, they won’t charge us since we barely watched it?”

“Might as well try. Turn on PBS or something. That shit’s always free.”

It’s free but it’s a science documentary. Slimy jellyfish and the old men who know a concerning amount about them flood the screen. 

“Just turn off the TV,” Javi says, unable to hide his disgust.

Murphy spits into his hand, takes his cock out, and Javi is listening intently to it all. It makes him uncomfortably hard. He won’t sleep if he doesn’t get off, and at this point there’s no real shame in it. 

They breathe in tandem, each strangled sound egging the other one on, until Steve dares to ask, “So, you said you’ve watched gay porn before?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say you haven’t.”

“Fine. Yes, I have. Can we go back to not talking right now?”

“But I’m curious.”

“Keep your curiosity to yourself.”

“Have you ever done anything with a guy?”

“Why? Do you want me to tell you a story about me getting a handjob from some guy outside a bar when I was hammered? You really wanna get off to that?”

“Maybe. If you can jazz it up a little.”

“I barely even remember it.”

That’s not entirely true. 

Sure, the memory’s faded a little over time, but he wasn’t blackout drunk like he wants Steve to believe. He was young, and a little bit desperate due to a recent breakup. It was hard to put on a face that said ‘I’m approachable and you’d have a good time if I took you home,” so the only attention he got that night was from a guy only a bit older than him, he’d guess. It was the kind of thing where he should’ve known it wasn’t friendly banter from the beginning, and maybe he did – he just didn’t want to believe that he was letting this happen, that he was engaging in it, that he was enjoying it. 

It got a little touchy-feely in a way real Texan men aren’t supposed to, unless they’re faggots. The word rings in Javi’s ear, and it’s the only thing louder than Murphy’s heavy breathing, which is far closer in time and space. 

The guy – whose name he’ll likely never know – led him outside and whatever ‘it’ was went down in an alley.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it enough.”

Enough to cum from a handjob alone, and enough to try to give one back, and the only reason he didn’t really get to was because his hands shook, and it was summertime. 

‘You’re not used to this are you?’.

‘No, I’ve never…’

‘It’s okay,’ he said, removing Javi’s hand, gingerly, almost apologetic.

The goodbye kiss was anything but – it was tongue and teeth, indulgent. You could say it was self-indulgent on the other guys’ part, but you’d be wrong. It felt like it lasted longer than the handjob, and maybe it did, but god, that’d be too embarrassing to admit even in his own mind. It was the kind of kiss that dared Javi’s cock to spring back to life and he fought it desperately. 

‘See you around.’

But the pair never did. Javi convinced himself it never happened and during drinking games or friendly teasing he insisted that he’d never touched another man, just like every other friend of his. 

So, why would he tell Steve?

Before Murphy can ask another goddamn question, he turns it on the fucker, “Why don’t you tell me about your sex life?”

“I mean, besides Connie, there hasn’t been anyone since I was, fuck, I don’t know…”

“Is Connie any good?”

“Of course she’s good.”

Javi waits for the ‘but’ with a raised eyebrow, and it comes. 

“It just gets boring, alright? I love her, though.”

And Javi knows he does. He knows he does because Murphy can’t sleep without her in bed beside him. 

It doesn’t miss Javi that Steve’s breath falters more when Javi’s name leaves his mouth. 

“Javi…” He’s been stroking himself the entire time, but he’s not close, it’s not a plea to cum. It’s a hesitant question. 

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?”

“I don’t know, Steve.”

It’s just to get a reaction out of him, which it does, subtle enough that another person might not catch on, but Javi’s waiting for it. 

And the reason is probably somewhere between the fact that he calls everyone by last name - and, come to think of it, it’s actually kinda weird that Murphy calls him by his first name - and because he feels like exchanging first names equals real friendship and somehow, that’s too intimate for Javi.

“Is that better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“You want this, right?”

“If you do.”

“You gotta tell me. ‘Cause I’m not doing anything if you’re not into it.”

The distance between them dissipates. It doesn’t matter who closes the gap – if one didn’t, the other would. 

Javi looks back and forth between Steve’s cock and his mouth and tries to decide what’s right. Because he wants both, he has to find another metric to measure, to make his choices for him. 

Dive right in and take Steve’s cock in his hand to avoid the intimacy that locking lips requires? Kiss him to quiet everything including his own mind? 

He’s dumbfounded for a moment and you’d think he’s the one who’s never touched a man before if you didn’t know any better. The thing is: Javi can jerk another man off, even give a likely mediocre drunken blowjob. The difference is, this is Steve, naked in bed beside him. The difference is, he’s thought about this. The decision to do this shouldn’t be this easy when he’s sober. But his inhibitions are dangerously low because he’s dreamed about this. 

He’s played out fantasies before that he knows wouldn’t - shouldn’t – become reality. There are countless reasons not to do this - Steve is married, this could ruin both of their careers, this could compromise the most important case in DEA history. 

There is only one reason this should happen: desire.

Javi leads with his heart not his head (admittedly, his dick has influenced this specific decision to a significant degree).

His contemplation is cut off by Murphy’s lips pressed to his. The kiss is hesitant only until Javi reciprocates. Then it leans more towards animalistic than sweet but it’s needier than anything. Between the two of them desperation has only ever led to tension that boils over into fighting, but somehow insomnia is all it took to get them here. 

His brain has one thought playing on loop - the simple fact that he is actively kissing Steve Murphy. Until his mind is free of thoughts. Sex usually works like that for him, particularly with women ‘cause he doesn’t have to worry about the persistent guilt and fear of getting caught in the back of his mind, but his stress rarely fades at just kissing. Maybe they’re not just kissing. It feels like something more. Javi can’t think, but he sure as hell can feel, and he’ll feel this for days, weeks, months, maybe years if he’s really unlucky and there’s no feeling strong enough to replace this one.

The pillows that stood between them are now strewn across the floor as are the pretences. This isn’t one coworker tolerating another’s nighttime routine – at the very least, this is a friend helping a friend in a time of need. But that sounds too innocuous – too generous, even sacrificial. What they’re doing is fumbling around in the dark (even though Javi aches to turn on the lamp, to see, to savor) trying to find out how to get this over with the quickest, what will make the other cum first while learning how to drag this out, how to tease, how to get the other to the edge and no further. How to do this together. 

It starts with the kiss, with Javi lazily stroking his own cock until he dares to place his hand on Steve’s inner thigh. It’s a hesitant question and a final warning, and in response Steve’s breath hitches. They lock eyes for a moment before Javi removes Steve’s hand from his cock and replaces it with his own. There is no protest, only a low groan before he takes Javi’s cock in his hand with a firm grip that makes it feel more like retaliation than returned favor. It also feels way too fucking good. Javi takes it as an invitation for competition, his right hand is more dedicated and focused, moving faster while his left grabs Steve’s jaw and brings him into a kiss fueled by a passion that feels closer to rage than love. 

Javi takes Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it slightly, as if a gentle pull in the right direction would bring Steve into Javi’s lap. It elicits a startled jump in his ragged breath - and they were long overdue to pull back for a breath - Javi takes the opportune moment to tell Steve to come closer in a voice that one uses to discipline an unruly soldier. 

Javi has to maintain a certain amount of control through aggression lest he let the mask slip and reveal his own nervousness, his curiosity, how little he really knows about how this is supposed to go, and how much he wants to press Steve flat on the mattress and take this slow. 

He finds himself moving hastily to shift himself and his partner - now in work and in sex - into a position where he can jerk them both off simultaneously, cocks loosely held together in his fist. Javi’s thrusts lead and Steve’s follow. 

Neither of them last very long. 

There’s a collective initial sigh of physical relief and a subsequent realization of what had just occurred between the two of them. 

What is he supposed to say? ‘Thanks’? ‘Sleep tight’? Is he supposed to say anything at all?

Murphy gets out of bed disturbing the relative peace in the air. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Javi asks.

“Shower,” Murphy says, leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Ever heard of one?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna take a shower ‘cause it would make it harder to sleep.”

And that’s how we ended up here. 

“I’m not going to bed like this,” he says, gesturing to the mess he and Javi had both left on his stomach. 

“I don’t wanna go to bed like this either, but it’s four in the goddamn morning.” They’re back to whisper yelling and somehow it feels nice to have that sense of normalcy. 

Murphy stands there waiting for a better argument, but instead he gets Javi storming out of bed straight towards him and dragging him into the shower. 

It’s not romantic, not in the slightest - they argue over the water temperature and who’s taking up too much room. They don’t wash each other’s hair or look at each other with stars in their eyes. But, they leave their clothes on the floor and slip into bed naked, not holding each other, but not wincing when their shoulders touch. 

“Did that really happen last night?” Murphy asks with a yawn, forcing Javi to confront reality after he’s pressed snooze more than once. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” He sounds more confident with every word. 

“Okay. Then, I think so too.” 

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

These two are never beating the old married couple allegations and that is my final word on the matter 😂

This felt so funny with the bickering throughout and also hot as well!

[broad-shouldrs]

Virtual Daydream || Joel Miller

a Better in My Head drabble this can be read standalone but feel free to go and read the original story here: masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader word count: 1,813 summary:textfic! you're away and a little tipsy. warnings: rating change from the main fic. 18+. minors DNI.

a/n: i thought i was done with these two but then @billionairecowgirl mentioned sexting and well...here we are as always the biggest of thank you's to my amazing beta @joelsgoodgirl. i wouldn't write/post half the shit i do without your support 💜

as a reminder the format key: Joel Reader

Wednesday, November 19

(6:09pm) (Outgoing call - no answer)

(6:14pm) I thought you said you’d be done by 6

(6:19pm) Done with the work part of the day but some of my old coworkers from the Detroit office wanted to get drinks at the hotel bar

(6:20pm) Will you call me when you get back to your room?  Missed the sound of your voice

(6:22pm) And miss you saying goodnight to me? Never 😍

(6:24pm) Favorite part of my day

----------------------------------------------

(9:09pm) Joel?

(9:11pm) Yes, sweetheart?

(9:12pm) Why haven't we had sex yet?

(9:12pm) (Outgoing call - no answer)

(9:13pm) (Outgoing call - no answer)

(9:14pm) Still at the bar

(9:14pm) Still? It’s past 9

(9:15pm) Drinks turned into dinner, dinner turned into dessert, dessert turned into more drinks

(9:16pm) You didn’t answer my question

(9:16pm) Not sure how to respond 

(9:17pm) Do you find me attractive?

(9:17pm) C’mon now. You know I do. 

(9:17pm) Then what is it?

(9:18pm) I just don’t want to mess this up 

(9:18pm) Joel…

(9:18pm) That’s not fair.  You know I’m a sucker for when you say my name.

(9:19pm) All I’m saying is that I want you to be comfortable I don’t want you to think that I’m pressuring you

(9:19pm) If anything it feels like I’m the one pressuring you…

(9:20pm) I am very much a willing participant

(9:20pm) So, you do think about me like that?

(9:20pm) All the time

(9:21pm) Do you…

(9:21pm) Do I what?

(9:23pm) I’m not sure how crude i’m allowed to be with you

(9:24pm) It’s gonna take a lot to send me running

(9:25pm) Do you think about me when you touch yourself?

(9:25pm) Baby…

(9:26pm) Just a simple yes or no

(9:26pm) I’m only human

(9:28pm) Tell me what you think about

(9:28pm) Cmon now. You’re out with your friends

(9:28pm) I’m being a bad friend and ignoring them

(9:29pm) Just call me when you get back to the room and we can continue this conversation

(9:29pm) Or you can just tell me now

(9:30pm) Here, let's make a deal You tell me what you think about And I'll call you later on and tell you what I think about

(9:31pm) I don’t know what to say

(9:31pm) Just tell me what you think about 

(9:32pm) I’ll try

----------------------------------------------

(9:36pm) There’s a lot of typing going on over there

(9:37pm) Do you want me to tell you or not?

(9:37pm) Sorry, please continue

(9:38pm) Gotta restart now

(9:38pm) You didn’t just copy what you had written?

(9:39pm) I don’t know how to do that

(9:39pm) 🤐

(9:39pm) Mhm. Keep laughing

(9:39pm) You make it too easy

(9:40pm) You know I ain’t good at texting

(9:40pm) No? Because I’m pretty sure that’s how you scored your girlfriend

(9:41pm) You like my dopey way of texting?

(9:41pm) Yes Now, please go back to your super long text that you were sending me.

(9:42pm) It’s nothing crazy.  I just think about kissing you all over. 

(9:42pm) It took you that long to type that?

(9:43pm) I aint done

(9:43pm) No?

(9:43pm) No Just not good at this

(9:44pm) At sexting?

(9:44pm) Is that what they call this?

(9:44pm) Yes, old man

(9:45pm) Not that old

(9:45pm) Would it help if I said I'll be on my best behavior?

(9:45pm) Probably not

(9:46pm) I promise

(9:47pm) Now, can you just try? For me? 🥺

(9:48pm) Why can’t we just wait and have sex like normal people?

(9:48pm) Because i’m thinking about you now…when i’m a million miles away

(9:50pm) Can you…help?

(9:50pm) Stop thinking too hard You’re stuck in your head

(9:51pm) It doesn’t have to be perfect Just tell me When you’re alone and you have your hand wrapped around yourself, what do you think about?

(9:52pm)  You under me

(9:52pm) Okay, good.  And are there clothes involved?

(9:53pm) Not usually

(9:53pm) And what are you doing?

(9:54pm) Kissing your neck and making you arch your back like you do when we make out. 

(9:54pm) You like that?

(9:54pm) I love it

(9:55pm) Good to know.

(9:55pm) What's next?

(9:56pm) I’d slide my leg between yours

(9:56pm) Good (9:57pm) and feel how turned on you were (9:57pm) and you’d feel how…hard I was for you

(9:58pm) Joel…

(9:58pm) Nuh-uh. You asked, and I’m answering

(9:58pm) So keep going

(9:59pm) I’d kiss you until you’re blue in the face.  Always wanna be kissing you.

(9:59pm) Maybe tease you a little

(9:59pm) Tease me how?

(10:00pm) Baby…

(10:00pm) I thought you were answering.

(10:01pm) I don’t know what words to use

(10:01pm) You can say the word cock, Joel. It’s not gonna kill you. and it’s certainly not gonna scare me off.

(10:02pm) Jesus Christ

(10:02pm) Is nowhere near this conversation. Now please continue

(10:02pm) Bossy

(10:03pm) Stop stalling

(10:03pm) Fine

(10:04pm) I’d tease you with my….cock

(10:04pm) Let you rub against it a little bit, get it nice and…wet

(10:05pm) The dramatic pauses are unnecessary but continue

(10:05pm) Baby, I'm trying here.

(10:06pm) You said you were gonna be on your best behavior

(10:06pm) You’re right. I’m sorry. 

(10:06pm) You gonna make fun of me again?

(10:06pm) No

(10:07pm) Good

(10:07pm) girl

(10:08pm) I’m sorry?

(10:08pm) Good girl…

(10:09pm) You like being called that?

(10:09pm) I don't know, but i imagined you saying it and my heart went from 1 to 100 real fast

(10:10pm) I’d kill to have you here with me right now 

(10:10pm) One more day and then I’m back in Texas

(10:10pm) Will you keep going for me, Joel?

(10:11pm) I’m doing ok?

(10:11pm) More than.

(10:12pm) You were saying that you’d tease me with your cock get it nice and wet

(10:13pm) Jesus, yeah Or maybe use my hand

(10:14pm) Let my thumb figure out how sensitive you are

(10:14pm) Start working two fingers inside you

(10:14pm) Maybe this wasn’t a good idea

(10:15pm) Shit, I’m sorry.  I knew I was bad at this

(10:15pm) NO.  God no. The opposite

(10:15pm) I’m getting a little too worked up 

(10:15pm) Oh.

(10:16pm) Do you want me to stop?

(10:16pm) Fuck, Joel

(10:17pm) Bet you’d sound real pretty saying that in my ear

(10:18pm) I’m blushing I’m beet red and blushing

(10:18pm) Is that it?

(10:19pm) What do you mean?

(10:19pm) Are you wet? Thinking about me touching you?

(10:19pm) JOEL

(10:20pm) How did you go from ‘I don't know if I’m good at this’ to….THAT in five minutes

(10:20pm) It’s a real ego boost to hear your girl getting worked up over you

(10:20pm) Touche

(10:21pm) Are you going to answer my question?

(10:22pm) Soaked, Joel. My panties are soaked and I am in public with my colleagues

(10:22pm) Good

(10:23pm) So, two fingers inside you, my thumb on your clit

(10:23pm) Do I need more than two? 

(10:23pm) Subtle

(10:23pm) It’s a legitimate question

(10:24pm) You’re fishing

(10:24pm) I’m not

(10:24pm) All you have to do is ask

(10:24pm) Is that not what I’m doing?

(10:25pm) Just ask the question you actually want to ask

(10:25pm) How is this somehow worse?

(10:26pm) Worse than telling me your panties are soaked?

(10:26pm) I’ve released a monster…

(10:26pm) I would make a pun but it would be in poor taste

(10:27pm) Joel, I swear to god

(10:27pm) I’m sorry. You got me feeling like I’m 16 all over again

(10:27pm) Apparently.  Jesus.

(10:28pm) It would probably be in your best interest to go up to three fingers

(10:28pm) I’m dizzy

(10:28pm) Baby, you okay?

(10:29pm) Keep talking, you asshole (10:29pm) Baby? What did I do?

(10:29pm) Joel, please

(10:30pm) Are you mad at me?

(10:30pm) No. Please keep talking.

(10:30pm) Oh. 

(10:31pm) Three fingers. You said I needed three.

(10:31pm) Yeah, baby. Three fingers inside you.

(10:31pm) I’d let you feel the stretch. Work you open slow

(10:32pm) Could you come from just my fingers?

(10:32pm) yes

(10:32pm) That was fast

(10:33pm) Yes, Joel. I would come from your fingers. Please keep going

(10:33pm) Baby, are you sure you’re okay?

(10:34pm) I am in the restaurant bathroom getting myself off because I can’t just sit there and do nothing while you talk such filth to me and now you’re going to be insufferable about it but i don’t care.

(10:34pm) I’m so close, Joel

(10:34pm) (Outgoing call)

“I cannot do this with you right now.”

“If anyone hears me…”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby. Just listen.”

(zipper opens)

“…are you?”

“Yeah”

“Fuck”

“After you come on my fingers, I’d still want to make love to you.”

“Do you think you can do that for me? Come again?”

“Yes”

“Good girl”

Your breath hitches and you shove the meaty part of your palm in your mouth to keep from moaning.

“I wanna go nice and slow. Feel your fingers dig into my back as you moan into my ear.”

“I’d tell you that you’re doing good. Real good.”

“I’d kiss you, but it wouldn’t be all sweet. Not then, not while i’m inside you.”

“…Joel”

“Shh, quiet, baby. Someone’s gonna hear”

“I don’t care. I’m so close”

“Just from listening to me talk?”

“You don’t get it. I’ve been worked up for weeks now. “

“and you’re so sweet in person.”

“So polite and proper and god, you literally asked if you could put your hand under my shirt I just–”

“I want you so bad”

“I want you too, baby”

“Let me make you come. How can I get you there?”

“Keep talking. Please, Joel. Just keep talking.”

“Okay, baby. Okay.”

“Fuck. I’m touching myself thinking about you.”

“Thinking about how you’d be so warm and tight around me.”

“How I’d lift one of your legs a little higher just so i could get in a little deeper”

“Oh god, Joel”

“Tell me, baby. Is that what you want?”

“You want me inside you? Want me to touch your clit while I’m fuckin’ you?”

“Yes–”

“I’m gonna come, baby.”

“Fuck—I’m so fucking close. Are you close?”

“I’m so close, Joel.”

“Come with me, baby.” 

“Come with me, please. Need to hear you come.”

“Joel–I–I–”

You press your palm tight against your mouth as the wave crashes over you. Your eyes squeeze shut and you’re forced to grab the railing for balance. You can hear the erratic sounds of his hand moving faster as he strokes his cock.

“Just like that, baby. Just like. You sound so good.”

Joel takes in a sharp inhale and then lets out a deep groan as he follows you, his orgasm hitting him hard, making his eyes roll back.

Your whole body shakes as you fight to stay quiet, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts through your nose. Your thighs press together tightly and your knuckles turn white from where they still grip the railing.

A few moments pass.

“So…how’d I do?”

“The day I get back, I'm not letting you leave the bed.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

tag list: @pedrofan, @cloudguide, @k-d--h, @moel-jiller, @slytherdina, @mxkhxx, @inkandstardusts, @tangledupblog, @ppascalrain, @allie0902, @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack, @justanothergirlfromeurope, @peepawmiller, @la-vie-est-une-fleur29, @sighofthetimez, @clever-dragon, @twilightvelour, @wander-erer5, @joelmillersbabygirll, @secondhand-clothing

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

This was SO FUCKIN’ HOT 🥵

I am sweatinggggggg

an accurate picture of me rn actually 😂

[gothcsz]

Summer Affair: Part 1 | Harry Castillo x F!Reader/“You” | ~5.1k Word Count

SUMMARY: Harry reluctantly extends his stay at a luxurious oceanfront resort. In the sun-drenched glamour of Monte Carlo, he meets you by the resort pool, where an afternoon of flirtatious conversation and cocktails sparks an instant connection.

RATING: M.

TAGS: No use of y/n, reader has the nickname (Sol) that is used sparingly, reader has a tattoo, meet cute kinda, summer vibes, setting up the story, whirlwind romance, making out, no smut in this chapter but there are erotic things happening, lots of flirting, first dates, infidelity (reader is married), they’re having fun and drinking by the pool, skinny dipping, if I forgot to tag anything else please let me know, more tags found on series masterlist.

A/N: hello everyone! welcome to the summer vacation of our dreams ☀️ i’m really excited to share this fic with you all! i hope you like the first chapter 🖤 reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

P.S. series masterlist. read on ao3. header credit to @/devociones.

It was never going to be an ordinary day.

Harry knew that the moment the sweating executive across the table began rambling about everything except the answer to his very simple question.

“We invested ten million dollars into this project,” Harry says, his voice carrying the authority of a man who has built business empires out of nothing. “Where did it all go?”

The man stutters, fingers nervously adjusting his glasses.

It thins Harry’s patience, already razor-thin after two days of half-truths and expensive lunches that led nowhere.

His brother, Peter, smoothly steps in, guiding the conversation into friendlier territory until the cowardly businessman finally admits the investment was mismanaged—but promises they will generate the profit needed to repay them and move forward with the project.

“We’ll believe it when we see it. Our lawyers will be in touch.” Irritated by the endless bullshit, Harry rises from his seat without another word.

He strides out, leaving Peter behind to close the meeting with a touch more professionalism.

In the lobby, Harry scrolls through his phone, arranging his private flight back to Manhattan.

The entire trip has been a waste of time and resources. A reminder that most people only want to take advantage of his family’s money and name. 

They had suspected the money was being mishandled from the start. Harry had pushed to send the legal team and be done with it, but his brother had insisted on this face-to-face meeting just in case things weren’t what they seemed.

So much for that.

Peter appears a moment later, loosening his tie with a sigh. “I knew you were tense, but I didn’t think you’d let him see it.”

“He was wasting our time and I have a loaded schedule waiting for me stateside,” Harry mutters, falling into step beside him as they exit into the golden morning light.

The sun spills generously over the area, bathing the elegant streets in warmth and turning the sea beyond into a glittering expanse of sapphire. 

They slip on their expensive sunglasses as the valet brings around their luxury antique car.

“You know,” Peter adds casually “there’s a beautiful oceanfront resort not far from here. Private beach. Incredible views. You could stay a few more days.”

Harry lets out a short, dry chuckle. Is he serious? “And do what? Have a spa day? Get a massage?”

“Yes,” Peter grins. “Stop spreading yourself so thin and have some fun.”

Harry rolls his eyes, tongue pressing against his cheek.

Fun. The word tastes bitter.

The last time he let himself do just that, the woman he was seeing left him for her broke ex.

Ever since, he’s buried himself in his work, which isn’t necessarily too different from how involved he usually is.

However, with his mother’s retirement looming on the horizon, he intends to be more than ready to step into the role of Chief Executive Officer; which means he’s been picking up extra responsibilities within the company.

Security and control—those are things Harry Castillo understands, and he can’t let something as trivial as having fun distract him from the bigger picture of his career.

Their car glides to a smooth stop in front of them. The young valet hops out and Peter tips him generously before they both get in.

“All I’m saying is things are in good hands back home, so if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be,” he continues as he buckles his seatbelt. “Ever since Lucy—”

Harry shoots him a sideways glance, but his brother ignores it entirely.

“Ever since you came back from Iceland, you’ve been so rigid. It’d be good for you to loosen up and get out of your head before the promotion takes over your life.”

Harry rolls the window down, letting the warm sea breeze rush in, scented with summer itself.

The beautiful streets of Monte-Carlo unfold around them: whitewashed buildings draped in vibrant bougainvillea, shops and restaurants pulling in the morning crowd.

Since the breakup (mutual as it was) he has grown more guarded, more rigid, as Peter so eloquently put it.

Overworking himself during the day has kept him distracted enough, but at night in his penthouse, with a glass of chardonnay in hand, Lucy’s absence has carved out a hollow space inside him.

For the first time in his life, he feels truly heartbroken. It serves as a stark reminder that romance is a risk he no longer cares to take.

It’s easier to approach relationships like long-term investments rather than an actual, intimate connection.

They stop at an intersection. Peter nudges him, pointing toward the scenic coastline.

“Look at that view,” he whistles, adjusting his sunglasses. “Who wouldn’t want to get lost in that?”

The water sparkles under the sun. People lounge on the sand, others swim in the shallow water, and a few yachts drift lazily in the distance.

The beauty of it appeals to him more than expected. He supposes his brother has a point—the last few months have been nothing but long days filled with grueling business meetings and lonely city nights.

Maybe a few days of doing nothing in paradise won’t actually kill him.

His decision crystallizes in that moment.

“For once,” Harry says, a small smile tugging at his lips as Peter laughs in triumph, “you might be right. It is very beautiful here.”

“There are worse places to be.”

Harry hums in agreement, pulling out his phone and canceling his flight back to New York. 

You’ve been mostly inland for the past month—wandering misty green hills in Ireland, chasing history through the UK, and slowly making your way down to the stunning French Riviera.

It has been the kind of trip that rewires your soul.

Now you’re in Monaco, kicking off the coastal chapter of your long awaited summer escape. 

The views here are almost too beautiful to be real. Water stretches endlessly toward the horizon and pastel buildings cascade down the hills like something out of a painting.

You can’t wait to lose yourself in it.

Right now, you’re laying out on a plush lounger beside the resort’s infinity pool, bikini hugging your sun-warmed skin.

Headphones in, your favorite summer track pulses softly in your ears as a light sheen of sweat kisses your collarbones and thighs.

You’ve been out here for hours, lazily sipping mimosas until the world has taken on that perfect, fuzzy glow.

God, you haven’t felt truly peaceful in… well, longer than you care to admit. 

Between the endless hours at your interior design firm, the partnership with your husband and his brother that blurred every line between work and home, and the slow unraveling of your four-year marriage… you’d forgotten what it meant to put yourself first.

This trip is your rebellion. Your indulgence. Your chance to be gloriously selfish for once.

With a contented sigh, you slip one earbud out and push your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. 

The bright Mediterranean light makes you squint as you lazily scan the pool area. It’s perfectly balanced—not too crowded, not too empty. 

Most guests cluster near the bar on the far side, laughter and conversation drifting across the water.

That’s when your gaze catches on him.

A handsome stranger is already watching you. Tall, dark curly hair, confident posture even while leaning against the bar.

His eyes are kind and intense at the same time. You don’t know how to feel about it.

You offer him a polite smile.

He returns it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that sends a small spark of interest through you, before he turns back to the bartender.

The heat is starting to cling too heavily to your skin. You rise gracefully, stretching your arms overhead, letting the sun worship every inch of you for a moment.

You adjust the strings of your bathing suit, then pad around the edge of the pool and dive in with a smooth, clean entry.

The cool water is pure bliss. It swallows you whole, washing away the morning’s warmth as you glide beneath the surface.

When you break through, you push wet strands of hair from your face and smile to yourself, savoring the way the water caresses your skin.

You swim a few lazy laps, rediscovering the rhythm of your strokes. You haven’t swam properly in years.

Eventually, the craving for something sweeter pulls you toward the submerged swim-up bar.

You swim to the smooth ledge and settle onto one of the underwater stools, ordering once you get the bartender’s attention.

“Coconut mojito, please.”

The resort is everything Peter mentioned and more.

Harry checked in not much longer after that car ride with his brother, changing into swim trunks and a light button-down, heading down to the pool with no real plan except to sit in the sun and remind himself he’s still capable of relaxing.

He ordered a tequila sunrise at the bar, the sweet burn of it loosening the knot at the base of his neck.

That’s when he saw you, and he swore his heart stopped for just a split second. 

You were laying there completely oblivious, enjoying the early afternoon so at ease that Harry almost envied how serene you looked.

And the bathing suit you have on? He kept his gaze respectful, but the pull in his gut was immediate. 

Then you made eye contact, smiled at him, and that was enough to get the man’s resolve to crack just a little bit.

You’re absolutely gorgeous.

Harry didn’t approach you or anything like that, obviously, since he’s not here for complications. Just a few quiet days to breathe before diving back into the labyrinth of his family’s empire.

So he decided to lounge at the bar in the water, taking off his button down before getting in and making small talk with the man behind the tiled counter as he waited for his drink.

But now… here you are. Sliding onto the space right beside him, water droplets tracing shimmering paths down your shoulders.

He’s already three—no, four—tequila sunrises deep. Liquid courage has a way of making him disregard his stance on making a move.

“You can charge it to my room,” Harry intervenes smoothly when the bartender turns to prepare your drink.

You glance over, one eyebrow arching in pleasant surprise.

The light catches the small hoops in your ears and the layered necklaces resting against your collarbone. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You flash him that same smile from earlier, the one that made his pulse jump.

Up close, you’re even more striking—curves accentuated by your bathing suit, skin glowing with a thin layer of sunscreen.

The bartender returns with your cocktail. You thank him softly, then lift your glass toward Harry in a cheerful toast.

He mirrors the motion. Your glasses clink under the bright blue sky.

“Mmm, delicious,” you murmur after the first sip.

Harry wonders if that's an invitation to indulge in small talk.

It is.

“Is that your go-to order?” he asks, turning slightly toward you, the cool water lapping gently at your waists.

“No,” you answer, leaning forward against the colorful bar top, your gold jewelry gleaming with every small movement. “I’m usually an espresso martini girl, but I’m trying to break out of my routines. What about you?”

You nod toward the vibrant orange drink in his hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Tequila sunrise,” he says with a small grin. “Not my usual either. But it felt right for this setting.”

You take another slow sip through the straw, the mint and lime bright on your tongue. “So what is your usual?”

“A rich bourbon on the rocks.” His eyes drift briefly to your lips as you hum in response, licking a stray drop from them.

The motion is innocent, but it sends heat curling through him.

“Here’s to trying new things,” you say, raising your glass again with a mischievous glint in your eye.

You clink once more, and this time Harry can’t look away.

With the way the afternoon sun paints everything in gold and rose and how the distant laughter of other guests provides ambient background noise—it all feels like the opening notes of something… delightful.

“Do you usually stare this hard,” you tease lightly, “or do I have something on my face?”

Harry feels the faintest blush creep up his neck—completely out of character for him. He’s usually quick with a charming retort or flirtatious compliment.

He blames the tequila… and you.

“Sorry,” he replies with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just find you to be a very gorgeous woman. Your partner is a lucky person.”

You tense for the briefest second, but you brush it off with an easy giggle. “And what makes you think I have a partner?”

“A beautiful woman like yourself? Surely someone has already made their move.”

Your eyes narrow as you study him, reading the confident lines of his face, the expensive watch glinting on his wrist, the kind warmth in his deep brown eyes.

The way you’re looking at him sobers Harry up just enough to realize he might be coming on too strong.

“Well,” you finally break the small silence, leaning in a little closer. 

The scent of chlorine, coconut sunscreen, and something sweetly flora hits his nose and it makes him feel a little lightheaded. 

“Someone is making their move… and I think he thinks he’s bombing it entirely.” You can’t help but tease. “He isn’t, though. But he could buy me another drink if he really wants to make a good first impression.”

Harry blinks, momentarily stunned. Then realization hits like sunlight breaking through clouds—you’re flirting back.

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face as he straightens his posture and flags the bartender with newfound confidence.

“Another round,” he tells the man, not taking his eyes off you. “And keep them coming.”

The rest of the afternoon stretches lazily, conversation flowing as easily as the drinks.

For the first time in months, Harry feels the walls he’s built around himself beginning to melt under the warmth of your presence.

And you—lost in the freedom of this trip and the magnetic pull of this charming stranger—start to wonder just how far this unexpected spark might take you.

Eventually, Harry suggests moving to a shaded cabana nearby, and you happily agree.

The two of you settle into the oversized daybed draped with crisp white linens. The sheer curtains flutter lazily in the sea breeze.

As you get more comfortable, friendly touches linger just a second longer than necessary—his fingers brushing yours when passing a drink, your knee grazing his thigh as you shift closer.

The chemistry is hard to ignore.

You lean back against the cushions, legs tucked beneath you, and swirl the straw in your drink with a teasing smile.

“You know, I thought all billionaires were supposed to be pretentious and complete assholes. So far, I’m not getting that from you. Like, at all.”

Harry chuckles, moving closer, his brown eyes catching the sunlight as he rests one arm along the back of the daybed.

“That would be an accurate assumption. We are pretentious and assholes.” He says, truthfully. “I just happen to be aware of it and know when it’s best to let those unfortunate characteristics shine.”

He gives your figure a suave once over. “Sitting here with a beautiful woman doesn’t seem like the best time to be pretentious or an asshole, does it?

You take a slow sip from your mojito, deliberately holding his gaze. “Smooth talker. Do you practice answers like that in the mirror, or do they come naturally like the private jet?”

“Naturally. Especially when you look at me with that sparkle in your eye and in a bikini that should come with its own warning label.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you don’t look away.

Instead, you bite your lip, tilting your head with a flirtatious look.

“Warning label, huh? Please. Nothing mischievous about me. I’m just here to soak up the sun and forget real life exists for a while. You, on the other hand...”

You reach out and lightly tap the center of his chest, right where his shirt would button if it were fully fastened.

“Might not be an asshole but you do have that whole ‘I negotiate with fate itself’ energy about you. I bet you even schedule spontaneous moments in your calendar.”

His grin dimples, a playful challenge sparkling in his eyes as he leans in a fraction. “Guilty, but I’ll have you know that I canceled my flight back home on a whim. That’s practically rebellious for me.”

You raise your glass in a toast. “To rebellion... and learning how to be at ease.”

He clinks your drink gently against his, the ice chiming like a secret promise.

“This might just be the best detour of my summer yet.”

The breeze stirs the cabana curtains again, wrapping the two of you in the sweet tension of a budding romance.

Eventually, the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in rich strokes of tangerine and deep violet.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Harry asks, realizing only now you haven’t properly introduced yourself with how wrapped up you both have been in the easy conversations.

You giggle softly. “We really skipped right past that, didn’t we?”

“If my mother were here, she’d scold me for not introducing myself properly,” he extends a large, warm hand toward you. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” you repeat, letting the name roll off your tongue like you’re tasting it.

You slip your hand into his, noting how perfectly it fits, feeling the buzz from the sun and drinks and now his touch. 

“I’m…” You glance down at the small sun tattoo on your wrist before meeting his eyes again. “I’m Sol.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“I’ll make sure to thank my parents on your behalf.”

Harry’s laugh is genuine and rich, paired with an easy smile that softens the frown lines of his handsome face.

“Well, Sol, forgive me for being too forward… but I would love to take you out to dinner tonight.”

Whatever this is—he doesn’t want it to end when the sun sets. Contrary to how gloomy and pessimistic he’s been about romance as of late. 

Your eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise. “Tonight? As in, tonight tonight?”

“Not sure what other tonight there is, but yes. Only if you’d like.”

You bite your lip, the white rum humming pleasantly through your veins as you weigh the invitation.

Harry is unlike anyone you’ve met in a long time. Charming without trying too hard, confident but not arrogant.

Talking to him feels dangerously easy.

Part of you whispers that you should keep this light, enjoy the afternoon and walk away with a perfect vacation memory to tell your girlfriends back home over brunch. 

After all, he’s returning to New York soon, and you’re only at the beginning of the second half of your summer escape and in the middle of a very messy separation. 

But those eyes… those deep, kind, captivating eyes are making it nearly impossible to say no.

With a pretty, tipsy smile, you nod. “I’d love that, Harry. How about we meet in the lobby at eight?”

He tries—and fails—to hide the spark of excitement in his expression. Glancing at the expensive watch on his wrist, he notes the current time.

“That sounds perfect.”

With that, you get up to gather your things. Harry helps, also grabbing his belongings, and both of you walk back into the building together.

“I’m looking forward to dinner. Thanks for this afternoon… It was very fun.” 

Fun. There’s that word again. If Peter were here right now, he’d be saying I told you so in varying boastful ways.

“As am I. Thank you for indulging me.” 

You flash him another dazzling smile, and with that, both of you part ways.

You meet in the lobby at eight o’clock on the dot, the soft glow of chandeliers twinkling over the marble floors of the open area.

You’ve chosen a flowy summer dress in soft coral that makes your body look delectable, a fresh bikini hidden beneath for whatever the night might bring.

Keeping your makeup as natural yet accentuating as possible, you’ve made sure to apply your favorite lip gloss and sprayed just enough perfume to be that more alluring. 

Harry is waiting for you near the grand entrance, looking effortlessly handsome: a crisp light button-down rolled at the sleeves, tailored shorts, and his usually slicked-back curls now loose and fluffy.

In his hands rests a thoughtfully arranged bouquet of pink summer roses, delicate lilies, and cheerful daisies—perfectly color-coordinated as if he put meticulous care into choosing every bloom.

The sight of him makes your stomach flutter. Goodness, he really is so hot.

“You look incredible,” Harry compliments once he sees you, his warm brown eyes lighting up with obvious appreciation of how effortlessly gorgeous you look as he offers you the flowers.

You accept the bouquet with a genuine smile, inhaling the sweet floral scent. “These are beautiful, Harry. Thank you.”

He offers his arm like a true gentleman, and the two of you stroll down toward the private beach path, the distant sound of waves growing louder with every step.

“Where exactly are we going?” You can’t help but ask, taking in how beautiful the coastline looks at this time of night.

“It’s a surprise.”

He’s rented a secluded cove just for the two of you. When you arrive, your breath hitches in your throat.

A beautifully arranged beachside picnic waits under a canopy of sheer white fabric that billows gently in the breeze.

There’s plush cushions and a low table overflowing with vibrant summer fruits—ripe peaches, berries, slices of mango—alongside an elegant spread of fresh seafood, crusty bread, cheeses, and chilled wine. 

Lanterns flicker softly, casting gentle shadows across the sand as the waves foam against the shore.

“This is… possibly one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me,” you admit without thinking, a little breathless as he helps you settle onto the cushions.

Holy shit.

Harry’s smile is modest but pleased. “Good. That was the goal.”

The dinner unfolds like a scene from a romance movie. You talk for hours as stars pierce the clear night sky.

He tells you about growing up in New York, his love for the energy of the city but his quiet craving for serene moments like this. He’s glad his brother talked him into extending the trip.

You laugh at his dry humor, tease him about being a secret romantic, and flirt shamelessly in return. Your husband doesn’t cross your mind once.

When he asks about your life, you keep things intentionally vague: a few charming stories from your travels, your passion for design and beautiful spaces, but nothing that might pop this perfect bubble you’ve found yourself in.

Two bottles of expensive, crisp white wine disappear between shared bites of food.

It loosens your limbs, drawing you closer to him on the cushions.

Harry’s hand rests on your bare knee. It makes you shiver despite the breeze that flows by being warm.

Your head rests against his shoulder as the night turns more intimate.

He turns to you, his face inches from yours, eyes dark with want.

“Have you ever wanted to do something so impulsive,” he murmurs, gaze falling down to your glossy lips then back up to your eyes. “that it makes you wonder if you’re really as brave as you thought you were?”

You let out a soft sigh, the question hitting closer to home than he could ever possibly know. “Yes.”

He studies your features for a moment, then asks: “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering with words, you lean in and press your lips to his.

It starts tender but quickly ignites, all that pent-up longing you’ve both been carrying in your respective lives pours out between you.

You climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs as your flowy summer dress rides up around your hips. Harry’s hands instinctively settle on your waist, gripping you with a quiet groan of approval as you settle against him.

Your fingers thread through his curly hair, tugging lightly as the kiss deepens passionately. Harry responds with equal fervor, one hand sliding up your back while the other grips your thigh, pulling you flush against him.

Your bodies move together instinctively. Tongues dance, teasing and tasting wine and summer on each other’s lips.

You rock subtly in his lap, feeling his swelling erection against your inner thigh. It makes the pulsing at your core intensify. You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this desired.

His hands roam freely now; tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over warm skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of your tied bikini.

When you finally pull back, you repeat his earlier question back to him with a playful smirk. “Have you ever wanted to do something so impulsive…?”

You have him completely at the edge of his metaphorical seat, every nerve alive with anticipation.

His lips are swollen from your playful nips. “Yes.”

Without warning, you rise from the picnic setup with a wicked grin

You slip out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet and revealing the stunning silhouette of your body. 

His eyes widen in a mix of surprise and desire as you peel off your bikini top and toss it playfully at his chest, exposing your chest to him.

Harry’s mouth goes dry.

You kick away your bottoms and skip toward the moonlit ocean, your laughter ringing like music across the sand.

“C’mon! Don’t make me swim alone!”

He doesn’t hesitate long after that. Harry strips down and joins you in the warm, silky water. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. Just this morning he was ready to sign off the idea of letting loose for good… and then you appeared and completely swept him off his feet.

Naked skin meets naked skin as the gentle waves lap around you both.

Harry presses his broad body against yours, hands sliding down the slick curve of your waist, gripping the soft swell of your hips, then gliding up to cup your breasts.

You moan softly, throwing your arms around his neck and angling yourself to kiss his lips.

A low groan vibrates from his chest and into your mouth as your hardened nipples brush against his skin with every sway.

One of his hands drifts lower, possessively squeezing the fullness of your ass, pulling you tighter so you can feel exactly how hard and ready he is for you.

And holy shit is he packing a very generous package. 

“As pleasurable as I imagine it would be, I can’t sleep with you tonight, Harry.”

He’s so dizzy with lust that it’s almost disorienting. “That’s fine. There are no expectations. However, I am only human…” He says in regard to the hard on he’s currently sporting.

“Trust me, I feel it too in my own way.” You bite your lip and pull away before things escalate.

You’re not sure you want to cross that line just yet—but he’s making it seem very, very enticing.

To keep things playful, you splash him with a cheeky wave of your hand then immediately try to wade away.

Harry is a lot quicker. His strong arm loops around your waist, pulling your slippery body back against his chest with an amused laugh.

While holding you firmly in place, he retaliates with a splash of his own, sending sparkling droplets cascading all over you.

You squeal with laughter as the two of you playfully wrestle in the waves, all tangled limbs and breathless giggles under the stars.

The walk back to the hotel feels like you’re floating.

Harry’s hand rests lightly at the small of your back as you stroll along the string-lit path. The night air is perfumed with sea salt and night-blooming jasmine.

You feel like you’re in a modern fairytale.

Every touch sends sparks up your arm, shared glances carrying the delicious weight of everything that just happened between you in such a short amount of time.

When you reach the lobby, you turn to face him, cheeks still warm.

“I had an amazing time tonight,” you tell him softly, meaning every word. “Truly. Thank you for everything.”

Harry steps closer, his brown curls more prominent now from the texture of the saltwater.

“Truth be told: I’m not ready for this night to end. I want to keep seeing you… if you’ll let me.” His voice drops, laced with quiet hope that you want to continue whatever the hell this is. “May I have your number? So we can stay in touch while you’re here?”

You hesitate for half a second—your real life flickering somewhere in the back of your mind—but the pull of this amazing man and the rejuvenated summer version of yourself tugs you from those thoughts.

You give him the number to your flip phone (the burner you bought specifically for this trip) and he programs it into his phone with a boyish grin that makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. 

Then leans in and kisses you.

It’s sweet, feeling like the beginning of something far bigger than a fleeting summer fling… even if neither of you vocalizes it.

“Goodnight, Sol,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

You slip away from him, the bouquet of flowers cradled gently in your arms. You step into the waiting elevator and press the button for your floor, your eyes never leaving his until the mirrored doors glide shut between you.

Once you’re inside your room, you close the door behind you and let out a soft sigh as you slide down against the wood, knees literally weak.

Today was pure magic. The kind of day you’ll replay in your head for years.

You’re still smiling when you push yourself up, gently laying the flowers down on the console table, and heading toward the shower to rinse the salt from your skin.

That’s when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Your heart does a hopeful little flip, hoping that Harry has caved already and decided to call you.

Couldn’t even wait until tomorrow… you think to yourself playfully, reaching for the small device. 

But the number on the tiny screen isn’t his.

It’s your husband.

The smile fades instantly. You stare at the phone for a long moment, everything inside you screaming not to answer.

But old habits (guilt, history, the tangled business partnership) win out.

You flip it open.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice flatter than it’s been all day.

“Finally,” his familiar Texas drawl fills the line, tight with worry. “Ain’t heard from ya since you left for Ireland a month ago.”

There’s a heavy silence that follows before he speaks up again. “You okay? Where are you right now?”

“I’m fine.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, the dreamy afterglow of your day with Harry dissipating with every word.

More silence.

“We need to talk about this. I know I’ve been distant but… we built somethin’ real together and I know we can fix it.”

Old resentment bubbles up. “It took me leaving the country for you to finally come to that realization? We’ve been roommates who share a business for the last two years. Not husband and wife.”

He lets out the kind of heavy sigh that used to make you soften and let your guard down.

“I know I’ve let you down. I’ve been putting the job first—hell, putting everythin’ first except us. But I’m here now, trying. Everyone’s been on my ass too, sayin’ I’m an idiot for letting you go on this trip alone. Just… tell me where you are. I’ll fly out. We’ll figure this out together.”

Together. You scoff and close your eyes, the weight of years of trying—and failing—pressing down on you. 

You’ve already grieved this marriage in silence for too long. Important dates he missed, dinners eaten alone, the way intimacy had slowly faded into plain coexistence.

You’re exhausted from carrying the hope for both of you.

“It’s too late for that,” you admit steadily, despite the ache that lingers. “I’m not coming home yet. I need this time for me.”

The line goes quiet for another moment.

“I miss you.”

“I missed you too, but I’m done missing someone who’s right next to me. Don’t call me again for a while, Joel.”

You end the call before he can respond, the finality of it settling heavy in your chest.

Setting the phone down, you finally undress and step into the shower, standing under the hot spray of the waterfall feature.

As eucalyptus scented steam fills the space, your mind drifts back to warm brown eyes, curly hair, and the way Harry looked at you like you were the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

You allow yourself to sink fully into the possibility of what this summer—and this unexpected man—might blossom into.

A wistful, secret smile returns to your lips.

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[almostfoxglove]

SEE YOU AT THREE

RATING: Explicit (18+ only) PAIRING: Joel x ofc (Ellie's aunt) STATUS: COMPLETE (epilogue forthcoming)

Pre-Outbreak / No-Outbreak AU

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

SUMMARY: When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either.

❤️‍🩹 painting of anna in chapter 15 by @yopossum 📷 nelle's instagram grid (modern!au) 🏠joel's, nelle's, & anna's homes (moodboard)

chapter links, drabbles & content warnings below the cut!

CHAPTERS

one: AFTERSCHOOL PICKUP

two: ROSEMARY

three: ACCIDENTAL, ALMOST

four: NO WONDER

five: HOPELESS

six: WICKED NOTHINGS

seven: CLOSER, CLOSER

eight: RESERVATION

nine: SUCKER PUNCH

ten: SICK DAY

eleven: COME HERE

twelve: MIDNIGHT

thirteen: DARLIN'

fourteen: AVALANCHE

fifteen: ALWAYS EARLY

sixteen: THE LEAK

seventeen: YOUR BUSINESS

eighteen: NOT WEIRD

nineteen: OUT OF IT

twenty: IT AIN'T NOBODY

twenty-one: LIFTOFF

twenty-two: READY

twenty-three: MOMENTUM

twenty-four: MARROW

twenty-five: SOMEPLACE SAFE

twenty-six: FAMILY (new nov 14th!)

one shots

RED TULIPS (joel & nelle's first valentine's day)

headcanons

nelle & joel's music taste

misc headcanons

nelle + taking a partner's surname

exchanging house keys

nelle's signature scent

school bake sale

CW: Eventual smut (unprotected piv, f!oral m!oral, creampie, cockwarming, a touch of praise kink). Yearning, mutual pining, occasional drunkenness. Light miscommunication but hopefully not a tortuous amount. joel being so in love it's disgusting. Reference to and discussions of divorce / breakups, the death of a parent, and single parenthood. OFC & joel are the same age (both early to mid 30s). OFC has one tattoo described, various described outfits (often including skirts or dresses), and vaguely curly/wavy hair long enough to be tied up. happy ending!

[iknowisoundcrazyreads]

Strap the fuck in Freya, I am four chapters deep on ao3 and every single chapter is getting an unhinged comment from me, this I swear 🫡

[encasedinobsidian]

glass block window

Clint Flood x OFC│fluff, angst, smut│explicit, 18+

Summary: Dolly learns to trust, and Clint gives love a second chance. 

Tags: Modern day Freaky Tales babysitter AU with adapted canon, slow burn, angst w/ happy ending, smut and domestic eroticism, forced proximity, age gap, found family, discussion of SA trauma from a stalker ex, Clint saves the day, canon typical violence. A/N: This series has a very happy ending for Dolly and Clint but very heavy topics are discussed and portrayed!!! I saw Freaky Tales and immediately thought that I wish Clint was my scary mob uncle, and so this story is for all of us who never got the justice we deserved and wished we had someone like him to deliver a bit of good old fashioned street justice instead. I could've left it as a found family thing, but I liked the idea of having Clint find love again so... here we are :p Enjoy!

Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

[vodkaandpizza]

The Ghosts of Bogotá Masterlist

Summary

Javier Peña found himself broken down, in more ways than one, in a little Texas town between San Antonio and Laredo on his way back from his retirement 'party'. Directionless, sleep deprived and haunted by guilt, he's no longer sure if the woman standing on the other side of the roadhouse bar is real, or just another ghost. One who haunted his dreams, one who he regretted more than most. His ambition and determination to hunt down the cartels had wounded her irreparably, and now she'd returned to haunt him.

Helena Sotomayor has worked hard since she left Columbia to carve out a life for her and her daughter. After 15 years of hard work she's managed to heal enough, make enough and do enough that she's almost where she wants to be in life. Her days as a high-end prostitute in Columbia long behind her. Until one night at her second job, she sees the man who helped her escape that life. She nearly doesn't believe it, he seems nothing like the brash young agent she once knew, full of life and swagger, now sad and defeated.

Perhaps not all ghosts are bad. Or perhaps somethings are better left in the past.

Comments encouraged.

Warnings: for references to prior SA, PTSD, some derogatory language, i think this fic is a bit lighter than Narcos but it will contain similar subject matter. All the smut is consensual but there is some safe BDSM later on. MDNI.

This fic is a plot with porn so it does include: Dom!Javier Pena, switch!Javier Pena, bondage, overstimulation, edging, oral, deepthroat, face sitting, nipple play, sex toys, light anal play, safewords, aftercare, light exhibitionism, light dom/sub. Chapters that are very smutty noted with at ** (other chapter may still contain light smut)

Chapters lengths 2-5k, total fic word count 131k

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: The Ghosts

Chapter 2: The Paper

Chapter 3: The Cops

Chapter 4: The Car

Chapter 5: The Door

Chapter 6: The Brothel

Chapter 7: The Restaurant

Chapter 8: The Ranch

Chapter 9: The Dance

Chapter 10: The Bed*

Chapter 11: The Professors

Chapter 12: The Contract

Chapter 13: The Bandit

Chapter 14: The Council

Chapter 15: The Lecture

Chapter 16: The Muertos

Chapter 17: The Hotel**

Chapter 18: The Gift

Chapter 19: The Hat

Chapter 20: The Abandoned

Chapter 21: The Meddler

Chapter 22: The House**

Chapter 23: The Lunch

Chapter 24: The Statue**

Chapter 25: The Limits**

Chapter 26: The Valentines

Chapter 27: The Party**

Chapter 28: The Cigarettes

Chapter 29: The Cork

Chapter 30: The Market**

Chapter 31: The Coins

Chapter 32: The Charity

Chapter 33: The Move

Chapter 34: The Vacation

Chapter 35: The Diamond

Chapter 36: The Clamps**

Chapter 37: The Plant

Chapter 38: The Shot

Chapter 39: The Edges**

Chapter 40: The Plans

Chapter 41: The Donkey

The Epilogue

Ghosts Extras

See Sequel Fic (with Frankie Morales) - The Devil's Pilot

Head canons & Discussions

Why I Wrote Ghost of Bogotá

The Cork Board Head Cannon

Helena Settling in Texas

Javier Low-Key Hates Manual Labour

The Animals of Bogotá

Mood boards/Aesthetics

The Pena Ranch

The Yellow House

The Little Ranch Wedding