just love and be loved

21 |she/her| I occasionally write fics my other acc where I reblog: l0ngsch0ngreblogs ask me anything :)!

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RECENTLY PUBLISHED:

Stay a little bit longer - Frank Castle x f!reader (NSFW)

(Met) In the restroom - Dieter Bravo x f!reader  (NSFW)

Work for it - Javier Peña x f!reader (NSFW)

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Read it to me - Tim Rockford x f!reader (NSFW)

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Stay a little bit longer

Frank Castle x f!reader

summary: after many years you unexpectadly reunite with your highschool sweetheart

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, blowjob, unprotected p in v, squirting, spanking, biting, uh bondage kinda?), angst, swearing, mentions of infertility, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death (cuz it’s Frank, duh), cursing, fluff (because it’s me and I can’t help myself :)), duh)

word count: 7k (I have to step up my game again)

A/N: I am baaack :d. After almost 3 years, though, still. I don’t even know if anyone still cares about my writing, but I had to get this out of my system. It’s a little bit different from all the Pedro characters I’ve written in the past, but I really enjoyed writing it. Actually, I might write part 2 of this, idk yet tho.

You had a shitty day. So shitty that you decided it would be a good idea to go and get a drink in one of the nearby bars close to your apartment. At first, you were contemplating staying at yours and just opening one of the many bottles of wine you had at home, but ultimately decided against it. You definitely needed something stronger, and a change of scenery wasn’t that bad of an idea either.

You moved recently and haven't had a chance yet to explore your new neighbourhood. The walk to the nearest bar was not even a 10-minute walk, and the sun was slowly setting as you made your way there. The streets were still busy, people and cars in full motion to get to their desired destination. Sometimes, when you look at the people passing by you, you think of how every person has their own little life, stories to tell. It's a funny thing, really, how the world is so small and at the same time so big. Your phone tells you you arrived at the bar you wanted, your fingers quickly shutting off the map guiding you as you open the door.

The bar is quite small, dimly lit place with a few tables scattered around. What surprises you is the number of people in there. Almost every chair is occupied. People laugh, glasses clinging together, and someone almost spills their beer onto your trousers as you move past them to the empty spot you see right in front of the bar.  

You place your jacket onto the bar stool, hopping on it, and place your hands on the bar as you look at the selection of alcohol they have. You actually don't know why, as you always get the same thing. You are a creature of habit, and when the barman asks what you want, you say your usual order that you get every time.

He just nods, his skilful hands quickly working. He is older than you, probably by ten years or so. His dark eyes watch the TV that is almost at the other end of the bar, and a few men gather around it to watch the game as well. He isn't your usual type, long hair and even longer beard, but you purse your lips when you think about leaving with him to your place tonight. You haven't had sex in a while, and even though you weren't really an overly sexual kind of person, you enjoyed having fun from time to time. Your train of thought is stopped when you see the wedding band on his finger as he places your drink next to your hands that were tapping the wood. You abstinently touch your own wedding band that hides under your t-shirt.

A quick ‘thank you’ from you, and he disappears to cater to another customer.

You wonder if he owns the place or not. It isn’t dirty, the countertop isn't sticky, and it actually doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke and piss in here. As you drink the alcohol that starts to burn your throat, you see someone from the corner of your eye sitting on the barstool that is two stools away from yours. It is a man with his hood on, so you can’t see his face.

His fingers start to tap the surface of the bar as he waits for the barman. They are big, his fingers thick, and you wonder if they are calloused, if he has a manual job, or if he is an office kind of guy.

You doubt it. His back is broad, the little bit of forearms poking out from the sleeves of his hoodie proving that he is definitely well-muscled. You want to get a better look at him. Not even to know if he is attractive or not, more like because your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You slowly lean more forward, trying to look as if you are trying to get a better look at the alcohol bottles behind the bar. Your head slowly turns in his direction, and you are pretty sure your heart stops pumping for a good few seconds. Even though you cannot really see his face all that well, you would still recognise the profile of his face anywhere. And there is no fucking way that the fate was so cruel that he landed beside you (quite literally), your ex-husband.

You have to be staring because he turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised, and his mouth opens to say something, but he quickly closes it, his eyes scanning your face to make sure it was really you. You swallow harshly. The plan to just pay as quickly as you can and leave without him noticing flying out of the window.

Neither of you says anything. His eyes are so damn expressive, they always were, and you can see the hurt, confusion, and anger all at once. Maybe it isn’t too late to leave. Your hand shoots up to call the barman so you can pay, and you turn to your drink, swallowing the rest of it.

He turns as well, his body now stiff, and you can see his foot . The barman is nowhere in sight, to your dismay,  and you sigh quietly, a million  thoughts crossing your mind all at once.

You didn't leave your relationship with Frank on a good note. Far from it.

You met Frank in high school. You two never talked, though you knew he existed. Everyone at school knew who he was. He got into fights so often, you were pretty sure he mistook school for a boxing ring. At least he was nice to look at. Tall and lean with that stupid grin he wore every time you passed him in the hallways.

The first ever interaction you had was the year when both of you were about to graduate. You were putting some books into your locker, and when you closed it, he was there, staring at you with these puppy dog eyes. One of his hands leaning against a locker, his bicep flexing and you quickly looked away, afraid you would be caught. He grinned, his tongue darting to lick his lower lip.

“Heard you tutor,” he drawled, his eyes scanning your stature, and you almost scoffed, rolling your eyes. It took everything in your willpower not to leave him where he was standing.

“Hi to you too,” his eyebrows raised, and his grin spread even wider. You were going to be fun.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you almost choked when he said the nickname. You understood why girls were fawning over him. He looked like trouble. No, he was trouble, and something about that was intriguing. Made your skin burn. But you didn't want him to know the effect his little nickname had on you. It was pathetic, for Christ's sake, you never even talked to the guy before.

“First of all, that's not my name. Second of all, I don't have the slightest interest of tutoring someone who doesn't even know how to greet someone properly. Third of all, I don't have time to tutor anyone else.” With that, you turned on your heel, ready to leave, but his hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him again.

He needed to pass all of his classes. He couldn't afford not to. He was so close to leaving this shitty place.

He scratched the back of his neck, his hand letting go of you.“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I need this. I’ll pay you. Just… c’mon. Please.” He sighed. And you didn't know why, but you felt bad for the guy. Maybe it was the fact he said please, which you were pretty sure he rarely said, or the fact that he was giving you those puppy dog eyes once again. You didn't have time for him, that was true. But maybe, just maybe, you could somehow find it.

“Fine,” you sighed, and it was comically hilarious how he seemed to relax,”but you need to be on time. I will write my address down for you. Also, you need to look at it before the tutoring, and we will just go through things you don't understand. Yeah?” He looked at you weirdly, you couldn't really decifer the look in his eyes, but he nodded, his grin returning when you passed him your address, you scrabbled on a piece of paper.

“Yeah? Alright. See you later, sweetheart.” And with that, he was gone, leaving you completely glued to the spot you were standing as you watched him stride away.

You learned that Frank was not all that dumb. He was just lazy, and you were surprised when he actually listened to you, looking at the topic before arriving at yours. And over time, you started to learn more about him. Going out with him and slowly but surely developing the biggest crush in the history of crushes. He was kind of sweet in his own weird way. It didn't take long for you to learn he liked you, too.

He was one of your many firsts, and to your father's dismay, you two stayed together even after graduation, eventually getting married way too young.

Frank doesn't know what to do. And that rarely happens to him. He always has a plan or strategy, or something else, even if he is caught by surprise. He never expected to see you again after you left him, not saying a word. He wondered for far too long what happened, where you were, how you were doing. Did you find somebody else? Did you marry again? Did you have family or kids?

But now you were here, just a few meters from him. Living, breathing, healthy and acting as if he was some fucking stranger. And in a sense, he really was. Years passed by since you broke up with him, the only thing you left behind were those fucking divorce papers he refused to sign for more than two years. And fuck, you looked almost the same as the last time he saw you. What were you doing here?

He watches from the corner of his eye as you play with the rim of the glass, your fingers mindlessly doing circle shapes around it. He scans your hands to see if you really ever remarried but there is no sight of a wedding band on your finger.

And oh, he is so fucking angry. He was for a long time. He actually doesn't remember the last time he felt any other emotion than anger. But now, with you here, it just seems to grow and grow. He was owed an explanation. So many times, he replayed in his head how he would approach you if he ever saw you again. But now he couldn't even form a sentence. You still had that effect on him. Frank wasnt a man of many words but even the ones he had seem to fly out of the window any time he saw you. But he had to man up, had to know. Why?

“Hey.” Rough, low, like gravel seems to stop your train of thought. He sounds the same, and as you turn to face him again, to try not to be a coward, you get a better look at him. He takes his hood off, and you forget you wanted to pay when the barman reaches you. You shoo him away with your hand, and he just mutters something under his breath before leaving you, taking Frank's order.

He looks different, his age showing in his face, a few wrinkles visible on his forehead, but he still looks good. Too good. Sharp features with big lips, dark piercing eyes. He has a short beard, he didnt have when you two were together. It suits him. He doesn't look like a boy anymore. He is all man.

You offer him a small smile, not really knowing what to do. How to act. But you can see he doesnt know either, his foot tapping against the bar stool, his jaw clenched. He was mad, rightfully so, but you didnt really know if this was the time and place to get him the answers he had. But was it ever the right time?

“Hey,” you breathe out and clench the empty glass in your hand. Clearing your throat, you ask the dumbest thing you could at the moment. You know it, but what else were you supposed to say? “So, uh, how have you been?”

And if looks could kill, you would be dead multiple times by now. His nostrils flare, the grip he has on his own glass tightening. You are certain he is gonna break it before he brings it to his lips, downing the alcohol in one big gulp. You watch his Addams apple bop with the motion. You see a little trickle of sweat rolling down his throat. Was it so warm in here from the start, or was it the alcohol that starts to make your skin burn and your stomach tighten?

He chuckles dryly as he shoots you a glare. “How’ve I been?” A humorless laugh leaves him. “That what you got for me after all this time?”

The small endearment falls from his lips by accident, but it wakes something in you; you can feel the tip of your ears starting to burn. “I just wanna know one thing. Why? And don't you fucking dare play dumb with me,” he growls, as his eyes pin you to the spot.

You nod and look down, fiddling with your thumbs. How were you supposed to explain it to him? You regretted your decision. How dumb you were, you knew he would understand. He loved you too much, and it was completely illogical on your part. But you were hurting, felt as if you told him he would view you differently. Your brain was playing tricks on you, and so you just left. Without an explanation, without saying goodbye.

You stay quiet for longer than you think, because he sighs, and it looks like he is going to leave. You panic. He is finally here, with you. How many times have you wished you could meet him again? How many times did you wish you could explain? You blurt it out before your brain registers it, and you almost clap a hand over your mouth when you see his surprised face.

“I can't have kids, alright?”

After you got married, Frank insinuated he wanted to start a family. You were both too young, but both of you were too blissed out to realise it wouldn't be such a good idea. But you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Frank. So it felt right. It also meant more time in bed with Frank. Which wasnt unwelcome. He knew what you liked, listened to your body and overall was just too fucking good at sex. He was a giver, just wanted to give you what you wanted, what you deserved, he always said. He could spend all day between your thighs. With his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He was eager and wanted to please, never leaving you unsatisfied.

But after a while with no luck, you started to get worried. Was something wrong with you? With him? You never voiced your concerns to Frank as he he didnt seem all that worried. He was just too damn perceptive.

“Sometimes it takes a while, ye? Don't worry, sweetheart, I am gonna give you a baby.” He grinned and carried you to bed to show you how exactly not worried you should be. And even though he was the sweetest, most supportive, it just didn't seem to stop your brain from thinking something was wrong. So when he was gone, you went to the doctor. Just to make sure. Just to make your mind finally shut up. There was nothing wrong with you...or him. But you were quickly proven wrong as you learned you couldn't have kids, the doctor trying to calm you down as you cried in the ordination, trying to tell you about other options.

And you were sure Frank would understand if you told him. He loved you, yes, but he was also a family man. You were his wife, and you couldn't give him a child. Something he desperately wanted. And sure, there were other possibilities to adopt...But would he view you the same? Would he still love you, care for you the same? Would he not think of you less? Would he regret his decision to stay with you in the long run? All of these thoghts were crossing your mind a hundred miles per hour, and you just couldnt stop them. And so you left. Without telling Frank anything, you packed your bags and booked the nearest flight to just disappear.

And when he came home, your belongings were still there, but no one was home he panicked, and there was only a small note with “sorry” written on it. He didn't understand. He tried to reach you, call you, but you changed your phone number. Your family wouldn't tell him where you went. Your father mighty proud of himself because you finally left him. He hated Frank, and Frank knew that. He thought you had no future with him.

And then he met Maria. He waited and waited for you, but you never returned, never tried to reach him. And oh, how you wanted to. You thought about him every day. But you wanted him to move on, to find somebody with whom he could start a family with, have kids whom he could love. It was the right decision, you thought, even when your heart ached.

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Look, Frank, I am not able to have my own biological kids. I will never be able to. And I wanted you to be able to have that. You yearned to have kids and to be a father. And I would never be able to give you the life you deserved. Yes, I didn't handle it the right way. I know that. And there is no excuse, not even that I was young and stupid. I loved you so much that I thought sacrificing our marriage would be better for you in the long run. I was a coward; I couldn't face you and tell you. I was afraid of how you would handle it. Even though I know you loved me so much, you probably wouldn't care. But I love, loved, you so much that I cared for the both of us. So, yeah, you can yell at me and tell me how stupid it was, how I was supposed to just tell you. That we would figure it out together. But I know all of those things, and I cannot change the past. I understand why you are mad at me, and I don't expect anything less. I deserve it. I know that,” you exhaled, trying not to cry, “so, yeah. That is the truth that I just couldn't tell you all those years ago.”

He just stares at you. He thought if he ever met you again, if you explained why you left him, it would make him feel better. That he would understand. But this, he never expected. Just because you couldn't have kids? Fuck that. He wanted you; he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He cared about you. He wants to tell you how fucking stupid you are, to show you that the hurt he felt never left, but he can't make himself do it when he sees the empty look in your eyes. Ah, fuck.

And he doesn't know why he says it, he doesn't expect it. He could blame it on alcohol, but he only had one glass. “Had a wife. Two kids.” His gaze drops to the glass. “They’re dead.”

You want to ask what happened, how, when, and why. You want to tell him how sorry you are. But you know he doesn't want your pity, sorry or your sympathy. He never liked it when somebody apologised for something that wasnt their fault. You didn't know them, but you were sure they were great, if Frank raised them, and his wife was definitely lovely, also if Frank loved her.

“Well, my father died three years ago. I know you never really liked him.” You say, with a small smile on your face, and he appreciates that you don't try to ask more about his family. Even if you did, he wouldn't answer.

“Figured that bastard’d live forever. Just to spite me.” You chuckle and ask the barman to pour you one more drink. You relax a little bit. You expected this conversation to go far worse, but thankfully, Frank doesn't seem like he wants to fight.

“Yeah, no. He died from lung cancer and left me with the family business. I actually sold my share of the company today and somehow ended up here because of it.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise. Your father was an attorney. Big name in his world and wanted you to continue in his footsteps. That's why he never liked Frank. He wasn’t from his world and had no intention of trying to be.

“So you quit, huh? Thought you were gonna spend your whole life defendin’ dirtbags.” You grimace as you take a sip of your drink. Frank never liked your career. Especially because he knew it wasnt something you wanted to do, but what your father wanted you to. A lot of arguments started because of it, him telling you you weren't a little girl anymore and could do what you please, and you telling him he wouldn't understand. Most of the time, it resulted in him sleeping on the couch, though you always crawled next to him. You never liked it when you two fought, especially because of your father.

“Well, I realised it's not really something I want to keep doing for the rest of my life. What about you, military treating you alright?” He hums as he takes a sip of his own drink, the liquid burning his throat. It feels nice, it feels like he is alive.

“Yeah. Got out a few years back.” You hum, comfortable silence falling between the two of you. You never expected you and Frank could have a civilised conversation after all these years.

“You seein’ someone?” He asks, hoping it doesn't seem like he really wants to know,  more to keep the conversation going.

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p”, “he wanted to get married, and I didn't want to. He was sweet, but both of us were expecting something different from life, so I ended it a few months ago.”

You don't mention how you couldn't bear to marry again, that you loved Frank still, at least some part of you that knew the old him still did. He owned you, in a sense. You thought about him a lot, and now that you were seeing him in person again, in all his glory, the old feelings were threatening to bubble to the surface. It was silly, maybe. But he was your first (and only) big true love. The one who taught you how relationships were about compromise and mutual trust. Which you broke. You gnaw your lip, his eyes following the motion.

And then he says something that makes your whole being lit on fire, your stomach flipping inside of you.

“You were wrong, you know.” He looks at you again. “Wouldn’t have mattered to me.” You know he was referring to what you said earlier, and it brings out a newfound courage in you. Especially when he looks you up and down, his tongue darting to lick his lips.

“You want to get out of here?” Maybe you shouldn't have asked, you think, when he seems to contemplate your words, but he quickly downs the rest of his drink and throws a few bucks onto the counter.

“Yeah.”

His decision surprises both of you, but you don't want to ask him if he is sure. Don't want him to change his mind. You know that it is selfish of you. You were the one who left him, and now you wanted to taste him again, to feel how he feels again. You grab your jacket as you lift yourself from the barstool, him following right behind you as you leave the bar.

The walk to your apartment seems to feel like hours. It's quiet, both of you don't say anything, and you wonder what he is thinking about. Is he regretting his decision? You were adults, and you both knew what your invitation meant. And maybe you were now starting to regret it. You haven't been with anyone for a while now, and the thought of being with Frank again, in that way, made your head spin.

He is lost in his own thoughts, hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he walks beside you. His elbow brushes your arm a few times, but you don’t say anything, fumbling with your keys when you get to your place. You hate how nervous you are. You've been with Frank before. Multiple times. But this is different. Both of you are different people now, almost strangers. But with a shared past. And that isn't good.

As you open your apartment and turn on the lights, you look back to see him standing near the door, looking around. He takes in the sight of your place. He expected it to be bigger, more grand. He is certain you have the money to afford it, but this seems cozy. It seems like you. There is a small couch a few steps from the door, right opposite from it, a kitchen island.

He watches as you take off your jacket and throw it on the couch, opening the fridge to take out the cold water bottle. You offer it to him, but he just shakes his head, taking off his boots and throwing his hoodie onto the couch as well. Neither of you seems to know what to do next. He feels out of place. He doesn't know if he can sit on the couch or not.

He eventually does, and you notice it seems even smaller with his big frame sitting on it. He is definitely broader than he was before. His thighs are more muscular, and so are his arms and basically everything about him. His hair is now kept shorter. You are both looking at each other with expectation. You feel as if one of you moves, the whole world will fall apart and that this is just some kind of dream. He has a black t-shirt on, it's snug around his torso and biceps. He stretches his arm around the back of the couch, your eyes watching his every move.

He doesn’t know what gives him the confidence, maybe it's the way you are looking at him, as if he was your God and he could answer all of your prayers, or the fact that the longer he was looking at you, the more he wanted you. It felt wrong to him, but at the same time, oh, so right. He was struggling with his inner self, but the desire won against the logical part of him that was telling him this wasn’t a good idea.

“Take your shirt off.” You were sure you heard him wrong, the bottle in your hands almost falling from your hands from how gruffly he commanded it. You've never seen him like this before. It was different. It was exciting. You rounded the kitchen island, standing a few feet away from him. And you did as he asked. Taking your shirt off and tossing it on the floor, your breath hitches when you see the look in his eyes. It's all liquid desire and want.

Fuck, he thinks. You look like fucking goddess sent to rid him of all his sins. His eyes catch the thin necklace around your neck, and his jaw clenches when he sees what's on it. It's your fucking wedding band. The one he gave you.

And he feels something he swore to himself he would never feel again after Maria. After you. But you were here, all gorgeous body and big eyes, and plump lips. And you were still keeping your wedding band. It felt so wrong. How could he feel something towards a woman who left him? How could he still feel something towards you when he was waist-deep in revenge for Maria?

But oh, was it that surprising? He knew he would always feel something towards you. He felt so fucking guilty anytime he thought of you, even when he was with Maria. And of course, he told her, the guilt was slowly eating him alive.  But she understood, you were his first love, and she told him you would always have part of his heart. It was natural. She was okay with it. All of us have past, she said. Oh, his perfect fucking Maria.

And as he watches the wedding band move with every breath you take, it also wakes another thing in him. Posessiveness. Of knowing you kept it, wore it all this time. That even if you were with someone, he was still part of you.

Your uncertainty keeps growing as he just watches you, not moving a muscle, and as you are about to make a joke that two people should take off their clothes for this to work, he is suddenly in front of you, grabbing the back of your neck in both of his large hands as he kisses you harshly. It's all clashing teeth and tongues fighting, his teeth biting your tongue as you moan into his mouth.

It's different from the Frank you knew, his grip tightening on you as you grab his bicep, your nails digging into it. He manoeuvres you so that you fall onto the couch, and he takes off your pants in one quick motion. Your breath is heavy as you watch him stand over you, his eyelids hooded, and you watch as he takes off his t-shirt, throwing it onto the floor somewhere with yours.

You gasp, seeing all the scars on his torso, his ribs, his stomach. He had so many scars, though you guessed none of them hurt as much as the emotional ones. You want to trace every one of them, to ask what happened. But you know it is not your place to ask, and you are brought out of your trance when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling.

He takes off his pants with his boxers, his cock springing free, and he grabs your hair into a fist. He doesnt rush you, but he lets you know what he wants without speaking and you arent one to not comply. Fuck, you would do anything he asked right now. You forgot how big his cock is, and you wrap your hand around him timidly as you try to balance yourself on the couch. He groans when you lick him, his eyes closing as you taste the salty precum.

You slowly take him into your mouth and take the rest of him in your hands, his eyes shooting open as you try to relax your throat around him. The other hand digs into the meat of his thigh. It's filthy the sounds you make around him, the moans and gurgles, and he tightens his grip on your hair as he watches. The other hand grabbing the wedding band.

“Attagirl, fuck, yeah.” He growls as you take him deeper at his words of encouragement. He always preferred to give rather than to receive. It wasn't that you were bad at it, quite the opposite. Though he just really enjoyed making you beg and writhe under him. But now he wants to be selfish. To show you that he is in control now. Maybe he can taste you another time. Another time, huh. Yeah, just to make sure you were still as sweet. Fuck.

He just keeps repeating the words again and again, attagirl, attagirl, attagirl. You are pretty sure you will leave a wet spot on the couch. And also that you could cum just like this. He praises you as he looks down at you, the muscles on his arms flexing as he holds his face and looks up before he pulls you off of him, a string of saliva still connecting you to his cock. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again and hurls you up onto your feet.

He lowly says, “bedroom”. You lead him inside, and he pushes into your chest so you fall onto the mattress. He joins you, hovering above you as he takes in your features. You were still so fucking beautiful.

The kisses are now slower, more passionate as he explores your mouth. He tastes like the whiskey he had, and it feels nice; it feels like you are getting drunk just from his taste.

You feel his hard cock resting on your thigh. His hand unclips your bra, as he takes his time tracing your nipples with his tick fingers before he assaults your breasts, holding your hands together above your head. You want to touch him, you really do. You want to put your hands into his hair, want to rake your nails on his back.

He snarls when you don't hold still, and he grabs the belt you didn't even know he took with him, expertly tying your hands together with it. Your eyes widen as he grins, happy that you are now how he wants you to be. His tongue darts out to lick your nipple, his hand playing with the other one, and you moan when he gently bites it, his tongue then soothing it.

He slowly descends lower, leaving wet kisses all over your stomach. How is your skin so fucking smooth? How are you so fucking perfect? He takes off your panties, a quiet “fuck” leaving his mouth.

You look glorious with your legs spread in front of him, putty under his hands. Like it was before. Before you left. Before Maria, before the kids, before all this anger he can't seem to shake off. Before the person they now call the Punisher.

“Jesus… you’re soaked. Look at you.” He says as he licks two of his fingers. “You gonna let me finger you, yeah? You want this so badly?” You just nod, but he doesn't seem to be happy with that, and he grabs you by your face.

“You have to say it, sweetheart. Say you want it. You need me, yeah?” Do you need him? Does he need you?

He was so fucking filthy with his mouth, but the small “yes, please, Frank” seemed to be satisfactory enough for him before he parts your lips and slowly puts the two fingers inside of you. You moan. You feel so fucking full as he fills you up to his knuckles. He hisses as you move your hips, slowly grinding against them.

“Fuck, you are so fucking wet. Attagirl.” His pace is slow, and it feels like torture. It's not enough, and at the same time, too much. It feels so fucking similar and yet so different, and you cry out when he bites your collarbones and at the same time finds the spongy spot.

“Ah, there is my girl. You gonna cum for me so soon? What, pretty girl? I can feel it.” The mix of his dirty words, hitting the spot only he could ever find, mockery, and quickening of his pace seems to just do the trick, and before you know it, you are cumming, the orgasm hitting you in waves.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You made such a mess again."

He doesn't stop, almost doubling in his efforts, and you try to push his hand away, but you cannot do shit with your hands tied. You weakly kick your legs at him, and he stops when he hears you say, "Please, it's too much, Frank, please, I-"

You open your eyes after you come down from the high, and you see him grinning at you. His hand is now in front of his face, all glistening from your juices. He asks you if you want a taste and before you can answer, he puts his fingers into your mouth.

It was no surprise Frank could make you squirt. The first time he learned how to do so, he seemed to be unstoppable to the point where you thought you would pass out if he didn't stop. One more, he said every time, just one more.

Now he seems to be too impatient, and before you know it, he is lining up with your entrance, one of his hands gingerly pulling hair from your face. So he can see your face better. To feel what you feel.

It seems almost too intimate how he changes from one second to the next, and it seems he realised it also before he turns you onto your belly, your face lying on the soft mattress, and your ass up in the air. His blunt nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

It seems so dirty for him to have you like this. Vulnerable, with your hands tied up. He can do whatever he wants with you. The scariest part was that you trusted him. You would trust him with your life.

He spanks your cheek, then the other one, and you yelp, trying to move away from him, but he pulls you closer, his dick slapping your pussy lips.

“You are so pretty like this, sweetheart.” He purrs, and you almost turn into a puddle when he leaves a trail of kisses up your spine before you feel him notch himself against your entrance and slowly push inside.

He feels so so fucking good. As if he never left you in the first place. As if he was fucking teenager again, the weight of the world not setting on his shoulders yet.

“Frank-” you moan, and he grabs your hands, bringing them behind your back, grabbing onto the belt. The leather digs into your skin but it is not an unwelcome feeling.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know. I'll go slow first, promise. Fuck, you are so fucking tight.” You are pretty sure he mumbles something along the side of “I missed this”, but you can't be sure, you can't think straight as he pushes deeper inside of you, all of him in, and he lets you have a few seconds to get used to him.

It's almost too good, you are pretty sure you could cum just like this, without him moving. You forgot how good it feels to have him inside you. Near you. With you. You feel like you are on fire, his body heat radiating off him. He smells like leather, alcohol, and somehow gunpowder?

As he promised, he rocks into you slowly first, letting you adjust before he feels you relax more. And it feels like it's not enough for him because the grip on the belt tightens before he sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping against your ass. The room is filled only with your moans and his growls, the sound of him drilling into you.

“Please, please, Frank, I-” You gasp when his fingers find your clit, his breath now on your neck as he kisses you there. You are both sweaty; the droplets of sweat from his forehead drip down onto your back.

“Come on, sweetheart, give it to me. I can feel you are gonna cum again. Let me feel it, let me feel it, let me-” And with a few expert flicks of his fingers, you are cuming, once again soaking him. Your ears are ringing, and you hear only a faint:

“Attagirl, fuck, so hot, baby. That's it.” You feel so fucking divine. He wants to stay just like this for a little bit longer. Just a little longer. Before the reality crashes on him again. He could pretend right here, right now, that you never left. That you stayed with him. That you still love him. That he still...that he still loves you. His pace slows down, and he pulls out of you, his hand lazily fisting his cock as he looks down at you. How good you are for him, to him. Letting him do what he wants. How he wants.

He chokes and cums as well, coating your back with his spend.

You plop down on the mattress, completely exhausted. He unties you, slowly rubbing soothing circles around your wrists and inspects them if he left any marks before you hear him leave the room. He comes back with a wet drag, cleaning you up, and you hum. When you feel like you can finally move, you barely open your eyes as you get under the covers. He doesn't seem to follow you, and you turn around to look at him as he stands at the edge of the bed, seemingly not knowing what to do.

“I don't expect you to stay, Frank. You can leave, so you don't have to sneak out later.” And with that, you turn back, closing your eyes. Hoping, just hoping maybe he would stay.

He thinks about it before you hear the rustling of the sheets and feel him pulling you closer, his breath hot on your neck.

“Nah, I can stay a little bit longer.”

He tells himself it is because he is too tired to just leave. But he doesn't sleep that night. He tells himself it is not because you feel too fucking good pressed up against him. That it feels so right. He tells himself it is not because he just wants to stay with you, just a little bit longer.

Oh, what a fucking liar he was.

[lets-imagine-fanfics]

this so amazing, it needs more notes!!!

so brilliantly written, ugh love this for him, you've absolutely nailed his character!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Ah, thank you so much 🥹.

I am so glad you enjoyed it. I wasn’t sure how to wtite Frank but I am so happy you liked it!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Stay a little bit longer

Frank Castle x f!reader

summary: after many years you unexpectadly reunite with your highschool sweetheart

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, blowjob, unprotected p in v, squirting, spanking, biting, uh bondage kinda?), angst, swearing, mentions of infertility, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death (cuz it’s Frank, duh), cursing, fluff (because it’s me and I can’t help myself :)), duh)

word count: 7k (I have to step up my game again)

A/N: I am baaack :d. After almost 3 years, though, still. I don’t even know if anyone still cares about my writing, but I had to get this out of my system. It’s a little bit different from all the Pedro characters I’ve written in the past, but I really enjoyed writing it. Actually, I might write part 2 of this, idk yet tho.

You had a shitty day. So shitty that you decided it would be a good idea to go and get a drink in one of the nearby bars close to your apartment. At first, you were contemplating staying at yours and just opening one of the many bottles of wine you had at home, but ultimately decided against it. You definitely needed something stronger, and a change of scenery wasn’t that bad of an idea either.

You moved recently and haven't had a chance yet to explore your new neighbourhood. The walk to the nearest bar was not even a 10-minute walk, and the sun was slowly setting as you made your way there. The streets were still busy, people and cars in full motion to get to their desired destination. Sometimes, when you look at the people passing by you, you think of how every person has their own little life, stories to tell. It's a funny thing, really, how the world is so small and at the same time so big. Your phone tells you you arrived at the bar you wanted, your fingers quickly shutting off the map guiding you as you open the door.

The bar is quite small, dimly lit place with a few tables scattered around. What surprises you is the number of people in there. Almost every chair is occupied. People laugh, glasses clinging together, and someone almost spills their beer onto your trousers as you move past them to the empty spot you see right in front of the bar.  

You place your jacket onto the bar stool, hopping on it, and place your hands on the bar as you look at the selection of alcohol they have. You actually don't know why, as you always get the same thing. You are a creature of habit, and when the barman asks what you want, you say your usual order that you get every time.

He just nods, his skilful hands quickly working. He is older than you, probably by ten years or so. His dark eyes watch the TV that is almost at the other end of the bar, and a few men gather around it to watch the game as well. He isn't your usual type, long hair and even longer beard, but you purse your lips when you think about leaving with him to your place tonight. You haven't had sex in a while, and even though you weren't really an overly sexual kind of person, you enjoyed having fun from time to time. Your train of thought is stopped when you see the wedding band on his finger as he places your drink next to your hands that were tapping the wood. You abstinently touch your own wedding band that hides under your t-shirt.

A quick ‘thank you’ from you, and he disappears to cater to another customer.

You wonder if he owns the place or not. It isn’t dirty, the countertop isn't sticky, and it actually doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke and piss in here. As you drink the alcohol that starts to burn your throat, you see someone from the corner of your eye sitting on the barstool that is two stools away from yours. It is a man with his hood on, so you can’t see his face.

His fingers start to tap the surface of the bar as he waits for the barman. They are big, his fingers thick, and you wonder if they are calloused, if he has a manual job, or if he is an office kind of guy.

You doubt it. His back is broad, the little bit of forearms poking out from the sleeves of his hoodie proving that he is definitely well-muscled. You want to get a better look at him. Not even to know if he is attractive or not, more like because your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You slowly lean more forward, trying to look as if you are trying to get a better look at the alcohol bottles behind the bar. Your head slowly turns in his direction, and you are pretty sure your heart stops pumping for a good few seconds. Even though you cannot really see his face all that well, you would still recognise the profile of his face anywhere. And there is no fucking way that the fate was so cruel that he landed beside you (quite literally), your ex-husband.

You have to be staring because he turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised, and his mouth opens to say something, but he quickly closes it, his eyes scanning your face to make sure it was really you. You swallow harshly. The plan to just pay as quickly as you can and leave without him noticing flying out of the window.

Neither of you says anything. His eyes are so damn expressive, they always were, and you can see the hurt, confusion, and anger all at once. Maybe it isn’t too late to leave. Your hand shoots up to call the barman so you can pay, and you turn to your drink, swallowing the rest of it.

He turns as well, his body now stiff, and you can see his foot . The barman is nowhere in sight, to your dismay,  and you sigh quietly, a million  thoughts crossing your mind all at once.

You didn't leave your relationship with Frank on a good note. Far from it.

You met Frank in high school. You two never talked, though you knew he existed. Everyone at school knew who he was. He got into fights so often, you were pretty sure he mistook school for a boxing ring. At least he was nice to look at. Tall and lean with that stupid grin he wore every time you passed him in the hallways.

The first ever interaction you had was the year when both of you were about to graduate. You were putting some books into your locker, and when you closed it, he was there, staring at you with these puppy dog eyes. One of his hands leaning against a locker, his bicep flexing and you quickly looked away, afraid you would be caught. He grinned, his tongue darting to lick his lower lip.

“Heard you tutor,” he drawled, his eyes scanning your stature, and you almost scoffed, rolling your eyes. It took everything in your willpower not to leave him where he was standing.

“Hi to you too,” his eyebrows raised, and his grin spread even wider. You were going to be fun.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you almost choked when he said the nickname. You understood why girls were fawning over him. He looked like trouble. No, he was trouble, and something about that was intriguing. Made your skin burn. But you didn't want him to know the effect his little nickname had on you. It was pathetic, for Christ's sake, you never even talked to the guy before.

“First of all, that's not my name. Second of all, I don't have the slightest interest of tutoring someone who doesn't even know how to greet someone properly. Third of all, I don't have time to tutor anyone else.” With that, you turned on your heel, ready to leave, but his hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him again.

He needed to pass all of his classes. He couldn't afford not to. He was so close to leaving this shitty place.

He scratched the back of his neck, his hand letting go of you.“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I need this. I’ll pay you. Just… c’mon. Please.” He sighed. And you didn't know why, but you felt bad for the guy. Maybe it was the fact he said please, which you were pretty sure he rarely said, or the fact that he was giving you those puppy dog eyes once again. You didn't have time for him, that was true. But maybe, just maybe, you could somehow find it.

“Fine,” you sighed, and it was comically hilarious how he seemed to relax,”but you need to be on time. I will write my address down for you. Also, you need to look at it before the tutoring, and we will just go through things you don't understand. Yeah?” He looked at you weirdly, you couldn't really decifer the look in his eyes, but he nodded, his grin returning when you passed him your address, you scrabbled on a piece of paper.

“Yeah? Alright. See you later, sweetheart.” And with that, he was gone, leaving you completely glued to the spot you were standing as you watched him stride away.

You learned that Frank was not all that dumb. He was just lazy, and you were surprised when he actually listened to you, looking at the topic before arriving at yours. And over time, you started to learn more about him. Going out with him and slowly but surely developing the biggest crush in the history of crushes. He was kind of sweet in his own weird way. It didn't take long for you to learn he liked you, too.

He was one of your many firsts, and to your father's dismay, you two stayed together even after graduation, eventually getting married way too young.

Frank doesn't know what to do. And that rarely happens to him. He always has a plan or strategy, or something else, even if he is caught by surprise. He never expected to see you again after you left him, not saying a word. He wondered for far too long what happened, where you were, how you were doing. Did you find somebody else? Did you marry again? Did you have family or kids?

But now you were here, just a few meters from him. Living, breathing, healthy and acting as if he was some fucking stranger. And in a sense, he really was. Years passed by since you broke up with him, the only thing you left behind were those fucking divorce papers he refused to sign for more than two years. And fuck, you looked almost the same as the last time he saw you. What were you doing here?

He watches from the corner of his eye as you play with the rim of the glass, your fingers mindlessly doing circle shapes around it. He scans your hands to see if you really ever remarried but there is no sight of a wedding band on your finger.

And oh, he is so fucking angry. He was for a long time. He actually doesn't remember the last time he felt any other emotion than anger. But now, with you here, it just seems to grow and grow. He was owed an explanation. So many times, he replayed in his head how he would approach you if he ever saw you again. But now he couldn't even form a sentence. You still had that effect on him. Frank wasnt a man of many words but even the ones he had seem to fly out of the window any time he saw you. But he had to man up, had to know. Why?

“Hey.” Rough, low, like gravel seems to stop your train of thought. He sounds the same, and as you turn to face him again, to try not to be a coward, you get a better look at him. He takes his hood off, and you forget you wanted to pay when the barman reaches you. You shoo him away with your hand, and he just mutters something under his breath before leaving you, taking Frank's order.

He looks different, his age showing in his face, a few wrinkles visible on his forehead, but he still looks good. Too good. Sharp features with big lips, dark piercing eyes. He has a short beard, he didnt have when you two were together. It suits him. He doesn't look like a boy anymore. He is all man.

You offer him a small smile, not really knowing what to do. How to act. But you can see he doesnt know either, his foot tapping against the bar stool, his jaw clenched. He was mad, rightfully so, but you didnt really know if this was the time and place to get him the answers he had. But was it ever the right time?

“Hey,” you breathe out and clench the empty glass in your hand. Clearing your throat, you ask the dumbest thing you could at the moment. You know it, but what else were you supposed to say? “So, uh, how have you been?”

And if looks could kill, you would be dead multiple times by now. His nostrils flare, the grip he has on his own glass tightening. You are certain he is gonna break it before he brings it to his lips, downing the alcohol in one big gulp. You watch his Addams apple bop with the motion. You see a little trickle of sweat rolling down his throat. Was it so warm in here from the start, or was it the alcohol that starts to make your skin burn and your stomach tighten?

He chuckles dryly as he shoots you a glare. “How’ve I been?” A humorless laugh leaves him. “That what you got for me after all this time?”

The small endearment falls from his lips by accident, but it wakes something in you; you can feel the tip of your ears starting to burn. “I just wanna know one thing. Why? And don't you fucking dare play dumb with me,” he growls, as his eyes pin you to the spot.

You nod and look down, fiddling with your thumbs. How were you supposed to explain it to him? You regretted your decision. How dumb you were, you knew he would understand. He loved you too much, and it was completely illogical on your part. But you were hurting, felt as if you told him he would view you differently. Your brain was playing tricks on you, and so you just left. Without an explanation, without saying goodbye.

You stay quiet for longer than you think, because he sighs, and it looks like he is going to leave. You panic. He is finally here, with you. How many times have you wished you could meet him again? How many times did you wish you could explain? You blurt it out before your brain registers it, and you almost clap a hand over your mouth when you see his surprised face.

“I can't have kids, alright?”

After you got married, Frank insinuated he wanted to start a family. You were both too young, but both of you were too blissed out to realise it wouldn't be such a good idea. But you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Frank. So it felt right. It also meant more time in bed with Frank. Which wasnt unwelcome. He knew what you liked, listened to your body and overall was just too fucking good at sex. He was a giver, just wanted to give you what you wanted, what you deserved, he always said. He could spend all day between your thighs. With his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He was eager and wanted to please, never leaving you unsatisfied.

But after a while with no luck, you started to get worried. Was something wrong with you? With him? You never voiced your concerns to Frank as he he didnt seem all that worried. He was just too damn perceptive.

“Sometimes it takes a while, ye? Don't worry, sweetheart, I am gonna give you a baby.” He grinned and carried you to bed to show you how exactly not worried you should be. And even though he was the sweetest, most supportive, it just didn't seem to stop your brain from thinking something was wrong. So when he was gone, you went to the doctor. Just to make sure. Just to make your mind finally shut up. There was nothing wrong with you...or him. But you were quickly proven wrong as you learned you couldn't have kids, the doctor trying to calm you down as you cried in the ordination, trying to tell you about other options.

And you were sure Frank would understand if you told him. He loved you, yes, but he was also a family man. You were his wife, and you couldn't give him a child. Something he desperately wanted. And sure, there were other possibilities to adopt...But would he view you the same? Would he still love you, care for you the same? Would he not think of you less? Would he regret his decision to stay with you in the long run? All of these thoghts were crossing your mind a hundred miles per hour, and you just couldnt stop them. And so you left. Without telling Frank anything, you packed your bags and booked the nearest flight to just disappear.

And when he came home, your belongings were still there, but no one was home he panicked, and there was only a small note with “sorry” written on it. He didn't understand. He tried to reach you, call you, but you changed your phone number. Your family wouldn't tell him where you went. Your father mighty proud of himself because you finally left him. He hated Frank, and Frank knew that. He thought you had no future with him.

And then he met Maria. He waited and waited for you, but you never returned, never tried to reach him. And oh, how you wanted to. You thought about him every day. But you wanted him to move on, to find somebody with whom he could start a family with, have kids whom he could love. It was the right decision, you thought, even when your heart ached.

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Look, Frank, I am not able to have my own biological kids. I will never be able to. And I wanted you to be able to have that. You yearned to have kids and to be a father. And I would never be able to give you the life you deserved. Yes, I didn't handle it the right way. I know that. And there is no excuse, not even that I was young and stupid. I loved you so much that I thought sacrificing our marriage would be better for you in the long run. I was a coward; I couldn't face you and tell you. I was afraid of how you would handle it. Even though I know you loved me so much, you probably wouldn't care. But I love, loved, you so much that I cared for the both of us. So, yeah, you can yell at me and tell me how stupid it was, how I was supposed to just tell you. That we would figure it out together. But I know all of those things, and I cannot change the past. I understand why you are mad at me, and I don't expect anything less. I deserve it. I know that,” you exhaled, trying not to cry, “so, yeah. That is the truth that I just couldn't tell you all those years ago.”

He just stares at you. He thought if he ever met you again, if you explained why you left him, it would make him feel better. That he would understand. But this, he never expected. Just because you couldn't have kids? Fuck that. He wanted you; he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He cared about you. He wants to tell you how fucking stupid you are, to show you that the hurt he felt never left, but he can't make himself do it when he sees the empty look in your eyes. Ah, fuck.

And he doesn't know why he says it, he doesn't expect it. He could blame it on alcohol, but he only had one glass. “Had a wife. Two kids.” His gaze drops to the glass. “They’re dead.”

You want to ask what happened, how, when, and why. You want to tell him how sorry you are. But you know he doesn't want your pity, sorry or your sympathy. He never liked it when somebody apologised for something that wasnt their fault. You didn't know them, but you were sure they were great, if Frank raised them, and his wife was definitely lovely, also if Frank loved her.

“Well, my father died three years ago. I know you never really liked him.” You say, with a small smile on your face, and he appreciates that you don't try to ask more about his family. Even if you did, he wouldn't answer.

“Figured that bastard’d live forever. Just to spite me.” You chuckle and ask the barman to pour you one more drink. You relax a little bit. You expected this conversation to go far worse, but thankfully, Frank doesn't seem like he wants to fight.

“Yeah, no. He died from lung cancer and left me with the family business. I actually sold my share of the company today and somehow ended up here because of it.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise. Your father was an attorney. Big name in his world and wanted you to continue in his footsteps. That's why he never liked Frank. He wasn’t from his world and had no intention of trying to be.

“So you quit, huh? Thought you were gonna spend your whole life defendin’ dirtbags.” You grimace as you take a sip of your drink. Frank never liked your career. Especially because he knew it wasnt something you wanted to do, but what your father wanted you to. A lot of arguments started because of it, him telling you you weren't a little girl anymore and could do what you please, and you telling him he wouldn't understand. Most of the time, it resulted in him sleeping on the couch, though you always crawled next to him. You never liked it when you two fought, especially because of your father.

“Well, I realised it's not really something I want to keep doing for the rest of my life. What about you, military treating you alright?” He hums as he takes a sip of his own drink, the liquid burning his throat. It feels nice, it feels like he is alive.

“Yeah. Got out a few years back.” You hum, comfortable silence falling between the two of you. You never expected you and Frank could have a civilised conversation after all these years.

“You seein’ someone?” He asks, hoping it doesn't seem like he really wants to know,  more to keep the conversation going.

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p”, “he wanted to get married, and I didn't want to. He was sweet, but both of us were expecting something different from life, so I ended it a few months ago.”

You don't mention how you couldn't bear to marry again, that you loved Frank still, at least some part of you that knew the old him still did. He owned you, in a sense. You thought about him a lot, and now that you were seeing him in person again, in all his glory, the old feelings were threatening to bubble to the surface. It was silly, maybe. But he was your first (and only) big true love. The one who taught you how relationships were about compromise and mutual trust. Which you broke. You gnaw your lip, his eyes following the motion.

And then he says something that makes your whole being lit on fire, your stomach flipping inside of you.

“You were wrong, you know.” He looks at you again. “Wouldn’t have mattered to me.” You know he was referring to what you said earlier, and it brings out a newfound courage in you. Especially when he looks you up and down, his tongue darting to lick his lips.

“You want to get out of here?” Maybe you shouldn't have asked, you think, when he seems to contemplate your words, but he quickly downs the rest of his drink and throws a few bucks onto the counter.

“Yeah.”

His decision surprises both of you, but you don't want to ask him if he is sure. Don't want him to change his mind. You know that it is selfish of you. You were the one who left him, and now you wanted to taste him again, to feel how he feels again. You grab your jacket as you lift yourself from the barstool, him following right behind you as you leave the bar.

The walk to your apartment seems to feel like hours. It's quiet, both of you don't say anything, and you wonder what he is thinking about. Is he regretting his decision? You were adults, and you both knew what your invitation meant. And maybe you were now starting to regret it. You haven't been with anyone for a while now, and the thought of being with Frank again, in that way, made your head spin.

He is lost in his own thoughts, hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he walks beside you. His elbow brushes your arm a few times, but you don’t say anything, fumbling with your keys when you get to your place. You hate how nervous you are. You've been with Frank before. Multiple times. But this is different. Both of you are different people now, almost strangers. But with a shared past. And that isn't good.

As you open your apartment and turn on the lights, you look back to see him standing near the door, looking around. He takes in the sight of your place. He expected it to be bigger, more grand. He is certain you have the money to afford it, but this seems cozy. It seems like you. There is a small couch a few steps from the door, right opposite from it, a kitchen island.

He watches as you take off your jacket and throw it on the couch, opening the fridge to take out the cold water bottle. You offer it to him, but he just shakes his head, taking off his boots and throwing his hoodie onto the couch as well. Neither of you seems to know what to do next. He feels out of place. He doesn't know if he can sit on the couch or not.

He eventually does, and you notice it seems even smaller with his big frame sitting on it. He is definitely broader than he was before. His thighs are more muscular, and so are his arms and basically everything about him. His hair is now kept shorter. You are both looking at each other with expectation. You feel as if one of you moves, the whole world will fall apart and that this is just some kind of dream. He has a black t-shirt on, it's snug around his torso and biceps. He stretches his arm around the back of the couch, your eyes watching his every move.

He doesn’t know what gives him the confidence, maybe it's the way you are looking at him, as if he was your God and he could answer all of your prayers, or the fact that the longer he was looking at you, the more he wanted you. It felt wrong to him, but at the same time, oh, so right. He was struggling with his inner self, but the desire won against the logical part of him that was telling him this wasn’t a good idea.

“Take your shirt off.” You were sure you heard him wrong, the bottle in your hands almost falling from your hands from how gruffly he commanded it. You've never seen him like this before. It was different. It was exciting. You rounded the kitchen island, standing a few feet away from him. And you did as he asked. Taking your shirt off and tossing it on the floor, your breath hitches when you see the look in his eyes. It's all liquid desire and want.

Fuck, he thinks. You look like fucking goddess sent to rid him of all his sins. His eyes catch the thin necklace around your neck, and his jaw clenches when he sees what's on it. It's your fucking wedding band. The one he gave you.

And he feels something he swore to himself he would never feel again after Maria. After you. But you were here, all gorgeous body and big eyes, and plump lips. And you were still keeping your wedding band. It felt so wrong. How could he feel something towards a woman who left him? How could he still feel something towards you when he was waist-deep in revenge for Maria?

But oh, was it that surprising? He knew he would always feel something towards you. He felt so fucking guilty anytime he thought of you, even when he was with Maria. And of course, he told her, the guilt was slowly eating him alive.  But she understood, you were his first love, and she told him you would always have part of his heart. It was natural. She was okay with it. All of us have past, she said. Oh, his perfect fucking Maria.

And as he watches the wedding band move with every breath you take, it also wakes another thing in him. Posessiveness. Of knowing you kept it, wore it all this time. That even if you were with someone, he was still part of you.

Your uncertainty keeps growing as he just watches you, not moving a muscle, and as you are about to make a joke that two people should take off their clothes for this to work, he is suddenly in front of you, grabbing the back of your neck in both of his large hands as he kisses you harshly. It's all clashing teeth and tongues fighting, his teeth biting your tongue as you moan into his mouth.

It's different from the Frank you knew, his grip tightening on you as you grab his bicep, your nails digging into it. He manoeuvres you so that you fall onto the couch, and he takes off your pants in one quick motion. Your breath is heavy as you watch him stand over you, his eyelids hooded, and you watch as he takes off his t-shirt, throwing it onto the floor somewhere with yours.

You gasp, seeing all the scars on his torso, his ribs, his stomach. He had so many scars, though you guessed none of them hurt as much as the emotional ones. You want to trace every one of them, to ask what happened. But you know it is not your place to ask, and you are brought out of your trance when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling.

He takes off his pants with his boxers, his cock springing free, and he grabs your hair into a fist. He doesnt rush you, but he lets you know what he wants without speaking and you arent one to not comply. Fuck, you would do anything he asked right now. You forgot how big his cock is, and you wrap your hand around him timidly as you try to balance yourself on the couch. He groans when you lick him, his eyes closing as you taste the salty precum.

You slowly take him into your mouth and take the rest of him in your hands, his eyes shooting open as you try to relax your throat around him. The other hand digs into the meat of his thigh. It's filthy the sounds you make around him, the moans and gurgles, and he tightens his grip on your hair as he watches. The other hand grabbing the wedding band.

“Attagirl, fuck, yeah.” He growls as you take him deeper at his words of encouragement. He always preferred to give rather than to receive. It wasn't that you were bad at it, quite the opposite. Though he just really enjoyed making you beg and writhe under him. But now he wants to be selfish. To show you that he is in control now. Maybe he can taste you another time. Another time, huh. Yeah, just to make sure you were still as sweet. Fuck.

He just keeps repeating the words again and again, attagirl, attagirl, attagirl. You are pretty sure you will leave a wet spot on the couch. And also that you could cum just like this. He praises you as he looks down at you, the muscles on his arms flexing as he holds his face and looks up before he pulls you off of him, a string of saliva still connecting you to his cock. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again and hurls you up onto your feet.

He lowly says, “bedroom”. You lead him inside, and he pushes into your chest so you fall onto the mattress. He joins you, hovering above you as he takes in your features. You were still so fucking beautiful.

The kisses are now slower, more passionate as he explores your mouth. He tastes like the whiskey he had, and it feels nice; it feels like you are getting drunk just from his taste.

You feel his hard cock resting on your thigh. His hand unclips your bra, as he takes his time tracing your nipples with his tick fingers before he assaults your breasts, holding your hands together above your head. You want to touch him, you really do. You want to put your hands into his hair, want to rake your nails on his back.

He snarls when you don't hold still, and he grabs the belt you didn't even know he took with him, expertly tying your hands together with it. Your eyes widen as he grins, happy that you are now how he wants you to be. His tongue darts out to lick your nipple, his hand playing with the other one, and you moan when he gently bites it, his tongue then soothing it.

He slowly descends lower, leaving wet kisses all over your stomach. How is your skin so fucking smooth? How are you so fucking perfect? He takes off your panties, a quiet “fuck” leaving his mouth.

You look glorious with your legs spread in front of him, putty under his hands. Like it was before. Before you left. Before Maria, before the kids, before all this anger he can't seem to shake off. Before the person they now call the Punisher.

“Jesus… you’re soaked. Look at you.” He says as he licks two of his fingers. “You gonna let me finger you, yeah? You want this so badly?” You just nod, but he doesn't seem to be happy with that, and he grabs you by your face.

“You have to say it, sweetheart. Say you want it. You need me, yeah?” Do you need him? Does he need you?

He was so fucking filthy with his mouth, but the small “yes, please, Frank” seemed to be satisfactory enough for him before he parts your lips and slowly puts the two fingers inside of you. You moan. You feel so fucking full as he fills you up to his knuckles. He hisses as you move your hips, slowly grinding against them.

“Fuck, you are so fucking wet. Attagirl.” His pace is slow, and it feels like torture. It's not enough, and at the same time, too much. It feels so fucking similar and yet so different, and you cry out when he bites your collarbones and at the same time finds the spongy spot.

“Ah, there is my girl. You gonna cum for me so soon? What, pretty girl? I can feel it.” The mix of his dirty words, hitting the spot only he could ever find, mockery, and quickening of his pace seems to just do the trick, and before you know it, you are cumming, the orgasm hitting you in waves.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You made such a mess again."

He doesn't stop, almost doubling in his efforts, and you try to push his hand away, but you cannot do shit with your hands tied. You weakly kick your legs at him, and he stops when he hears you say, "Please, it's too much, Frank, please, I-"

You open your eyes after you come down from the high, and you see him grinning at you. His hand is now in front of his face, all glistening from your juices. He asks you if you want a taste and before you can answer, he puts his fingers into your mouth.

It was no surprise Frank could make you squirt. The first time he learned how to do so, he seemed to be unstoppable to the point where you thought you would pass out if he didn't stop. One more, he said every time, just one more.

Now he seems to be too impatient, and before you know it, he is lining up with your entrance, one of his hands gingerly pulling hair from your face. So he can see your face better. To feel what you feel.

It seems almost too intimate how he changes from one second to the next, and it seems he realised it also before he turns you onto your belly, your face lying on the soft mattress, and your ass up in the air. His blunt nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

It seems so dirty for him to have you like this. Vulnerable, with your hands tied up. He can do whatever he wants with you. The scariest part was that you trusted him. You would trust him with your life.

He spanks your cheek, then the other one, and you yelp, trying to move away from him, but he pulls you closer, his dick slapping your pussy lips.

“You are so pretty like this, sweetheart.” He purrs, and you almost turn into a puddle when he leaves a trail of kisses up your spine before you feel him notch himself against your entrance and slowly push inside.

He feels so so fucking good. As if he never left you in the first place. As if he was fucking teenager again, the weight of the world not setting on his shoulders yet.

“Frank-” you moan, and he grabs your hands, bringing them behind your back, grabbing onto the belt. The leather digs into your skin but it is not an unwelcome feeling.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know. I'll go slow first, promise. Fuck, you are so fucking tight.” You are pretty sure he mumbles something along the side of “I missed this”, but you can't be sure, you can't think straight as he pushes deeper inside of you, all of him in, and he lets you have a few seconds to get used to him.

It's almost too good, you are pretty sure you could cum just like this, without him moving. You forgot how good it feels to have him inside you. Near you. With you. You feel like you are on fire, his body heat radiating off him. He smells like leather, alcohol, and somehow gunpowder?

As he promised, he rocks into you slowly first, letting you adjust before he feels you relax more. And it feels like it's not enough for him because the grip on the belt tightens before he sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping against your ass. The room is filled only with your moans and his growls, the sound of him drilling into you.

“Please, please, Frank, I-” You gasp when his fingers find your clit, his breath now on your neck as he kisses you there. You are both sweaty; the droplets of sweat from his forehead drip down onto your back.

“Come on, sweetheart, give it to me. I can feel you are gonna cum again. Let me feel it, let me feel it, let me-” And with a few expert flicks of his fingers, you are cuming, once again soaking him. Your ears are ringing, and you hear only a faint:

“Attagirl, fuck, so hot, baby. That's it.” You feel so fucking divine. He wants to stay just like this for a little bit longer. Just a little longer. Before the reality crashes on him again. He could pretend right here, right now, that you never left. That you stayed with him. That you still love him. That he still...that he still loves you. His pace slows down, and he pulls out of you, his hand lazily fisting his cock as he looks down at you. How good you are for him, to him. Letting him do what he wants. How he wants.

He chokes and cums as well, coating your back with his spend.

You plop down on the mattress, completely exhausted. He unties you, slowly rubbing soothing circles around your wrists and inspects them if he left any marks before you hear him leave the room. He comes back with a wet drag, cleaning you up, and you hum. When you feel like you can finally move, you barely open your eyes as you get under the covers. He doesn't seem to follow you, and you turn around to look at him as he stands at the edge of the bed, seemingly not knowing what to do.

“I don't expect you to stay, Frank. You can leave, so you don't have to sneak out later.” And with that, you turn back, closing your eyes. Hoping, just hoping maybe he would stay.

He thinks about it before you hear the rustling of the sheets and feel him pulling you closer, his breath hot on your neck.

“Nah, I can stay a little bit longer.”

He tells himself it is because he is too tired to just leave. But he doesn't sleep that night. He tells himself it is not because you feel too fucking good pressed up against him. That it feels so right. He tells himself it is not because he just wants to stay with you, just a little bit longer.

Oh, what a fucking liar he was.

[irisskies]

all the users tagged are some of the best writers i have come across since making my account. there’s nothing i look forward to more than reading all the fics you guys put out. please know the time you guys spend on all your work has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated by me. whether it’s romance, angst, smut, platonic or anything else in between, i always feel like i am actually in the story and i love it ALL. so this is my thank you to you all and i can’t wait to read more of your future works. i also look forward to discovering more Pedro fic writers. live laugh love Pedrito 🤪 (FRANKIE AND JAVI SUPREMACY THANK U VERY MUCH)

p.s. - this also goes out to every single writer on tumblr regardless of what fandom you write for. you are all amazing and do an amazing service to us readers. <3

@jrrmint @ezrasbirdie @gracieispunk @jwritesfanfics @jksprincess10 @wardenparker @theidiotwhowritesthings @elvinaa @strang3lov3 @prolix-yuy @urf1lterr @tightjeansjavi @frannyzooey @l0ngschl0ngking @psychedelic-ink @absurdthirst @joelscruff @the-ginger-hedge-witch @astroboots @grnherbs @toxicanonymity @guess-my-next-obsession @pettyprocrastination @heartpascal @pedgeitopascal @joels6string @whatsnewalycat @coffeeshades and many more to come!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

WHAT WHAT WHAT?! This means SO SO much to me! Thank you so much angel for your lovely words and tagging me.

And with this I also want to apologize to all of my readers as I haven’t been writing as much and I did promise two stories like month ago but right now I do not have the energy or time for it. I won’t quit writing but I am taking a little break.

Love you all ❤️🫶🏽!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

I am alive 😁!

Sorry y’all I haven’t been active as much but my life is pretty hectic right now - school, work etc.

But!

Next week I am not working so I will finally have time to write another Javi Peña fic that’s been sitting in my head for far too long.

Stay tuned for that and I love you all ❤️!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Guys! I didn’t even notice we passed 1.000 followers!

That’s fucking crazy. I never expected this much love and support that I have received so far. I am so thanful for each and every one of you. It makes me so incredibly happy that the things I am passionate about make other people happy too!

I will open requests for 1.000 celebration soon but as of right now I am busy with school and work.

But soon, I promise.

And again, thank you, I love you all!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

(Met) In the restroom

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

summary: Dieter looks good. Good enough that you let him fuck you in the public restroom at Met Gala

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, oral-f!receiving, semi-public sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, spitting, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking), cursing and fluff

word count: 3.8k (surprirse, surprise -quite short for me :D)

A/N: when I saw this look I instantly thought of Dieter. And you know I had to get this out of my head

It was unfair how good he looked tonight. Too good. And he knew it. He also knew you were watching him the whole night - catching your gaze a few times and sending you his signature cocky smirk or a sultry wink. And god, did that make you want to grab him and fuck his brains out right there on the carpet in front of all the other people.

His -other times- unruly hair was now slicked back enchanting his sharp features. His sharp jawline and aquiline nose were even more prominent from the side. You watched as he scratched the bald patch in his salt and pepper beard - the spot where you knew he was sensitive, always shuddering after you kissed him there.

You never saw Dieter dress up much - he loved his loose sweatpants and robes too much and felt comfortable in them so it was a rare treat to see him like this.

The thing that drove you the wildest though were the black shorts. You thought it looked silly when you first saw him arrive but after watching him longer and longer, watching how he strode on the red carpet with confidence made you reconsider. He pulled it off well and oh, you were thanking whoever decided on his outfit because his muscular thighs on display had you sweating in your dress.

The flash of cameras and people shouting and calling your name was something you got used to after the years. It came in handy sometimes. Like right now as you ignored them and watched Dieter as he talked to one of his co-stars on the current film he had been working in. He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his hand coming to rest on her waist as photographers quickly take pictures of the two of them. And you shouldn't feel jealous - you and Dieter weren't in a relationship. But still, the possessiveness that quickly washes over you is something you aren't proud of so you turn around, your back now facing them as you smile and wave at the people.

And maybe, just maybe you would feel a little bashful watching him like he was a piece of meat all night. But you knew Dieter. And he certainly did enjoy the attention you gave him - his posture always straightened whenever he saw you looking at him, his chest puffing in pride. Because even though he did not show it as much as you, he was affected by you in that pretty dress you were wearing tonight more than he’d liked to admit. You weren’t the only one with dirty thoughts swimming through your mind.

You and Dieter met on the set of Cliff Beasts 6. It was a silly project but your agent said it would get you places - it didn’t, not really. You met the Dieter Bravo and suddenly it was even worst than you anticipated because now you had to be in quarantine with him.

You two definitely weren’t the best buddies right off the start. Dieter is an "over-the-top" kind of guy and downright childish. Not a lot of people can stand him. He knows it. Maybe that’s why he got into acting. Pretending to be someone else every once in a while because nobody liked the real him.

He snorts coke in his free time and fucks anything that moves on two legs. So when he asked you with his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if you wanted to sleep with him you immediately blew him off. But he was persistent, actually spending time with you and getting to know you - mostly because you were the only one who actually wanted to spend time with him even after he basically asked you multiple times if you’d allow him to “stick his glow stick into your dark cave”. And after a while, you got used to his eccentric persona and to be quite honest, you even enjoyed spending time with him. He was like a breath of fresh air.

One night you got drunk together - neither of you were good at holding your liquor.

That was all it took before you were in his room, your ass up in the air as he drilled into you from behind. And honestly, you never expected Dieter Bravo to make you cum three times in a row in one night. He was everything you’d thought he’d never be - attentive, passionate, eager to please. Also vocal. Very vocal.

And so you kept on sleeping with each other - even after the wrap of Cliff Beasts. You came to his, he came to yours. You fucked and then one of you left the other’s apartment. It was just that - release. Nothing more. But after a while, you started having breakfasts together, then it came to you keeping some of your belongings in his apartment, you just chatting as you watched him paint in his studio - you actually figured out Dieter was a smart guy if he wasn’t high, movie nights, dinner dates at home…you eventually moved in but neither of you would ever admit that. For fuck’s sake, you weren’t even sure if you were dating or not. Dieter was scared of commitment, that much you learned from spending time with him, so you never pushed. And you were comfortable with it - no labels on your relationship, no pressure, no public exposure, no paparazzi or magazines that would start drama.

But at the moments like these - where he was pretending you didn’t even exist and you tried to do the same - you wished that you would go public. That you two would be now together here - as a couple. But alas, it was just your wishful thinking.

And before you know what is happening, a hand snakes its way onto your waist, a familiar cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat. You slowly turn your head to look at him and he squeezes your waist tighter, the rings on his fingers digging into your flesh, as he mutters a quick: “Smile for the cameras, sweetheart.”

You want to ask him what does he think he is doing but the words die on your tongue when he pulls you closer to his side. And so you do as he says, his touch sears its way onto your skin and yeah, you were in big trouble. Because fuck buddies definitely didn’t make eachother feel how he made you feel right now - like a fucking teenager whose crush smiled at them for the first time. Minutes pass, you aren’t sure, as his hands finally leave your waist and you think you are able to finally breathe again. Before he leaves, his hands brush against your lower back, his breath hitting your neck - you can smell the mint gum he chewed before he got here.

“I can’t wait to fuck the sweet cunt of yours tonight, sweetheart. You look so good in this dress.”

And with that, he leaves. Leaving you with your mouth wide open and your gaze burning into his back. But it does make you feel better - you would be the one who he was leaving with tonight. You would be the one who'd feel his plush lips on your skin, his tongue tracing your curves. You would be the one who'd ride the muscular thigh of his tonight because Dieter loves when you use him for your own pleasure. You would be the one who would make him cum and hear his pretty pleas and whines, and groans because they were only for your ears to hear.

Yeah, you had problems.

The afterparty makes you loosen up a little. You chat and laugh, drink expensive champagne and for a moment, totally forget about Dieter Bravo. You don’t see him, the room is crowded and loud as people talk. One of your friends leaves the table to get another glass for the two of you when you spot him - your eyes narrowing as he laughs at something one of his female co-workers says as she grabs him by the bicep and he is already looking at you from the corner of his eye, his mustache lifts upwards with the little smirk he throws you.

And you do need to get away because it’s not about you being jealous - even though you hate the fact. It’s about him toying with you and you not being able to do anything about it. Because what could you do? You never said you two would be exclusive and it hurts. It hurts because you have no right to be jealous - he isn’t yours. Oh, how freaking stupid you were to tangle up with Bravo.

You enter the restroom - it’s spacious and clean and it smells nothing like restrooms. More like lavender? You see your reflection in the mirror - she doesn’t look like you. Were you so desperate for a man that did not want you? That he was so afraid of being seen in public with you he rather flirted with anyone else but you? You put your purse on the edge of the ceramic sink and lean your hands on it, breathing in as you look down into it. You hear the door open and close quickly before you hear the lock click but you pay it no mind. When you look back in the mirror you yelp - jumping in the air comically. He chuckles and grabs your hips so he can spin you around and face him.

You don’t have a time to ask him what is he doing as his lips are already on your neck - you can feel him smile into your flesh when his tongue traces your collarbones and a quiet moan escapes from your mouth, your fingers gripping his coat and you pull him away from you because you can’t do this anymore. Sneaking around, only stealing a few minutes of time sometimes. His brown eye search for yours as he looks at you confused, pupils blown wide, his tongue quickly coming out to lick his lower lip. You do not dare to look at him.

“I think we should end this.” the room falls silent. You can only hear the music from outside the door and your beating heart that needs to call the fuck down. He pulls away from you completely, his expression more heartbroken than shocked.

“What? Why?” It hurts to hear him say it like that - his voice quiet as he almost chokes on the words. He looks like a kid that just broke his favorite toy. He waits and when you don’t answer hurt quickly turns into anger, his face hardening. “Just tell me why and then I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is monotoned without any traces of emotion and it’s scary how much of a good actor he can be. It spikes anger in your guts in return - for him to dismiss it just like that. You don’t want him to leave you alone. Is he blind? Why can’t he see it?

“Because, Bravo. I can’t stand another second pretending we don’t know eachother in public while at home you practically whine for me to not leave. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care when you flirt with other people. I am tired of pretending that what we have between us is just some “let’s fuck” deal. I am tired of pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. And I am tired of pretending that you might care for me where in reality you clearly don’t.”

Your chest heaves and he looks at you as if you had grown a second head. The Dieter Bravo that has always something to say now falls quiet and it makes the insides of you burn with anger because how dare he walk into your life and fuck you, make you feel like he cares and when you finally confess just stare at you?

“You have nothing to say now, Bravo? Really? That’s oh, so great because-“

“Shut up.” He grits through his teeth and your mouth falls open. Did he just say you should shut up? Fuck him.

“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do you prick.” You jab into his chest, solid under your fingertips and he doesn’t even move a muscle as you do. ”I pour my heart out for you and you-“

You squeal when his hand moves on the back of your neck pulling you close, his mouth finding yours and he breathes you in. His eyes fall tightly shut as you moan into his mouth and his tongue strokes yours. It’s different than the other times you’ve kissed. It’s passionate and desperate - but not in a sexual way. It’s intimate and his other hand slowly strokes your hip, his thumb smoothing the fabric of your dress and goosebumps erupt on your skin as you feel his rings on the back of your neck - digging into your flesh with the need to pull you closer into him. Your lower back collides with the counter and he hoists you up on it - your feet now dangling in the air as he pulls his mouth away from yours and settles between your legs.

His eyes are soft and his thumb strokes your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. His forehead bumps with yours and you smile too when he whispers: “I have feelings for you too, sweetheart.”

And then he is kissing you again, his hands finding the zipper of your dress before he expertly pulls it down and the material of it pools at your waist, his hands instantly coming to hold your tits, his thumbs stroking your nipples and the cold of the rings makes you gasp. He smiles into your neck, his mustache scraping you as he trails soft kisses from your jaw to the juncture of your neck and bites you there, your keen into his touch as you moan, his tongue soothing the assaulted flesh with ease. He is quick to undress you completely -the dress falling onto the ground and he kneels on it, his mouth kissing your inner thighs, his teeth scraping you, his hands exploring and mapping your body before they settle onto your hips as he taps two times so you’d lift up a little. He hooks his fingers into your panties before they are off you too and he is kissing your mound.

Your hands fall into his slicked hair and he moans when you grab him by it and pull him closer to your cunt, his fingers quickly finding their way into his mouth before he pulls them out and shows you the saliva-covered digits as the ring shines with it before he slowly enters you with two of them and you throw your head back, your grip tightening in his hair as he kisses your clit. The pass of his fingers inside you is slow, languid as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t just fucking you in the restroom of Met Gala. It makes your core floods with arousal - that anybody could hear you two. His fingers dig into your hip while his others work their way in and out and before you know it he is babbling into your core - his hot mouth still lazily kissing your clit, his tongue poking out to lick you.

“You dirty little girl. This is what you wanted, right? Is that it, sweetheart? You wanted me to fuck you where anybody could hear?” You squeeze around him, your fingers digging into his scalp and he hisses your name, his cock aching in his shorts as the only thing he can do is hump the air. “Oh, you like that. You dirty little thing. You’d want me to fuck you somewhere anybody could walk in?” You whine and nod, looking down at him and he smirks. His eyes glazed as you watch his tongue lick you slowly. Because he knows you have a bit of exhibitionism kink - he figured out when he fucked you against the glass walls of his apartment telling you what a “Dirty girl you are. Letting him fuck you where anybody could see the two of us.” You came almost instantly when the words left his mouth and he kept this information in the back of his mind.

Your thighs shake around his head and that’s when your mouth opens into a silent “o” as he spits onto your pussy and slurps at you, the filthy sounds coming from him making your inside squeeze him tighter and you can feel that you are close, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when you feel the deep rumble coming from his chest. Dieter Bravo was godly at eating out pussy and he enjoyed it too. You can feel it even now as he enthusiastically pulls his fingers in and out of you, speeding the movements of his tongue and fingers when you squeal, your toes curling and he knows he found the spot. It only takes two or three passes of his tongue before you are cumming and he grins into your mound when you try to push his head away. He takes the fingers that were in you mere moments ago into your mouth to “clean his rings” before he is pulling them out and kissing you - the taste of you on him makes you kiss him deeper, your tongue tracing his teeth and he smiles into the kiss.

“I like it when you are jealous.” You want to protest - tell him you aren’t. Lie to him. Rile him up. But he puts you back on your jelly feet and you are met with your fucked out expression. He isn’t any better though - his pupils blown back wide and his slicked hair disheveled because of you. He crowds you in - his hard cock that still strains in his shorts presses against your bare cunt and you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The fabric of his shorts makes your thighs tremble and you are sure if he keeps this up you will cum again. Your hazy brain stops working alongside your mouth when you say: “I want to ride your thigh tonight while I hold onto the coat. You look so good in that outfit.” And he stops. You hear a choked sound behind you and then the zipper of his shorts before you feel the fat head of his cock notching at your entrance.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart. You can ride your sweet pussy on my thigh when we get home. Want you to soak my thigh. Fuck. Want you to get off on it while I watch you.” He whimpers as he slides his head between your pussy lips. When he enters you it knocks the air out of your lungs. No matter how many times you two fuck, you will never get used to the size of him.

His fingers dig into your hip as he sets relentless pace, his hips smacking against your ass and his other snakes into your hair and tugs at it harshly -making you open your eyes and your gaze meets with his in the mirror.

“Yeah, watch how I fuck you. You are so filthy, sweetheart. Letting me split you open right here on my big fat cock.” He spits.

You watch as your tits bounce with every pass of his cock. You see his throat bob and the small droplet of sweat running down his temple. You see the vein on his neck is now prominent, his teeth barred for you two to see as he looks down where you two join and he moans -his head falling back and his hand that was gripping your hair now pinching your nipples. He is attentive and he can feel you squeezing him again. He knows you're close and he grinds against you -his pubic hair stimulating your clit and he grabs you by the throat, his teeth catching your earlobe. You feel the puffs of air leave his mouth. It’s hot and sweaty and you swear you never felt this good in your entire life before.

“Watch how I fuck you silly with my cock. Who do you belong to?” You cry out when a particular rough thrust makes you see stars and he groans as you squeeze him. He is close too, sweating under the coat and shirt. “Come on, tell me, sweetheart.” He grits out and he sucks at the skin on your neck, marking you.

“Yours!” You cry out and he hums, his fingers squeezing around your windpipe tighter and your hand comes back to fist at his hair as you watch his ring-clad fingers hold onto you before you are cumming, tugging him by the hair closer so you can kiss him. It’s messy -teeth and tongues clashing together as he fucks you through it and when you part a string of saliva connects the two of you.

“Yes, that’s right. You are mine. And I am yours, sweetheart. Just yours.” It makes your heart constrict because yeah -he is yours. Yours. Your walls pull him tighter even though you already came and he chokes on air because he is so fucking close. And when you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw and whisper: “I love you.” He is a goner. Because nobody ever loved Dieter. And you just said you did. And his heart swells because he loves you too.

He cums with a hoarse groan of your name, his hand digging into your ass. He kisses your shoulder blade lazily before he calms down and pulls out of you - putting back on your underwear. And helping you back into the dress. Neither of you looks presentable but neither of you seems to care.

“Want you to drip my cum all night and when we come home I want you to show me before you fuck yourself on my thigh.” Home.

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before he checks himself out in the mirror - trying to fix his hair, unsuccessfully, before he leaves you in the bathroom with a silly grin on your face.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @completelyoverit @cutesyscreenname

[prolix-yuy]

Ahhhhhh this had my heart doing somersaults! Poor girl struggling with the public vs private nature of their relationship, and trying to end it in the bathroom! I was holding out hope that Dieter would reassure her AND HE DID IN MANY WAYS! Delicious smut, so many feelings, and the little love bomb at the end? MY HEART! I loved it! Thank you for sharing!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Oh my god? Thank you so much❤️! I love your work so this reblog made me so happy🫶🏽! I am glad you enjoyed it 🥰

[l0ngschl0ngking]

(Met) In the restroom

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

summary: Dieter looks good. Good enough that you let him fuck you in the public restroom at Met Gala

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, oral-f!receiving, semi-public sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, spitting, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking), cursing and fluff

word count: 3.8k (surprirse, surprise -quite short for me :D)

A/N: when I saw this look I instantly thought of Dieter. And you know I had to get this out of my head

It was unfair how good he looked tonight. Too good. And he knew it. He also knew you were watching him the whole night - catching your gaze a few times and sending you his signature cocky smirk or a sultry wink. And god, did that make you want to grab him and fuck his brains out right there on the carpet in front of all the other people.

His -other times- unruly hair was now slicked back enchanting his sharp features. His sharp jawline and aquiline nose were even more prominent from the side. You watched as he scratched the bald patch in his salt and pepper beard - the spot where you knew he was sensitive, always shuddering after you kissed him there.

You never saw Dieter dress up much - he loved his loose sweatpants and robes too much and felt comfortable in them so it was a rare treat to see him like this.

The thing that drove you the wildest though were the black shorts. You thought it looked silly when you first saw him arrive but after watching him longer and longer, watching how he strode on the red carpet with confidence made you reconsider. He pulled it off well and oh, you were thanking whoever decided on his outfit because his muscular thighs on display had you sweating in your dress.

The flash of cameras and people shouting and calling your name was something you got used to after the years. It came in handy sometimes. Like right now as you ignored them and watched Dieter as he talked to one of his co-stars on the current film he had been working in. He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his hand coming to rest on her waist as photographers quickly take pictures of the two of them. And you shouldn't feel jealous - you and Dieter weren't in a relationship. But still, the possessiveness that quickly washes over you is something you aren't proud of so you turn around, your back now facing them as you smile and wave at the people.

And maybe, just maybe you would feel a little bashful watching him like he was a piece of meat all night. But you knew Dieter. And he certainly did enjoy the attention you gave him - his posture always straightened whenever he saw you looking at him, his chest puffing in pride. Because even though he did not show it as much as you, he was affected by you in that pretty dress you were wearing tonight more than he’d liked to admit. You weren’t the only one with dirty thoughts swimming through your mind.

You and Dieter met on the set of Cliff Beasts 6. It was a silly project but your agent said it would get you places - it didn’t, not really. You met the Dieter Bravo and suddenly it was even worst than you anticipated because now you had to be in quarantine with him.

You two definitely weren’t the best buddies right off the start. Dieter is an "over-the-top" kind of guy and downright childish. Not a lot of people can stand him. He knows it. Maybe that’s why he got into acting. Pretending to be someone else every once in a while because nobody liked the real him.

He snorts coke in his free time and fucks anything that moves on two legs. So when he asked you with his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if you wanted to sleep with him you immediately blew him off. But he was persistent, actually spending time with you and getting to know you - mostly because you were the only one who actually wanted to spend time with him even after he basically asked you multiple times if you’d allow him to “stick his glow stick into your dark cave”. And after a while, you got used to his eccentric persona and to be quite honest, you even enjoyed spending time with him. He was like a breath of fresh air.

One night you got drunk together - neither of you were good at holding your liquor.

That was all it took before you were in his room, your ass up in the air as he drilled into you from behind. And honestly, you never expected Dieter Bravo to make you cum three times in a row in one night. He was everything you’d thought he’d never be - attentive, passionate, eager to please. Also vocal. Very vocal.

And so you kept on sleeping with each other - even after the wrap of Cliff Beasts. You came to his, he came to yours. You fucked and then one of you left the other’s apartment. It was just that - release. Nothing more. But after a while, you started having breakfasts together, then it came to you keeping some of your belongings in his apartment, you just chatting as you watched him paint in his studio - you actually figured out Dieter was a smart guy if he wasn’t high, movie nights, dinner dates at home…you eventually moved in but neither of you would ever admit that.

For fuck’s sake, you weren’t even sure if you were dating or not. Dieter was scared of commitment, that much you learned from spending time with him, so you never pushed. And you were comfortable with it - no labels on your relationship, no pressure, no public exposure, no paparazzi or magazines that would start drama.

But at the moments like these - where he was pretending you didn’t even exist and you tried to do the same - you wished that you would go public. That you two would be now together here - as a couple. But alas, it was just your wishful thinking.

And before you know what is happening, a hand snakes its way onto your waist, a familiar cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat. You slowly turn your head to look at him and he squeezes your waist tighter, the rings on his fingers digging into your flesh, as he mutters a quick: “Smile for the cameras, sweetheart.”

You want to ask him what does he think he is doing but the words die on your tongue when he pulls you closer to his side. And so you do as he says, his touch sears its way onto your skin and yeah, you were in big trouble. Because fuck buddies definitely didn’t make eachother feel how he made you feel right now - like a fucking teenager whose crush smiled at them for the first time. Minutes pass, you aren’t sure, as his hands finally leave your waist and you think you are able to finally breathe again. Before he leaves, his hands brush against your lower back, his breath hitting your neck - you can smell the mint gum he chewed before he got here.

“I can’t wait to fuck the sweet cunt of yours tonight, sweetheart. You look so good in this dress.”

And with that, he leaves. Leaving you with your mouth wide open and your gaze burning into his back. But it does make you feel better - you would be the one who he was leaving with tonight. You would be the one who'd feel his plush lips on your skin, his tongue tracing your curves. You would be the one who'd ride the muscular thigh of his tonight because Dieter loves when you use him for your own pleasure. You would be the one who would make him cum and hear his pretty pleas and whines, and groans because they were only for your ears to hear.

Yeah, you had problems.

The afterparty makes you loosen up a little. You chat and laugh, drink expensive champagne and for a moment, totally forget about Dieter Bravo. You don’t see him, the room is crowded and loud as people talk. One of your friends leaves the table to get another glass for the two of you when you spot him - your eyes narrowing as he laughs at something one of his female co-workers says as she grabs him by the bicep and he is already looking at you from the corner of his eye, his mustache lifts upwards with the little smirk he throws you.

And you do need to get away because it’s not about you being jealous - even though you hate the fact. It’s about him toying with you and you not being able to do anything about it. Because what could you do? You never said you two would be exclusive and it hurts. It hurts because you have no right to be jealous - he isn’t yours. Oh, how freaking stupid you were to tangle up with Bravo.

You enter the restroom - it’s spacious and clean and it smells nothing like restrooms. More like lavender? You see your reflection in the mirror - she doesn’t look like you. Were you so desperate for a man that did not want you? That he was so afraid of being seen in public with you he rather flirted with anyone else but you? You put your purse on the edge of the ceramic sink and lean your hands on it, breathing in as you look down into it. You hear the door open and close quickly before you hear the lock click but you pay it no mind. When you look back in the mirror you yelp - jumping in the air comically. He chuckles and grabs your hips so he can spin you around and face him.

You don’t have a time to ask him what is he doing as his lips are already on your neck - you can feel him smile into your flesh when his tongue traces your collarbones and a quiet moan escapes from your mouth, your fingers gripping his coat and you pull him away from you because you can’t do this anymore. Sneaking around, only stealing a few minutes of time sometimes. His brown eye search for yours as he looks at you confused, pupils blown wide, his tongue quickly coming out to lick his lower lip. You do not dare to look at him.

“I think we should end this.” the room falls silent. You can only hear the music from outside the door and your beating heart that needs to call the fuck down. He pulls away from you completely, his expression more heartbroken than shocked.

“What? Why?” It hurts to hear him say it like that - his voice quiet as he almost chokes on the words. He looks like a kid that just broke his favorite toy. He waits and when you don’t answer hurt quickly turns into anger, his face hardening. “Just tell me why and then I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is monotoned without any traces of emotion and it’s scary how much of a good actor he can be. It spikes anger in your guts in return - for him to dismiss it just like that. You don’t want him to leave you alone. Is he blind? Why can’t he see it?

“Because, Bravo. I can’t stand another second pretending we don’t know eachother in public while at home you practically whine for me to not leave. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care when you flirt with other people. I am tired of pretending that what we have between us is just some “let’s fuck” deal. I am tired of pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. And I am tired of pretending that you might care for me where in reality you clearly don’t.”

Your chest heaves and he looks at you as if you had grown a second head. The Dieter Bravo that has always something to say now falls quiet and it makes the insides of you burn with anger because how dare he walk into your life and fuck you, make you feel like he cares and when you finally confess just stare at you?

“You have nothing to say now, Bravo? Really? That’s oh, so great because-“

“Shut up.” He grits through his teeth and your mouth falls open. Did he just say you should shut up? Fuck him.

“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do you prick.” You jab into his chest, solid under your fingertips and he doesn’t even move a muscle as you do. ”I pour my heart out for you and you-“

You squeal when his hand moves on the back of your neck pulling you close, his mouth finding yours and he breathes you in. His eyes fall tightly shut as you moan into his mouth and his tongue strokes yours. It’s different than the other times you’ve kissed. It’s passionate and desperate - but not in a sexual way.

It’s intimate and his other hand slowly strokes your hip, his thumb smoothing the fabric of your dress and goosebumps erupt on your skin as you feel his rings on the back of your neck - digging into your flesh with the need to pull you closer into him. Your lower back collides with the counter and he hoists you up on it - your feet now dangling in the air as he pulls his mouth away from yours and settles between your legs.

His eyes are soft and his thumb strokes your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. His forehead bumps with yours and you smile too when he whispers: “I have feelings for you too, sweetheart.”

And then he is kissing you again, his hands finding the zipper of your dress before he expertly pulls it down and the material of it pools at your waist, his hands instantly coming to hold your tits, his thumbs stroking your nipples and the cold of the rings makes you gasp. He smiles into your neck, his mustache scraping you as he trails soft kisses from your jaw to the juncture of your neck and bites you there, your keen into his touch as you moan, his tongue soothing the assaulted flesh with ease. He is quick to undress you completely -the dress falling onto the ground and he kneels on it, his mouth kissing your inner thighs, his teeth scraping you, his hands exploring and mapping your body before they settle onto your hips as he taps two times so you’d lift up a little. He hooks his fingers into your panties before they are off you too and he is kissing your mound.

Your hands fall into his slicked hair and he moans when you grab him by it and pull him closer to your cunt, his fingers quickly finding their way into his mouth before he pulls them out and shows you the saliva-covered digits as the ring shines with it before he slowly enters you with two of them and you throw your head back, your grip tightening in his hair as he kisses your clit.

The pass of his fingers inside you is slow, languid as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t just fucking you in the restroom of Met Gala. It makes your core floods with arousal - that anybody could hear you two. His fingers dig into your hip while his others work their way in and out and before you know it he is babbling into your core - his hot mouth still lazily kissing your clit, his tongue poking out to lick you.

“You dirty little girl. This is what you wanted, right? Is that it, sweetheart? You wanted me to fuck you where anybody could hear?” You squeeze around him, your fingers digging into his scalp and he hisses your name, his cock aching in his shorts as the only thing he can do is hump the air. “Oh, you like that. You dirty little thing. You’d want me to fuck you somewhere anybody could walk in?” You whine and nod, looking down at him and he smirks. His eyes glazed as you watch his tongue lick you slowly. Because he knows you have a bit of exhibitionism kink - he figured out when he fucked you against the glass walls of his apartment telling you what a “Dirty girl you are. Letting me fuck you where anybody could see the two of us.” You came almost instantly when the words left his mouth and he kept this information in the back of his mind.

Your thighs shake around his head and that’s when your mouth opens into a silent “o” as he spits onto your pussy and slurps at you, the filthy sounds coming from him making your inside squeeze him tighter and you can feel that you are close, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when you feel the deep rumble coming from his chest.

Dieter Bravo was godly at eating out pussy and he enjoyed it too. You can feel it even now as he enthusiastically pulls his fingers in and out of you, speeding the movements of his tongue and fingers when you squeal, your toes curling and he knows he found the spot. It only takes two or three passes of his tongue before you are cumming and he grins into your mound when you try to push his head away. He takes the fingers that were in you mere moments ago into your mouth to “clean his rings” before he is pulling them out and kissing you - the taste of you on him makes you kiss him deeper, your tongue tracing his teeth and he smiles into the kiss.

“I like it when you are jealous.” You want to protest - tell him you aren’t. Lie to him. Rile him up. But he puts you back on your jelly feet and you are met with your fucked out expression. He isn’t any better though - his pupils blown back wide and his slicked hair disheveled because of you.

He crowds you in - his hard cock that still strains in his shorts presses against your bare cunt and you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The fabric of his shorts makes your thighs tremble and you are sure if he keeps this up you will cum again. Your hazy brain stops working alongside your mouth when you say: “I want to ride your thigh tonight while I hold onto the coat. You look so good in that outfit.” And he stops. You hear a choked sound behind you and then the zipper of his shorts before you feel the fat head of his cock notching at your entrance.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart. You can ride your sweet pussy on my thigh when we get home. Want you to soak my thigh. Fuck. Want you to get off on it while I watch you.” He whimpers as he slides his head between your pussy lips. When he enters you it knocks the air out of your lungs. No matter how many times you two fuck, you will never get used to the size of him.

His fingers dig into your hip as he sets relentless pace, his hips smacking against your ass and his other snakes into your hair and tugs at it harshly -making you open your eyes and your gaze meets with his in the mirror.

“Yeah, watch how I fuck you. You are so filthy, sweetheart. Letting me split you open right here on my big fat cock.” He spits.

You watch as your tits bounce with every pass of his cock. You see his throat bob and the small droplet of sweat running down his temple. You see the vein on his neck is now prominent, his teeth barred for you two to see as he looks down where you two join and he moans -his head falling back and his hand that was gripping your hair now pinching your nipples. He is attentive and he can feel you squeezing him again. He knows you're close and he grinds against you -his pubic hair stimulating your clit and he grabs you by the throat, his teeth catching your earlobe. You feel the puffs of air leave his mouth. It’s hot and sweaty and you swear you never felt this good in your entire life before.

“Watch how I fuck you silly with my cock. Who do you belong to?” You cry out when a particular rough thrust makes you see stars and he groans as you squeeze him. He is close too, sweating under the coat and shirt. “Come on, tell me, sweetheart.” He grits out and he sucks at the skin on your neck, marking you.

“Yours!” You cry out and he hums, his fingers squeezing around your windpipe tighter and your hand comes back to fist at his hair as you watch his ring-clad fingers hold onto you before you are cumming, tugging him by the hair closer so you can kiss him. It’s messy -teeth and tongues clashing together as he fucks you through it and when you part a string of saliva connects the two of you.

“Yes, that’s right. You are mine. And I am yours, sweetheart. Just yours.” It makes your heart constrict because yeah -he is yours. Yours. Your walls pull him tighter even though you already came and he chokes on air because he is so fucking close. And when you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw and whisper: “I love you.” He is a goner.

Because nobody ever loved Dieter. And you just said you did. And his heart swells because he loves you too. As much as Dieter can actually love somebody.

He cums with a hoarse groan of your name, his hand digging into your ass. He kisses your shoulder blade lazily before he calms down and pulls out of you - putting back on your underwear. And helping you back into the dress. Neither of you looks presentable but neither of you seems to care.

“Want you to drip my cum all night and when we come home I want you to show me before you fuck yourself on my thigh.” Home.

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before he checks himself out in the mirror - trying to fix his hair, unsuccessfully, before he leaves you in the bathroom with a silly grin on your face.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @completelyoverit @cutesyscreenname

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Thank you so much❤️

[l0ngschl0ngking]

(Met) In the restroom

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

summary: Dieter looks good. Good enough that you let him fuck you in the public restroom at Met Gala

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, oral-f!receiving, semi-public sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, spitting, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking), cursing and fluff

word count: 3.8k (surprirse, surprise -quite short for me :D)

A/N: when I saw this look I instantly thought of Dieter. And you know I had to get this out of my head

It was unfair how good he looked tonight. Too good. And he knew it. He also knew you were watching him the whole night - catching your gaze a few times and sending you his signature cocky smirk or a sultry wink. And god, did that make you want to grab him and fuck his brains out right there on the carpet in front of all the other people.

His -other times- unruly hair was now slicked back enchanting his sharp features. His sharp jawline and aquiline nose were even more prominent from the side. You watched as he scratched the bald patch in his salt and pepper beard - the spot where you knew he was sensitive, always shuddering after you kissed him there.

You never saw Dieter dress up much - he loved his loose sweatpants and robes too much and felt comfortable in them so it was a rare treat to see him like this.

The thing that drove you the wildest though were the black shorts. You thought it looked silly when you first saw him arrive but after watching him longer and longer, watching how he strode on the red carpet with confidence made you reconsider. He pulled it off well and oh, you were thanking whoever decided on his outfit because his muscular thighs on display had you sweating in your dress.

The flash of cameras and people shouting and calling your name was something you got used to after the years. It came in handy sometimes. Like right now as you ignored them and watched Dieter as he talked to one of his co-stars on the current film he had been working in. He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his hand coming to rest on her waist as photographers quickly take pictures of the two of them. And you shouldn't feel jealous - you and Dieter weren't in a relationship. But still, the possessiveness that quickly washes over you is something you aren't proud of so you turn around, your back now facing them as you smile and wave at the people.

And maybe, just maybe you would feel a little bashful watching him like he was a piece of meat all night. But you knew Dieter. And he certainly did enjoy the attention you gave him - his posture always straightened whenever he saw you looking at him, his chest puffing in pride. Because even though he did not show it as much as you, he was affected by you in that pretty dress you were wearing tonight more than he’d liked to admit. You weren’t the only one with dirty thoughts swimming through your mind.

You and Dieter met on the set of Cliff Beasts 6. It was a silly project but your agent said it would get you places - it didn’t, not really. You met the Dieter Bravo and suddenly it was even worst than you anticipated because now you had to be in quarantine with him.

You two definitely weren’t the best buddies right off the start. Dieter is an "over-the-top" kind of guy and downright childish. Not a lot of people can stand him. He knows it. Maybe that’s why he got into acting. Pretending to be someone else every once in a while because nobody liked the real him.

He snorts coke in his free time and fucks anything that moves on two legs. So when he asked you with his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if you wanted to sleep with him you immediately blew him off. But he was persistent, actually spending time with you and getting to know you - mostly because you were the only one who actually wanted to spend time with him even after he basically asked you multiple times if you’d allow him to “stick his glow stick into your dark cave”. And after a while, you got used to his eccentric persona and to be quite honest, you even enjoyed spending time with him. He was like a breath of fresh air.

One night you got drunk together - neither of you were good at holding your liquor.

That was all it took before you were in his room, your ass up in the air as he drilled into you from behind. And honestly, you never expected Dieter Bravo to make you cum three times in a row in one night. He was everything you’d thought he’d never be - attentive, passionate, eager to please. Also vocal. Very vocal.

And so you kept on sleeping with each other - even after the wrap of Cliff Beasts. You came to his, he came to yours. You fucked and then one of you left the other’s apartment. It was just that - release. Nothing more. But after a while, you started having breakfasts together, then it came to you keeping some of your belongings in his apartment, you just chatting as you watched him paint in his studio - you actually figured out Dieter was a smart guy if he wasn’t high, movie nights, dinner dates at home…you eventually moved in but neither of you would ever admit that.

For fuck’s sake, you weren’t even sure if you were dating or not. Dieter was scared of commitment, that much you learned from spending time with him, so you never pushed. And you were comfortable with it - no labels on your relationship, no pressure, no public exposure, no paparazzi or magazines that would start drama.

But at the moments like these - where he was pretending you didn’t even exist and you tried to do the same - you wished that you would go public. That you two would be now together here - as a couple. But alas, it was just your wishful thinking.

And before you know what is happening, a hand snakes its way onto your waist, a familiar cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat. You slowly turn your head to look at him and he squeezes your waist tighter, the rings on his fingers digging into your flesh, as he mutters a quick: “Smile for the cameras, sweetheart.”

You want to ask him what does he think he is doing but the words die on your tongue when he pulls you closer to his side. And so you do as he says, his touch sears its way onto your skin and yeah, you were in big trouble. Because fuck buddies definitely didn’t make eachother feel how he made you feel right now - like a fucking teenager whose crush smiled at them for the first time. Minutes pass, you aren’t sure, as his hands finally leave your waist and you think you are able to finally breathe again. Before he leaves, his hands brush against your lower back, his breath hitting your neck - you can smell the mint gum he chewed before he got here.

“I can’t wait to fuck the sweet cunt of yours tonight, sweetheart. You look so good in this dress.”

And with that, he leaves. Leaving you with your mouth wide open and your gaze burning into his back. But it does make you feel better - you would be the one who he was leaving with tonight. You would be the one who'd feel his plush lips on your skin, his tongue tracing your curves. You would be the one who'd ride the muscular thigh of his tonight because Dieter loves when you use him for your own pleasure. You would be the one who would make him cum and hear his pretty pleas and whines, and groans because they were only for your ears to hear.

Yeah, you had problems.

The afterparty makes you loosen up a little. You chat and laugh, drink expensive champagne and for a moment, totally forget about Dieter Bravo. You don’t see him, the room is crowded and loud as people talk. One of your friends leaves the table to get another glass for the two of you when you spot him - your eyes narrowing as he laughs at something one of his female co-workers says as she grabs him by the bicep and he is already looking at you from the corner of his eye, his mustache lifts upwards with the little smirk he throws you.

And you do need to get away because it’s not about you being jealous - even though you hate the fact. It’s about him toying with you and you not being able to do anything about it. Because what could you do? You never said you two would be exclusive and it hurts. It hurts because you have no right to be jealous - he isn’t yours. Oh, how freaking stupid you were to tangle up with Bravo.

You enter the restroom - it’s spacious and clean and it smells nothing like restrooms. More like lavender? You see your reflection in the mirror - she doesn’t look like you. Were you so desperate for a man that did not want you? That he was so afraid of being seen in public with you he rather flirted with anyone else but you? You put your purse on the edge of the ceramic sink and lean your hands on it, breathing in as you look down into it. You hear the door open and close quickly before you hear the lock click but you pay it no mind. When you look back in the mirror you yelp - jumping in the air comically. He chuckles and grabs your hips so he can spin you around and face him.

You don’t have a time to ask him what is he doing as his lips are already on your neck - you can feel him smile into your flesh when his tongue traces your collarbones and a quiet moan escapes from your mouth, your fingers gripping his coat and you pull him away from you because you can’t do this anymore. Sneaking around, only stealing a few minutes of time sometimes. His brown eye search for yours as he looks at you confused, pupils blown wide, his tongue quickly coming out to lick his lower lip. You do not dare to look at him.

“I think we should end this.” the room falls silent. You can only hear the music from outside the door and your beating heart that needs to call the fuck down. He pulls away from you completely, his expression more heartbroken than shocked.

“What? Why?” It hurts to hear him say it like that - his voice quiet as he almost chokes on the words. He looks like a kid that just broke his favorite toy. He waits and when you don’t answer hurt quickly turns into anger, his face hardening. “Just tell me why and then I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is monotoned without any traces of emotion and it’s scary how much of a good actor he can be. It spikes anger in your guts in return - for him to dismiss it just like that. You don’t want him to leave you alone. Is he blind? Why can’t he see it?

“Because, Bravo. I can’t stand another second pretending we don’t know eachother in public while at home you practically whine for me to not leave. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care when you flirt with other people. I am tired of pretending that what we have between us is just some “let’s fuck” deal. I am tired of pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. And I am tired of pretending that you might care for me where in reality you clearly don’t.”

Your chest heaves and he looks at you as if you had grown a second head. The Dieter Bravo that has always something to say now falls quiet and it makes the insides of you burn with anger because how dare he walk into your life and fuck you, make you feel like he cares and when you finally confess just stare at you?

“You have nothing to say now, Bravo? Really? That’s oh, so great because-“

“Shut up.” He grits through his teeth and your mouth falls open. Did he just say you should shut up? Fuck him.

“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do you prick.” You jab into his chest, solid under your fingertips and he doesn’t even move a muscle as you do. ”I pour my heart out for you and you-“

You squeal when his hand moves on the back of your neck pulling you close, his mouth finding yours and he breathes you in. His eyes fall tightly shut as you moan into his mouth and his tongue strokes yours. It’s different than the other times you’ve kissed. It’s passionate and desperate - but not in a sexual way.

It’s intimate and his other hand slowly strokes your hip, his thumb smoothing the fabric of your dress and goosebumps erupt on your skin as you feel his rings on the back of your neck - digging into your flesh with the need to pull you closer into him. Your lower back collides with the counter and he hoists you up on it - your feet now dangling in the air as he pulls his mouth away from yours and settles between your legs.

His eyes are soft and his thumb strokes your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. His forehead bumps with yours and you smile too when he whispers: “I have feelings for you too, sweetheart.”

And then he is kissing you again, his hands finding the zipper of your dress before he expertly pulls it down and the material of it pools at your waist, his hands instantly coming to hold your tits, his thumbs stroking your nipples and the cold of the rings makes you gasp. He smiles into your neck, his mustache scraping you as he trails soft kisses from your jaw to the juncture of your neck and bites you there, your keen into his touch as you moan, his tongue soothing the assaulted flesh with ease. He is quick to undress you completely -the dress falling onto the ground and he kneels on it, his mouth kissing your inner thighs, his teeth scraping you, his hands exploring and mapping your body before they settle onto your hips as he taps two times so you’d lift up a little. He hooks his fingers into your panties before they are off you too and he is kissing your mound.

Your hands fall into his slicked hair and he moans when you grab him by it and pull him closer to your cunt, his fingers quickly finding their way into his mouth before he pulls them out and shows you the saliva-covered digits as the ring shines with it before he slowly enters you with two of them and you throw your head back, your grip tightening in his hair as he kisses your clit.

The pass of his fingers inside you is slow, languid as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t just fucking you in the restroom of Met Gala. It makes your core floods with arousal - that anybody could hear you two. His fingers dig into your hip while his others work their way in and out and before you know it he is babbling into your core - his hot mouth still lazily kissing your clit, his tongue poking out to lick you.

“You dirty little girl. This is what you wanted, right? Is that it, sweetheart? You wanted me to fuck you where anybody could hear?” You squeeze around him, your fingers digging into his scalp and he hisses your name, his cock aching in his shorts as the only thing he can do is hump the air. “Oh, you like that. You dirty little thing. You’d want me to fuck you somewhere anybody could walk in?” You whine and nod, looking down at him and he smirks. His eyes glazed as you watch his tongue lick you slowly. Because he knows you have a bit of exhibitionism kink - he figured out when he fucked you against the glass walls of his apartment telling you what a “Dirty girl you are. Letting me fuck you where anybody could see the two of us.” You came almost instantly when the words left his mouth and he kept this information in the back of his mind.

Your thighs shake around his head and that’s when your mouth opens into a silent “o” as he spits onto your pussy and slurps at you, the filthy sounds coming from him making your inside squeeze him tighter and you can feel that you are close, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when you feel the deep rumble coming from his chest.

Dieter Bravo was godly at eating out pussy and he enjoyed it too. You can feel it even now as he enthusiastically pulls his fingers in and out of you, speeding the movements of his tongue and fingers when you squeal, your toes curling and he knows he found the spot. It only takes two or three passes of his tongue before you are cumming and he grins into your mound when you try to push his head away. He takes the fingers that were in you mere moments ago into your mouth to “clean his rings” before he is pulling them out and kissing you - the taste of you on him makes you kiss him deeper, your tongue tracing his teeth and he smiles into the kiss.

“I like it when you are jealous.” You want to protest - tell him you aren’t. Lie to him. Rile him up. But he puts you back on your jelly feet and you are met with your fucked out expression. He isn’t any better though - his pupils blown back wide and his slicked hair disheveled because of you.

He crowds you in - his hard cock that still strains in his shorts presses against your bare cunt and you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The fabric of his shorts makes your thighs tremble and you are sure if he keeps this up you will cum again. Your hazy brain stops working alongside your mouth when you say: “I want to ride your thigh tonight while I hold onto the coat. You look so good in that outfit.” And he stops. You hear a choked sound behind you and then the zipper of his shorts before you feel the fat head of his cock notching at your entrance.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart. You can ride your sweet pussy on my thigh when we get home. Want you to soak my thigh. Fuck. Want you to get off on it while I watch you.” He whimpers as he slides his head between your pussy lips. When he enters you it knocks the air out of your lungs. No matter how many times you two fuck, you will never get used to the size of him.

His fingers dig into your hip as he sets relentless pace, his hips smacking against your ass and his other snakes into your hair and tugs at it harshly -making you open your eyes and your gaze meets with his in the mirror.

“Yeah, watch how I fuck you. You are so filthy, sweetheart. Letting me split you open right here on my big fat cock.” He spits.

You watch as your tits bounce with every pass of his cock. You see his throat bob and the small droplet of sweat running down his temple. You see the vein on his neck is now prominent, his teeth barred for you two to see as he looks down where you two join and he moans -his head falling back and his hand that was gripping your hair now pinching your nipples. He is attentive and he can feel you squeezing him again. He knows you're close and he grinds against you -his pubic hair stimulating your clit and he grabs you by the throat, his teeth catching your earlobe. You feel the puffs of air leave his mouth. It’s hot and sweaty and you swear you never felt this good in your entire life before.

“Watch how I fuck you silly with my cock. Who do you belong to?” You cry out when a particular rough thrust makes you see stars and he groans as you squeeze him. He is close too, sweating under the coat and shirt. “Come on, tell me, sweetheart.” He grits out and he sucks at the skin on your neck, marking you.

“Yours!” You cry out and he hums, his fingers squeezing around your windpipe tighter and your hand comes back to fist at his hair as you watch his ring-clad fingers hold onto you before you are cumming, tugging him by the hair closer so you can kiss him. It’s messy -teeth and tongues clashing together as he fucks you through it and when you part a string of saliva connects the two of you.

“Yes, that’s right. You are mine. And I am yours, sweetheart. Just yours.” It makes your heart constrict because yeah -he is yours. Yours. Your walls pull him tighter even though you already came and he chokes on air because he is so fucking close. And when you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw and whisper: “I love you.” He is a goner.

Because nobody ever loved Dieter. And you just said you did. And his heart swells because he loves you too. As much as Dieter can actually love somebody.

He cums with a hoarse groan of your name, his hand digging into your ass. He kisses your shoulder blade lazily before he calms down and pulls out of you - putting back on your underwear. And helping you back into the dress. Neither of you looks presentable but neither of you seems to care.

“Want you to drip my cum all night and when we come home I want you to show me before you fuck yourself on my thigh.” Home.

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before he checks himself out in the mirror - trying to fix his hair, unsuccessfully, before he leaves you in the bathroom with a silly grin on your face.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @completelyoverit @cutesyscreenname

[hauntedhowlett]

Eating this UP what a fucking MEAL i have been FED

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Pls the GIF 😭. I love it ❤️. Thank you so much, I am glad you enjoyed it ❤️!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

girl 😭 work for it was literally sooooo good! it was so well written and such a good build i loved it so much, the last paragraph was so sweet i literally am in tears

Omg thank you so so much 😭❤️. I didn’t expect people would love it so much. I love writing soft!Javi and I am so happy you all do too!

Makes me happy ❤️

[l0ngschl0ngking]

why is the max phillips fic on hold ☹️

I have other fics planned and this one is not really my priority as of right now but I do plan to publish it…one day :)

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Hi . Can I have pedro × reader request?

Where the reader's ex drunk text her and pedro sees the text before the reader and gets jealous ?

Hi!

First of thank you for your request however I only write for characters Pedro portrayed. Not for Pedro himself :)!

[l0ngschl0ngking]

(Met) In the restroom

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

summary: Dieter looks good. Good enough that you let him fuck you in the public restroom at Met Gala

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, oral-f!receiving, semi-public sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, spitting, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, choking), cursing and fluff

word count: 3.8k (surprirse, surprise -quite short for me :D)

A/N: when I saw this look I instantly thought of Dieter. And you know I had to get this out of my head

It was unfair how good he looked tonight. Too good. And he knew it. He also knew you were watching him the whole night - catching your gaze a few times and sending you his signature cocky smirk or a sultry wink. And god, did that make you want to grab him and fuck his brains out right there on the carpet in front of all the other people.

His -other times- unruly hair was now slicked back enchanting his sharp features. His sharp jawline and aquiline nose were even more prominent from the side. You watched as he scratched the bald patch in his salt and pepper beard - the spot where you knew he was sensitive, always shuddering after you kissed him there.

You never saw Dieter dress up much - he loved his loose sweatpants and robes too much and felt comfortable in them so it was a rare treat to see him like this.

The thing that drove you the wildest though were the black shorts. You thought it looked silly when you first saw him arrive but after watching him longer and longer, watching how he strode on the red carpet with confidence made you reconsider. He pulled it off well and oh, you were thanking whoever decided on his outfit because his muscular thighs on display had you sweating in your dress.

The flash of cameras and people shouting and calling your name was something you got used to after the years. It came in handy sometimes. Like right now as you ignored them and watched Dieter as he talked to one of his co-stars on the current film he had been working in. He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his hand coming to rest on her waist as photographers quickly take pictures of the two of them. And you shouldn't feel jealous - you and Dieter weren't in a relationship. But still, the possessiveness that quickly washes over you is something you aren't proud of so you turn around, your back now facing them as you smile and wave at the people.

And maybe, just maybe you would feel a little bashful watching him like he was a piece of meat all night. But you knew Dieter. And he certainly did enjoy the attention you gave him - his posture always straightened whenever he saw you looking at him, his chest puffing in pride. Because even though he did not show it as much as you, he was affected by you in that pretty dress you were wearing tonight more than he’d liked to admit. You weren’t the only one with dirty thoughts swimming through your mind.

You and Dieter met on the set of Cliff Beasts 6. It was a silly project but your agent said it would get you places - it didn’t, not really. You met the Dieter Bravo and suddenly it was even worst than you anticipated because now you had to be in quarantine with him.

You two definitely weren’t the best buddies right off the start. Dieter is an "over-the-top" kind of guy and downright childish. Not a lot of people can stand him. He knows it. Maybe that’s why he got into acting. Pretending to be someone else every once in a while because nobody liked the real him.

He snorts coke in his free time and fucks anything that moves on two legs. So when he asked you with his puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if you wanted to sleep with him you immediately blew him off. But he was persistent, actually spending time with you and getting to know you - mostly because you were the only one who actually wanted to spend time with him even after he basically asked you multiple times if you’d allow him to “stick his glow stick into your dark cave”. And after a while, you got used to his eccentric persona and to be quite honest, you even enjoyed spending time with him. He was like a breath of fresh air.

One night you got drunk together - neither of you were good at holding your liquor.

That was all it took before you were in his room, your ass up in the air as he drilled into you from behind. And honestly, you never expected Dieter Bravo to make you cum three times in a row in one night. He was everything you’d thought he’d never be - attentive, passionate, eager to please. Also vocal. Very vocal.

And so you kept on sleeping with each other - even after the wrap of Cliff Beasts. You came to his, he came to yours. You fucked and then one of you left the other’s apartment. It was just that - release. Nothing more. But after a while, you started having breakfasts together, then it came to you keeping some of your belongings in his apartment, you just chatting as you watched him paint in his studio - you actually figured out Dieter was a smart guy if he wasn’t high, movie nights, dinner dates at home…you eventually moved in but neither of you would ever admit that.

For fuck’s sake, you weren’t even sure if you were dating or not. Dieter was scared of commitment, that much you learned from spending time with him, so you never pushed. And you were comfortable with it - no labels on your relationship, no pressure, no public exposure, no paparazzi or magazines that would start drama.

But at the moments like these - where he was pretending you didn’t even exist and you tried to do the same - you wished that you would go public. That you two would be now together here - as a couple. But alas, it was just your wishful thinking.

And before you know what is happening, a hand snakes its way onto your waist, a familiar cologne fills your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat. You slowly turn your head to look at him and he squeezes your waist tighter, the rings on his fingers digging into your flesh, as he mutters a quick: “Smile for the cameras, sweetheart.”

You want to ask him what does he think he is doing but the words die on your tongue when he pulls you closer to his side. And so you do as he says, his touch sears its way onto your skin and yeah, you were in big trouble. Because fuck buddies definitely didn’t make eachother feel how he made you feel right now - like a fucking teenager whose crush smiled at them for the first time. Minutes pass, you aren’t sure, as his hands finally leave your waist and you think you are able to finally breathe again. Before he leaves, his hands brush against your lower back, his breath hitting your neck - you can smell the mint gum he chewed before he got here.

“I can’t wait to fuck the sweet cunt of yours tonight, sweetheart. You look so good in this dress.”

And with that, he leaves. Leaving you with your mouth wide open and your gaze burning into his back. But it does make you feel better - you would be the one who he was leaving with tonight. You would be the one who'd feel his plush lips on your skin, his tongue tracing your curves. You would be the one who'd ride the muscular thigh of his tonight because Dieter loves when you use him for your own pleasure. You would be the one who would make him cum and hear his pretty pleas and whines, and groans because they were only for your ears to hear.

Yeah, you had problems.

The afterparty makes you loosen up a little. You chat and laugh, drink expensive champagne and for a moment, totally forget about Dieter Bravo. You don’t see him, the room is crowded and loud as people talk. One of your friends leaves the table to get another glass for the two of you when you spot him - your eyes narrowing as he laughs at something one of his female co-workers says as she grabs him by the bicep and he is already looking at you from the corner of his eye, his mustache lifts upwards with the little smirk he throws you.

And you do need to get away because it’s not about you being jealous - even though you hate the fact. It’s about him toying with you and you not being able to do anything about it. Because what could you do? You never said you two would be exclusive and it hurts. It hurts because you have no right to be jealous - he isn’t yours. Oh, how freaking stupid you were to tangle up with Bravo.

You enter the restroom - it’s spacious and clean and it smells nothing like restrooms. More like lavender? You see your reflection in the mirror - she doesn’t look like you. Were you so desperate for a man that did not want you? That he was so afraid of being seen in public with you he rather flirted with anyone else but you? You put your purse on the edge of the ceramic sink and lean your hands on it, breathing in as you look down into it. You hear the door open and close quickly before you hear the lock click but you pay it no mind. When you look back in the mirror you yelp - jumping in the air comically. He chuckles and grabs your hips so he can spin you around and face him.

You don’t have a time to ask him what is he doing as his lips are already on your neck - you can feel him smile into your flesh when his tongue traces your collarbones and a quiet moan escapes from your mouth, your fingers gripping his coat and you pull him away from you because you can’t do this anymore. Sneaking around, only stealing a few minutes of time sometimes. His brown eye search for yours as he looks at you confused, pupils blown wide, his tongue quickly coming out to lick his lower lip. You do not dare to look at him.

“I think we should end this.” the room falls silent. You can only hear the music from outside the door and your beating heart that needs to call the fuck down. He pulls away from you completely, his expression more heartbroken than shocked.

“What? Why?” It hurts to hear him say it like that - his voice quiet as he almost chokes on the words. He looks like a kid that just broke his favorite toy. He waits and when you don’t answer hurt quickly turns into anger, his face hardening. “Just tell me why and then I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is monotoned without any traces of emotion and it’s scary how much of a good actor he can be. It spikes anger in your guts in return - for him to dismiss it just like that. You don’t want him to leave you alone. Is he blind? Why can’t he see it?

“Because, Bravo. I can’t stand another second pretending we don’t know eachother in public while at home you practically whine for me to not leave. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care when you flirt with other people. I am tired of pretending that what we have between us is just some “let’s fuck” deal. I am tired of pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. And I am tired of pretending that you might care for me where in reality you clearly don’t.”

Your chest heaves and he looks at you as if you had grown a second head. The Dieter Bravo that has always something to say now falls quiet and it makes the insides of you burn with anger because how dare he walk into your life and fuck you, make you feel like he cares and when you finally confess just stare at you?

“You have nothing to say now, Bravo? Really? That’s oh, so great because-“

“Shut up.” He grits through his teeth and your mouth falls open. Did he just say you should shut up? Fuck him.

“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do you prick.” You jab into his chest, solid under your fingertips and he doesn’t even move a muscle as you do. ”I pour my heart out for you and you-“

You squeal when his hand moves on the back of your neck pulling you close, his mouth finding yours and he breathes you in. His eyes fall tightly shut as you moan into his mouth and his tongue strokes yours. It’s different than the other times you’ve kissed. It’s passionate and desperate - but not in a sexual way.

It’s intimate and his other hand slowly strokes your hip, his thumb smoothing the fabric of your dress and goosebumps erupt on your skin as you feel his rings on the back of your neck - digging into your flesh with the need to pull you closer into him. Your lower back collides with the counter and he hoists you up on it - your feet now dangling in the air as he pulls his mouth away from yours and settles between your legs.

His eyes are soft and his thumb strokes your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips makes your heart do a somersault in your chest. His forehead bumps with yours and you smile too when he whispers: “I have feelings for you too, sweetheart.”

And then he is kissing you again, his hands finding the zipper of your dress before he expertly pulls it down and the material of it pools at your waist, his hands instantly coming to hold your tits, his thumbs stroking your nipples and the cold of the rings makes you gasp. He smiles into your neck, his mustache scraping you as he trails soft kisses from your jaw to the juncture of your neck and bites you there, your keen into his touch as you moan, his tongue soothing the assaulted flesh with ease. He is quick to undress you completely -the dress falling onto the ground and he kneels on it, his mouth kissing your inner thighs, his teeth scraping you, his hands exploring and mapping your body before they settle onto your hips as he taps two times so you’d lift up a little. He hooks his fingers into your panties before they are off you too and he is kissing your mound.

Your hands fall into his slicked hair and he moans when you grab him by it and pull him closer to your cunt, his fingers quickly finding their way into his mouth before he pulls them out and shows you the saliva-covered digits as the ring shines with it before he slowly enters you with two of them and you throw your head back, your grip tightening in his hair as he kisses your clit.

The pass of his fingers inside you is slow, languid as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t just fucking you in the restroom of Met Gala. It makes your core floods with arousal - that anybody could hear you two. His fingers dig into your hip while his others work their way in and out and before you know it he is babbling into your core - his hot mouth still lazily kissing your clit, his tongue poking out to lick you.

“You dirty little girl. This is what you wanted, right? Is that it, sweetheart? You wanted me to fuck you where anybody could hear?” You squeeze around him, your fingers digging into his scalp and he hisses your name, his cock aching in his shorts as the only thing he can do is hump the air. “Oh, you like that. You dirty little thing. You’d want me to fuck you somewhere anybody could walk in?” You whine and nod, looking down at him and he smirks. His eyes glazed as you watch his tongue lick you slowly. Because he knows you have a bit of exhibitionism kink - he figured out when he fucked you against the glass walls of his apartment telling you what a “Dirty girl you are. Letting me fuck you where anybody could see the two of us.” You came almost instantly when the words left his mouth and he kept this information in the back of his mind.

Your thighs shake around his head and that’s when your mouth opens into a silent “o” as he spits onto your pussy and slurps at you, the filthy sounds coming from him making your inside squeeze him tighter and you can feel that you are close, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when you feel the deep rumble coming from his chest.

Dieter Bravo was godly at eating out pussy and he enjoyed it too. You can feel it even now as he enthusiastically pulls his fingers in and out of you, speeding the movements of his tongue and fingers when you squeal, your toes curling and he knows he found the spot. It only takes two or three passes of his tongue before you are cumming and he grins into your mound when you try to push his head away. He takes the fingers that were in you mere moments ago into your mouth to “clean his rings” before he is pulling them out and kissing you - the taste of you on him makes you kiss him deeper, your tongue tracing his teeth and he smiles into the kiss.

“I like it when you are jealous.” You want to protest - tell him you aren’t. Lie to him. Rile him up. But he puts you back on your jelly feet and you are met with your fucked out expression. He isn’t any better though - his pupils blown back wide and his slicked hair disheveled because of you.

He crowds you in - his hard cock that still strains in his shorts presses against your bare cunt and you moan, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The fabric of his shorts makes your thighs tremble and you are sure if he keeps this up you will cum again. Your hazy brain stops working alongside your mouth when you say: “I want to ride your thigh tonight while I hold onto the coat. You look so good in that outfit.” And he stops. You hear a choked sound behind you and then the zipper of his shorts before you feel the fat head of his cock notching at your entrance.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, sweetheart. You can ride your sweet pussy on my thigh when we get home. Want you to soak my thigh. Fuck. Want you to get off on it while I watch you.” He whimpers as he slides his head between your pussy lips. When he enters you it knocks the air out of your lungs. No matter how many times you two fuck, you will never get used to the size of him.

His fingers dig into your hip as he sets relentless pace, his hips smacking against your ass and his other snakes into your hair and tugs at it harshly -making you open your eyes and your gaze meets with his in the mirror.

“Yeah, watch how I fuck you. You are so filthy, sweetheart. Letting me split you open right here on my big fat cock.” He spits.

You watch as your tits bounce with every pass of his cock. You see his throat bob and the small droplet of sweat running down his temple. You see the vein on his neck is now prominent, his teeth barred for you two to see as he looks down where you two join and he moans -his head falling back and his hand that was gripping your hair now pinching your nipples. He is attentive and he can feel you squeezing him again. He knows you're close and he grinds against you -his pubic hair stimulating your clit and he grabs you by the throat, his teeth catching your earlobe. You feel the puffs of air leave his mouth. It’s hot and sweaty and you swear you never felt this good in your entire life before.

“Watch how I fuck you silly with my cock. Who do you belong to?” You cry out when a particular rough thrust makes you see stars and he groans as you squeeze him. He is close too, sweating under the coat and shirt. “Come on, tell me, sweetheart.” He grits out and he sucks at the skin on your neck, marking you.

“Yours!” You cry out and he hums, his fingers squeezing around your windpipe tighter and your hand comes back to fist at his hair as you watch his ring-clad fingers hold onto you before you are cumming, tugging him by the hair closer so you can kiss him. It’s messy -teeth and tongues clashing together as he fucks you through it and when you part a string of saliva connects the two of you.

“Yes, that’s right. You are mine. And I am yours, sweetheart. Just yours.” It makes your heart constrict because yeah -he is yours. Yours. Your walls pull him tighter even though you already came and he chokes on air because he is so fucking close. And when you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw and whisper: “I love you.” He is a goner.

Because nobody ever loved Dieter. And you just said you did. And his heart swells because he loves you too. As much as Dieter can actually love somebody.

He cums with a hoarse groan of your name, his hand digging into your ass. He kisses your shoulder blade lazily before he calms down and pulls out of you - putting back on your underwear. And helping you back into the dress. Neither of you looks presentable but neither of you seems to care.

“Want you to drip my cum all night and when we come home I want you to show me before you fuck yourself on my thigh.” Home.

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before he checks himself out in the mirror - trying to fix his hair, unsuccessfully, before he leaves you in the bathroom with a silly grin on your face.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @completelyoverit @cutesyscreenname

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Please don’t ever stop writing. I haven’t seen a better writing writer on this app than you. Your stories are so gripping. Thank you for your service

Thank you so much for your kind words ❤️. I appreciate this so much. I do not plan to stop writing anytime soon - I love it and always have. As of right now I am writing a pretty short (for me) one-shot and I will probably publish it today if I finish it on time.

I haven’t been as active on here as I’d like as I found a part time job and I still cannot balance my personal life with school, work and my hobbies. So with this I also want to apologize to you guys - I know I promised that one Tim Rockford one-shot like almost 3 weeks ago. And I am working on it, I swear ❤️

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Work for it

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: Javier wants you. Plain and simple. You don’t fall for his charm so easily

warnings: as always SMUT (m!masturbation, semi-public handjob, vaginal fingering, oral - f!receiving, protected p in v, biting, spitting, hair pulling, praise kink), cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, fluff and soft!Javi - because I can’t help myself

word count: 17k (holy moly guacamole - I am so fucking sorry)

A/N: This took me literally five days to finish (longer than I anticipated). Writing and then editing, re-reading it over and over again. But I had so much fun writing these two together. I love them.

You will never forget the day you met the infamous Javier Peña.

It was the first day at your new job - a new beginning for you, let’s say. Moving to a new country whose language you hardly spoke, having to accommodate to the new pace of things. That didn’t mean it was a bad thing though - you needed the change. After living in a small town for nearly all of your life where everyone knew everything about you, you were pretty glad when they accepted you as a secretary for DEA office in Colombia. It was…different. The people, the lifestyle they led. Nonetheless, change was good for you - you needed it.

What you didn’t need - or at least you thought so at the beginning - was having a smooth talker, devilish charmer and so-called "ladies' man" ogle you right as you entered the DEA building. His eyes watched every measured step you took as you held your head high when passing by him - not giving him the time of a day. You could see from the corner of your eye that he licked his lips and smoothed his thumb along the bottom one, his eyes trailing your figure.

He watched your smooth legs move effortlessly - light as if you were a butterfly slowly floating in the air, even in your heels. He could definitely make your legs wobble if you would let him, he thought as he licked his lips. Your green work skirt fitted you like a damn glove, your white blouse flowy - made to look professional yet efficient for you to not cook alive in that god-forsaken Colombian heat - highlighting your sun-kissed skin. He felt like a dog that was shown a proper peace of meat after days of starving. Oh, and starved he was.

He almost broke his neck when you disappeared around the corner and Steve threw him an unimpressed look from behind the folder he was going through before he heard Javier roughly exhale. The blond-haired agent tossed the thick folder filled with documents on the desk and leaned back on the uncomfortable office chair as he watched his partner seemingly lost in thought - he could guess what thoughts were occupying his mind right then. He scoffed and that seemed to pull Javier out of his trance, his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at his partner.

“What?” he grumbled. Javier’s eyes were challenging as he bored them into Steve’s baby blues as if saying “just say what you want to say.”

One thing Javier hated about Steve - and there were a lot of things that he didn’t like about him but if he was to pinpoint one it would have to be this - was how he unseemingly loved to call out Javier on his so-called “bullshit”. Even though often it was his private life - which frankly was none of his business. He loved to criticize and not be criticized in return - that he and Peña had in common even if he neither one of them would ever admit that.

“Don’t even think about it, Peña.” Steve muttered as he held eye contact with Javier - neither of them ready to back down.

Seconds passed. Maybe a minute even.

Javier was the first one to break it off as he glanced behind his shoulder, a sly grin spreading across his lips. He liked to play dirty - and pissing off his partner seemed plenty dirty play enough for him. And if you’d give in - as he was sure you would - and Steve would hear the pretty little cries of Javier’s name falling out of your lips? That seemed like a sweet victory to the dark-haired agent.

One thing about Javier was that when someone tells him can’t or shoudln’t do something - you know he will do exactly that. He turned to Steve once more.

“I don’t know what are you talking about.” Steve squinted his eyes and sighed - knowing damn well Javier was already planning on how to charm you in his mind.

“You know what I am talking about, Javier.”

His grin spread wider - his fingers quickly drumming on the wooden desk he was leaning his hands against. It was an old thing - folders that Javier should get through by tonight sitting on top of it. He had better things to do now. Paperwork could wait. Your perfume lingered in the office when you passed by, calling him to you like a damn siren song.

“Just trying to be friendly here, Murphy. Not that you know anything about it.”

“We both know that your definition of ‘friendly’ when it comes to women means ‘I want to spread-“

Before he could finish his sentence Javier was already one long leg out of the office making his way toward where you were seated at your desk. You were concentrated - your brows furrowed and the rim of your reading glasses falling from the bridge of your nose. You were not from here - Javier could tell. He noticed the mug filled with coffee on your desk that had “best sister ever” written on it in a thick cursive, the letters red and next to it a big heart.

The temperature in the office was hot - too hot even for Javi that was used to the Texan heat back from Laredo. His blue shirt damp from the sweat that dribbled down his back, his torso, his neck. The material of the shirt stuck to him. That wouldn’t be the last thing that would stick to him today. He was sure of that.

It seemed you came prepared though - the small fan on your desk felt like heaven on earth against your sweaty skin. He watched one droplet roll down from the side of your temple, slowly down to your jaw, your neck, falling into the juncture of it and rolling down between the valley of your breasts. He would gladly lick it from your skin if you’d let him. He would do much more than that to you if you’d let him.

“Can I help you with something?” His eyes teared away from your cleavage and met your gaze - your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you put your reading glasses down, the papers you were reading before he came laid now on your desk. He quickly scanned your features and yeah, you were definitely someone who’d he like to spend his night with. Or lunch break, or-

He ignored your question as he looked at your nails - one of his hands coming to inspect it closer but before he could you pulled your hands away - folding them across your chest. “I like the color. Brings out the color of your eyes.”

You quirked an eyebrow at that - leaning against the leather chair you looked him up and down quickly before leaning back towards him. Your elbows were prepped on the wooden desk and he leaned closer as well -his eyes quickly dipping to your cleavage once again.

“Listen here-“ A pause followed.

“Javi.” He offered.

“Javi.” You repeated. His name falling out of your mouth - the accent not quite right but he did not mind one bit. He found it endearing in a way. “Listen here, Javi. I don’t know what you think is going to happen but whatever it is just forget about it. Your southern charm won’t work on me. Been there, done that.”

He pulled away - taken back by your quick rejection, his eyebrows furrowing just a little. The crease on his brows showing and he took a quick breath to retort something, his tongue slipping out to lick his lower lip.

“And what did you think I thought was going to happen, mariposa?” The old leather chair creaked beneath your weight as you moved back in it slightly. An amused smirk pulled at your lips as you ignored the nickname he gave you - which in all honesty you didn’t know what it meant. You’d ask him another time. It seemed that you would be seeing this “Javi” a whole lot more than you thought.

You leaned closer to him and he did the same - as if the two of you were pulled by some magnetic force toward one another. It got hotter once his nose almost touched yours, his fingers with neatly trimmed nails gripping the edge of your desk. You slowly raised from your seat. You ignored it all - the way his eyes bored into yours, how you felt as if molten lava was in the pit of your stomach, how your hands clenched at your sides.

He smelled like cigarettes and coffee, and some kind of expensive cologne. The smell of him made your nose and insides burn - something about his presence made you feel like every cell in your body was on fire. That’s how the DEA agent made women feel most of the time - you didn’t know that back then.

Your voice dropped an octave lower as you whispered. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to say what I think you thought in a public setting. Especially in a working place.” An amused chuckle fell out of his lips as you seated yourself. Mirth danced in his eyes as he replied:

“Good thing I am inappropriate most of the time, mariposa.” Javier Peña was a bold man. He knew that and most of the people that were acquainted with him knew that. But you didn’t know who he was and he expected that you would scoff - tell him to fuck off. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto your lips as you pretended to read the documents on your desk - your conversation ending with that.

He watched you for a few seconds, expecting that maybe you would say something smart back in return because you know - it seemed you had a smart mouth. He turned on his heels as he left you to do what you actually came here to do - work - and he should do the same.

Oh, and you were going to be fun, he thought. When he came back and sat behind his desk, he had this stupid boyish smirk planted on his face. Steve looked at him and then back at where you were supposed to be working - even though he couldn’t see you. And the blonde-haired agent thought that this meant no good.

Three years passed since your first encounter with Javier.

Three torturous years filled with you two dancing around each other - like two ships passing one another in the stillness of a night. You two became somewhat friends. Three years filled with flirting and bickering, stolen glances and going out on drinks.

Sometimes Steve joined the two of you - most of the time not. At first, he seemed to be glued to Javier’s hip - afraid that his partner would try another one of his many tricks on you. Oh, and he did.

His flirtatious nature came out on the surface anytime you were near him - though you did not crumble under his advances as Javier wished you would. Your knees didn’t buckle, your cheeks didn’t turn a darker shade of red, your eyes didn’t flutter when he was closer to you than it seemed proper. But after a while, both agents found out you weren’t even near to falling for the smooth talker that Javier was. The only thing you offered him was friendship - your presence and your laugh, your silly jokes and weird habits.

And he took it all - his flirtatious nature and comments remained but it seemed more friendly than not. And you did the same in return - your smart-ass comments about how his ass looked “good enough to bite in those tight jeans" kept him on his toes, his cheeks hurt with all of the genuine laughter you pulled out of somewhere deep in his chest.

So Steve started joining your outings outside of work less and less - you were an intelligent woman and he liked you. You wouldn’t do something stupid like sleep with Javier.

The thing was - you wanted to. After the stressful day at work, you wished you could have Javier here - in your crappy apartment that was assigned to you by the U.S. embassy. You knew his reputation, you knew that his needs were simply carnal - a basic transaction of pleasure and bodily fluids. He never wanted his lady friends to stay over - never wanted them to have any expectations of having something more with him.

You can still remember the vivid shock you felt when you banged on the door of your next-door neighbor who appeared to only come alive at night.

The walls were thin and you could hear every moan, groan, slap of skin against skin, every bang that the bedframe made when hitting the wall. At first, you tried to ignore it - you bought earplugs. Multiple pairs. None of them seemed to work and one night you had had enough when you were right there on the edge of sleep after a particularly rough day and then - a long drawn-out moan made you squeeze your eyes before you shot out of the bed. The robe you wrapped around yourself to look at least half decent flew dramatically behind you.

You didn’t knock at the door - you banged - irritated and tired but still, you chewed at your lip as you thought of how the fuck will you say in spanish that they should finally “shut the fuck up and let you sleep”. You could hear a loud bang and then curses thrown into the air before the door swung open and Javier was standing in them - Javier from the office, Javier that undressed you with his eyes every time you entered the same room as him - his eyes wild and angry before they landed on you. All of the fire in his eyes disappeared and a toothy grin replaced his scowl. He leaned one arm on the doorframe - his bicep flexing with the movement.

His hair was disheveled and he didn’t have any of his significant half-unbuttoned shirts on. His chest was broad, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his golden skin glowed in the low dim light in the hallway. The tight jeans he wore stuck to him like a second skin - he didn’t zip them in the hurry to get to the door. You could see the sparse hair leading from his belly button growing thicker the lower and lower you went - you must have gaped at him like a fish before you gulped.

He wasn’t any better though - his eyes dragged over the naked expanse of your skin and as his eyes trailed higher. He was sure you weren’t wearing anything underneath that flimsy robe. A peak of the soft flesh of your breast caught his attention as he absent-mindedly licked his lips, catching his tongue between his teeth - only a sliver of the pink flesh poking out of his mouth.

“Came to take me up on my offer, mariposa?” You wanted to wipe the self-assured cocky smile off his face.

He never really said the “offer” out loud but you knew what he had in mind. Now even more so. After a few weeks at the embassy, you heard rumors about Peña, about his reputation, about who he was. You tried to pay them no mind.

“No, Javier.” The way his name sounded falling out of your mouth was his absolute favorite thing. “Just keep it down, would you?”

You didn’t wait for his answer - turning on your heel and he watched your ass sway before you closed the door of your apartment.

He fucked the girl that was in his place harder than he ever fucked anyone in his life that night.

So that you knew what you were missing.

The way you glared at him the next day was definitely worth it.

But you also knew Javier - how he cared for those who were close to him, how the only thing he “ate” all day was coffee and so you had to almost shove any form of food into him - not that he minded - how his eyes crinkled when you cracked one of your stupid jokes that weren’t even that funny - he seemed to think otherwise.

So you were somewhat friends. You went out to drink away your thoughts, sorrows and feelings together. An unhealthy coping mechanism that you seemed to learn from Javi after the first year and a half you spent in Colombia.

You always went into that one filthy bar - quiet but with a sticky floor with not a lot of people around - somehow, Javier always found a girl that he would take home that night in it still. He was tall, broad, charming, he knew the way around with ladies - compliments forming and falling easily off his silver tongue. They seemed to be pulled towards him by his sheer presence in the room. He didn’t even have to try.

You hated the way your heart tightened in your chest whenever a pretty woman caught his attention - he always quickly stubbed his cigarette down with a quick apology that he’d be right back. His walk was confident and self-assured, his body language lose when he talked to them.

To make things worst he always had this soft look in his eyes when he asked if you were okay with him leaving. Oh, his brown eyes that always looked at you with such curiosity and interest. Those eyes made you feel like you were in another world. Looking into them - looking into those prettiest brown eyes, the eyes that you loved the most - made you feel like dying and feeling alive at once.

Even when some of them almost pulled his arm off as they tried to get him out and to wherever they would get more acquainted with one another, he still waited for your answer. Every time, you offered him the same tight-lipped smile and quick nod as you shooed him off. The imprint of his smile he always offered you in gratitude felt like a punch to the gut - as if he broke all of your ribs to get to your heart and squeezed until no blood remained in it after it stopped functioning completely.

But even if you wanted to give in - learn and feel his touch, find out if the girls were faking all of the moans and gasps or if he was really so skilled - you never dared to. Refusing to become another woman who would have to leave eventually and never look back. You wanted more than that. Because you knew Javier.

And you wanted all of him, not just a piece that he would offer and then rip it from you.

So you never acted upon the feelings you developed over the years - staying somewhat friends with the Texas man would have to be enough. Had to be.

Things changed after almost two and a half years. After he came late at night knocking on your apartment door and you sleepily opened it - the tiredness leaving your body as your eyes widened at his state. He was drunk - that was clear. He hiccuped and stumbled into your place when you opened your door wider.

There was no exchanging of words that night. He planted face-first onto your couch and fell asleep almost immediately - his soft snores filling the silent room. You draped your favorite light blanket around him that night - the one your sister gave you as a Christmas present. Javier always made fun of it. It was an ugly thing really - she said that it was compensation for an ugly sweater as she couldn’t find any. And yes, it was hideous - it looked like it just came from some dumpster - but you loved it nonetheless.

Something changed between the two of you the next morning. When you came into the living room he was still lounging on your small couch - his long legs dangling from the edge of it. You laughed as he groaned, his eyes tightly shut, one of his arms draped over his forehead. When he slowly sat up his head spun and he mumbled something about “never drinking again” - you laughed some more at that.

You didn’t ask why he drank so much - you knew it was because of something more serious than just simply wanting to get shit-faced. If he wanted to, he’d tell you. Eventually.

You passed him some painkillers for which he offered you a grateful smile - throwing his head back as he swallowed them. The only thing that could be heard in the room was the coffee machine as you stared at each other. He looked different in the morning - peaceful, soft. Things he didn’t want anyone to see.

You cleared your throat, saying that you will quickly hop in the shower while he can choose what are you two going to have for breakfast - the book you’ve written your favorite recipes in kept on the lowest shelf in the kitchen cabinet right above the stove. You were stocked with all sorts of ingredients as you like to cook a lot. He nodded as he watched you softly shut the door behind you.

The recipe book was old and rusty - the pages of it covered in smudges, the corners of them sometimes torn off. He wasn’t sure if it was yellow because it came in that color or if the was white before and it just yellowed over time. He flipped the pages quickly - honestly, he’d eat anything you’d cook as he often said you should have opened your own restaurant and not waste your time behind the desk. You always brushed these comments off with a small smile. A dried-up rose layed between the pages. He softly grabbed it and inspected it - his heart lurching into his throat when realization dawned on him. He gave you the rose. A long time ago.

Steve always bought Connie a bouquet of flowers every Friday -a habit he kept even after all the years spent with her. It was sweet, really. Romantic. You eyed the different flowers - a small flicker of yearning danced in your eyes. Javier noticed. Of course, he did. One day he came over to your desk, one of his hands behind his back and you threw him a curious look before he brought the single white-petalled rose in front of your face. The big grin you gave him and the quiet “thank you, Javi. I love it” made his entire week.

So he didnn’t know how long he had been standing there - the tip of his fingers delicately brushing over the dried-up white petals until you called his name, coming over to him.

“You kept it.” You threw him a confused look, your eyes widened when he backed you up against the kitchen counter - the small of your back hitting the edge of it. He caged you in, his hand coming to lay on the counter next to your side, the other one showing you the rose and you gulped.

“Yeah, I kept it.” You whisper and something in his chest shifted back then, his eyes softening. You held your breath when his chest brushed up against yours, his nose almost bumping with yours. You could see every freckle on his skin, his long eyelashes, the curve of his nose. Your lips nearly touching.

And then the phone rang and he closed his eyes in irritation, taking a deep steadying breath. He moved away from you and you slipped away from him quickly- your heart almost jumping out of your chest. You picked it up with shaking hands, looking over at Javier who put the rose back into its place.

“Hey, Steve. Yeah-yeah, I’ll be there in ten. Yeah, I will go over to Javi’s to kick him out of bed. See you.”

His jaw ticked when you hung up. He was going to kill Murphy.

He stopped seeing every and each of his lady friends after that day. If he wanted any information he’d meet them on neutral ground - sometimes offering to buy them a drink or two. But nothing more. He stopped picking up random girls at the bar too.

And somehow, he felt happy. Mind shockingly happy - like a kid that wished really hard for a present under the Christmas tree and got it. He cared for you - the realization hitting him in the back of the head like a fucking bullet. And you cared for him - took care of him, fed him and made him feel fucking alive and happy and thriving. You were the one that got drunk with him and never asked questions, and listened. You had to feel something if you kept the stupid rose after the years. Right?

But Javier overthinks things easily and just as easy as it was to imagine somehow a happy and safe future with you, it was just as easy to imagine scenarios - where in every one of them - he was the jackass who’d hurt you. And he couldn’t have that. No, no, no.

So he keeps his distance - still talks to you and keeps being friendly, but neither of you talks about the morning when you almost kissed. You were confused and hurt. He played with you but you couldn’t be angry at him. He never tried anything again after that on you. Even though this thing you two had between you kept simmering under the surface and he tried to ignore it. As have you.

But Javier is just a man - impulsive and quick to jump to conclusions. When he sees red? He acts. And right now he sees red as you talk to one of the other agents - he can hear your soft laugh and can see the way you grip the man’s arm as you laugh some more. What is even so funny? The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grips the edge of his desk tighter in his hold and Steve wants to laugh at his partner.

He takes pity on him and when he stands up he places one of his big hands on Javier’s shoulder which he wants to shrug away -his gaze lingering on you.

“You should ask her out, Peña.”

Javier almost breaks his neck with the speed he looks at Steve. Did he hit his head? Since when is he telling him what to do with women? Javier scoffs - an ugly twisted snarl adorns his lips. Like a wolf barring his teeth to its prey.

“Since when do you tell me what and what to not do when it comes to our lady co-workers?” Steve sighs and squeezes Javier’s shoulder tighter making his dark-haired partner look at him.

“We both know she isn’t just a co-worker to you, Peña.” He hisses at him, the grip on his shoulder loosening. “Now go ask her out before someone else will.”

And maybe it’s the first time in his life that Steve is actually right. He was fucking exhausted of playing this game of cat and mouse with you.

Javier’s legs act quick and his mind can’t seem to catch up with his actions before he is standing at your desk. When he arrives the other man bids you a quick goodbye before he scatters away under Javier’s intense gaze.

“Do you need something from me, Javi?” You offer him a small smile - so different from the first time you two met and he thinks: “yeah, you”.

His tongue sits heavy in his mouth and just now he finds out he actually doesn’t know how to do this. This dating thing. For fuck’s sake he hasn’t been on a date since Lorraine and he is getting old. Should he bring you flowers first? Should he ask you out with a note like in high school? Should he-

“Javi, you okay?”

Man up, Peña.

He scratches the back of his head before he blurts out:

“Go out with me.”

He says it so quickly that you are sure you heard him wrong but the tip of his ears are a darker shade of red and he stares at you expectantly. You gape at him like a fish - your mouth closing and opening but no sound comes out of it. He sighs and this time he says it slower, his dark eyes boring into yours as he reaches to grab your small hands in his.

“Mariposa, I’d like nothing more than if you’d go out with me. Like…on a date.” His palms are sweaty and he gulps seemingly nothing. He is nervous. It’s cute. That this big bad agent that chases narcos left and right is nervous about asking you out. You grin as you squeeze his fingers in yours.

“I don’t know, Javi. This seems so sudden and I am not sure if that’s the best idea. With us being colleagues and all.” You try to hide your grin as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Mariposa, I swear I will make it worth your while. Just give me a chance. Please? I will-“ You break when you see his pleading eyes.

“Javi, I was just kidding. I’d like to go out with you. You are a scaredy cat when it comes to these things, aren’t you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile, his eyes glowing.

“Kind of. So please, try to be patient with me, yeah?”

“Of course.” You throw him a reassuring smile. Yeah, he could do this. With you.

He looks around before he brings your hands towards his lips - kissing them and he grins against them when he sees how you blush.

“Tonight at eight sounds good?” He offers as he pulls away from you.

“Sound perfect, Texas.” His grin spreads wider, his cheeks hurt and his heart hammers in his chest.

He owes Steve.

For someone who dreamt about being asked out by Javier you are unprepared. You never expected that he would ever actually make a move on you - not counting the sexual ones. You can’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of your shift. You beam at Javier when passing by him to get home and he throws you a sultry wink - his knuckles resting on his desk as he looks through the documents. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t quip anything as Javier watches you leave.

He had a date tonight. With you. Stating that he was nervous and giddy at the same time was an understatement. He felt a like a teenager expecting his first kiss. It felt strange and absolutely addicting at once.

When you arrive home you take a quick shower - Javier always said that you smelled like coconuts and one time you saw him secretly glancing into your bathroom to see what kind of shampoo were you using.

The water is scorching hot and it soothes your muscles and nerves. You scrub all the stress from your body and scurry into the bedroom when you are done - the droplets of water falling onto the floor as you don’t even bother to dry yourself off.

Your bedroom is a big space - the same as Javier’s and Steve’s and anyone who lives in the same apartment building as you, really. You open your closet which was built by Javi and Steve - both of them complaining “why the fuck would you need such a big closet if you live alone” and as you replied “because I like them big” Javier choked on seemingly nothing sending you a quick glare, his Adam’s apple bobbed and it seemed he started sweating even more after that.

You and Connie watched as they argued because, of course, neither of them needed the instructions. Glass of wine in your hands.

It was a pretty closet - cheap as someone bought it and it was too big to fit into their living space and they wanted to get rid of it. Made from mahogany wood, the doors of it had two birds on each side carved in it. Vintage and fitting into your bedroom - you even got a carpet with it for free, the one you were currently standing on.

As you pondered on what to wear you suddenly realized you didn’t know where was Javier taking you. Dancing? On a dinner? To a bar just for drinks? After a while of just checking through your wardrobe you decided to wear a sundress - it was too hot, even at night, to wear anything else, to be honest. It was a light green color - patterned with white flowers and the seam of it reached just below your knees. Backless with long sleeves. Cheeky but modest. Your mouth quirked upwards as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

A knock echoes through the apartment and you look at the watch in the kitchen when coming to answer the door -precisely seven. When you open the door your breath hitches.

Javier stands there with a bouquet of white roses - his face hidden behind them. He has his leather jacket on, his signature tight jeans on but you’ve never seen the pink shirt on him before. It suits him. He peaks at you through the flowers and his jaw sets - his eyes raking up and down your form, multiple times before he passes the roses to you.

“Thank you, they are beautiful, Javi.” You get an instant response, his hands now in his pockets.

“You are beautiful, mariposa.” His baritone raspy. He was used to you were pencil skirts, blouses, jeans and shirts when you went out. Never has he seen a dress on you even after three years. He prayed to all saints out there that you would wear only dresses from now on.

You flash him a grin before you quickly disappear inside to throw them into a vase. He has to clear his throat when he realizes that he can see the whole expanse of your back - the swell of your ass disappearing under the fabric but if the cut would be a little deeper he could definitely see that as well.

“Wear some comfortable shoes. I am gonna show you the beauty of Bogotá tonight.”

You link your arm with his as you softly shut the door.

You talk and laugh and jab at one another. The cool night air makes you shiver - you thought it would be a lot warmer than this. Javier drapes his jacket over you even as you fuss that he doesn’t have to.

You walk - it could be miles - but you don’t really pay it no mind as times fly by. You pass the few spots Javier wanted to show you - a pretty lake that reflected the moon shone under its light, looking like a silver liquid- a few daisies growing near it and you picked them, and after a while Javier even allowed you to put one behind his ear after you pleaded him. The spot where they served the best arepas in the city - Javier said so - and you had to agree as both of you munched on them, comfortable silence falling over the two of you.

It wasn’t awkward as you thought it might have been - you know a lot about each other but somehow you still find new things to talk about. You learned that he liked to paint when he was younger and enjoyed horseback riding with his pops. That he was mama’s boy - his tone softening as he talked about her. You squeezed his hand, telling him it was okay if he didn’t want to talk about it. But he did. Somehow, he wanted you to know everything about him. You took everything he gave and never wanted more and he felt at peace when with you. You found out that he grew up on a ranch and that he was a dog lover - he had a border collie that followed him everywhere when he did his morning chores - feeding the chickens and such.

The final spot of the day’s date was a pretty place with a view from which you could see the whole Bogotá, surrounded by trees and his truck parked there

Both of you lean against the hood - you pull his jacket around you tighter. It smells like him and you realize that after the years you don’t mind the smell of cigarettes. It’s soft and warm and it feels entirely like him.

“So, will you ever tell me about your little Texas boyfriend?” He cuts off the silence with his question and you cock your head to the side.

“Since when do you know I had Texas boyfriend?” He shrugs his shoulders as he brings the cigarette to his lips - blowing the smoke away from you.

“You told me the first time we’ve seen each other. You said that you will not fall for my Texas charm - “been there done that”. He quotes and you laugh breathily. He stubs the cigarette under his foot. The gravel under him crunches.

“You remember that?”

“I remember every little thing you say to me, mariposa.”

The air thickens with his confession as you look into his eyes. He is gorgeous under the dim moonlight. His hair blows in the soft wind. You reach to take the daisy from behind his ear and twist it between your fingers. The contact your skin makes with his when you reach behind his ear results in goosebumps erupting all over his body.

“I think a talk about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends is more suited for a second date. Don’t you think?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You want to go on a second date with me?” It surprises him - really. He expected…he actually doesn’t know what he expected but second date wasn’t it. He ignores the way his heart skips a beat.

“Yeah, don’t you?” Your eyes are hopeful and he doesn’t understand how you could think he wouldn’t want to go on another date with you.

He was smitten with you from the first time he laid his eyes on you. With your sharp tongue and wicked sense of humor, and how you love to call him out on his bullshit, how your nose wrinkles when you laugh and you throw your whole body forward - always needing to bang your hand against something, whether it was your thigh, table, his shoulder.

“I’d love to.” You grin and he mirrors it before you lean away from the hood as does he. It’s late and you are tired - even though you do not want this night to end. You yawn and Javier claps his hands together as he opens the door of the car you.

The car ride passes in comfortable silence as you keep sneaking glances when you think he isn’t looking.

You look at his sharp jawline and aquiline nose, his hand that grips the steering wheel - watching how he drums his long thick fingers against it and you lick your lips as you trail your eyes over the veins on the back of his hand. You take a sharp intake of breath as he places the other hand on your thigh after a while. You look at him but he doesn’t even glance at you, you can see how he becomes tense and when you don’t push his hand away he relaxes again, his thumb stroking idle circles on top of your covered flesh.

It passes quickly and before you know it you are outside the door of your apartment and he is pulling you closer by the small of your back. You put a finger on his lips when it looks like he is ready to kiss you senseless and you giggle, grabbing him by the chin and you turn his head to the side.

“I don’t kiss and tell on the first date, Peña. You will have to work for it.” You whisper against the skin of his cheek and his grip on you loosens as he feels the ghost of your lips against his flesh before you kiss him under the hinge of his jaw. The kiss imprints into the core of his bones.

Before he can say or act you are already closing the door of your apartment - he can hear the giggles that leave your mouth behind them. The muscle in his jaw ticks, his hands ball into fists as he stares at your door.

Seconds pass. Minutes. Maybe hours. He isn’t sure as he seems to be glued to the spot outside of your door.

When he finally moves he closes the door behind him forcefully. He feels so fucking worked up. And you didn’t even touch him. What were you doing to him? For fuck’s sake.

He stumbles into his place as he tries to tear his jeans from him. He fumbles with the zipper and button of his jeans and falls onto the couch as he quickly tries to undress. The jeans are thrown somewhere behind him and he tugs at his cock a few times, hissing as he swipes his thumb across the sensitive head - a spurt of precum falling out of it. He tries to imagine your small hand around his cock. Your slender fingers gripping him and pumping him from all he has. He groans when he squeezes the base of him and he thinks of how you looked tonight.

All pretty and soft when he held your hand in his. His brows furrow when he thinks of how your skin heated up under his touch when he placed his hand on the small of your back. How your dress showed all of your curves and how you laughed - your nose wrinkling. His movements speed up, he concentrates on how you smelled and moved. He thinks how you wouldn’t be able to grip all of him in your small hand - would you try to put all of him in your mouth or would you just suck and lick the tip of him while you would pump the rest of him? The roughness of his own hand isn’t ideal and it is hard to imagine your softer one - his eyebrows furrowing even more so as he concentrates, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth.

And fuck, you care for him. You truly care for him. You listen - really listen- and let him talk your ear off. You never judge him. And that’s why he is so fucking attracted to you. Because Javier just wants someone who will care for him and provide him with not only physical but also psychical comfort. And you are that someone.

He groans, his head thrown back as the pleasure builds in the pit of his stomach - twirling up the column of his spine. He is not quiet and his eyes roll into the back of his head when he hears the squelching sound of his hand stroking his cock - pretending that it was your pussy making the noise while riding him. He smears the precum around his cock - the glide over the hard hot flesh easier. He thinks about how would you sound screaming his name and a needs curls in his belly - primal and hungry. He finds a steadier and firmer pace and the muscle on his forearm and bicep flex with each stroke.

He is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he feels he is so fucking close - so close - his eyes tightly shut. The pleasure builds and builds - liquid warm and full of aching desire for you growing with each slick movement of his wrist. Long smooth strokes are deliberately made, his thumb running over the head, his grasp tightening on the base of his aching cock. His muscular thighs lift off the sofa, the muscles underneath his softer belly pull tighter with each second as he fucks up into his fist. His feet are firmly planted on the couch and he pretends you are there with him - on top of him, riding him as he pinches and explores, gropes and holds every inch of your body.

His balls pull tight and his cock twitches in his hand a few times before he is cumming with a string of spanish curses and your name falling out of his mouth. He keeps up the pace until he is too sensitive and he lets go of his slowly softening cock - his hand sticky with his own release as is his shirt. The back of his head collides with the soft cushions and he opens his eyes to look at the ceiling. Bringing his hand in front of his face, he watches how his spend dribbles down his wrist and his forearm - if you were here he’d tell you to lick him clean. He waits before his breathing calms down and then he slowly sits up.

And fuck, he was in big trouble. What were you doing to him?

The second date comes around not even a week later - flirtatious looks and fleeting touches scattered throughout the week when you pass each other at work. Steve rolls his eyes at the two of you but he is honestly happy for you and for Javier too. You are his friend and after your first date Steve cornered his partner, jabbing his finger into Javier’s chest as he told him to “not fuck this up”.

This caused Javier to become defensive, saying he would never dare to even try - but under no prying eyes he was so fucking afraid. Because he was him - he left his bride at the altar for fuck’s sake and the worst thing was he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to meet you.

And he never ever felt this way with Lorraine - how his heart seemed to start beating faster anytime you touched him or how it skipped a beat when he heard your laugh. How his skin felt like it was on fire under your touch, how all of his blood traveled down to his cock each night he thought of you. He felt fucking dirty and wrong for that - but alas he didn’t fuck anyone for over half a year and he was touch-deprived, your soft touch lingering in the back of his mind as he stroked himself.

He was terrified he would fuck something up sooner or later. And you noticed it - how he seemed lost in his thoughts anytime he spend time with you, your touch on his hand pulling him back into reality. You caressed his knuckles and he smiled - a real genuine smile on his lips.

“What’s bothering you? You know you can tell me, Javi. That’s if you want to, of course.” The way you offered him a soft smile made him want to kiss you right there and then.

Because yeah, he knew he could tell you anything. You wouldn’t look at him weirdly, you wouldn’t judge him. You would sit and listen and after he’d be done talking, you would tell him your honest opinion. He rubbed your fingers that were on the back of his palm with his other hand.

“I-I am afraid, mariposa. I am afraid I will fuck this up and you will never want to talk to me again. And that would break me.” He whispered, the words meant to be heard for your ears only and your heart jumped when you saw the concern in his eyes before he looked anywhere but into your eyes. Because in reality Javier Peña was a big softie deep in his core and it was sweet how he tiptoed around this thing you had between the two of you - afraid that he would break it. Break you.

“Javi.” You said in a serious tone and he met your gaze, his breath hitching when he saw how serious you looked at him, your eyes filled with adoration. For him. “We are both adults. And it is most likely one of us will fuck something up down the road. But we will try to repair whatever damage will be made. That’s how relationships work.” You shrugged your shoulders, pulling your hands away from his as one of your colleagues passed by.

He grinned. You called it a relationship. He thought it would make him scared - putting labels on whatever was going on between you. That maybe he would run for the hills because he never wanted anything serious after Lorraine. Afraid of commitment. Afraid of his own feelings. But he didn’t. He felt fucking happy. You two were at the beginning of your relationship.

“You are right, mariposa.” He laughed as you quipped “as I always am.” “I will pick you up tonight. At eight?”

“Sound like a date, Peña. Where are you taking me this time?” He grinned, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Wear another dress tonight. You looked beautiful the last time.”

“You like me in a dress, Javi?” You fluttered your eyelashes innocently at him and he felt a growl building in the back of his throat as he leaned closer to you.

“You have no idea how much. Makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He left with that and as he turned around he had to hide the teasing smile on his lips as he saw your shocked expression.

Oh, but you had an idea how much. After all the walls of your apartment were thin.

You decide to wear one of your more revealing dresses - the one in a dark shade of red, tight around your body with thin straps that held it in place, the seam of it just reaching just above your knees. It makes your breasts look absolutely wonderful. A touch of red lipstick completes the look.

A knock echoes through your place and again - he is right on time. When you open the door a single rose in his hands greets you but you don’t care about that right now as you admire his look. He swapped the tight jeans - which you loved - for looser black dress pants which highlighted his narrow waist. He has a nice pair of black shiny dress boots on, his black shirt more loose than the ones he wore for work - of course, a few of the top buttons of it unbuttoned. He looked good enough to eat and you have the urge to lick the few salty droplets of sweat rolling down his torso.

He eyes your figure shamelessly and almost chokes when he sees the dress you are wearing. It hugs you in all the right places and his fingers itch to touch you, your fingers brushing against his as you take the rose from him making a surge of electricity pass through his nerves. The red lipstick you are wearing just compliments your look. You look like sin itself. And he makes it his mission that tonight the red lipstick will be smeared all over him. He clears his throat as he offers you a quiet “You look absolutely gorgeous, mariposa” and you thank him, his hand on the small of your back - as his urge to touch you wins over him. He leads you towards his car, his eyes trailing to your ass.

“So, where are we going tonight?” You ask when you are sitting in the passenger seat and he grins, his hand automatically falling on your thigh, the tip of his fingers dancing across your sensitive skin.

“You like dancing?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Depends. When I have a good dance partner then yes.” You challenge and his head falls back as he laughs bitterly - as if offended. The grip on your thigh tightens.

“Don’t worry. I know how to move my hips, mariposa.” He winks as he starts the engine.

The drive is spent in you two talking about your past relationships as you promised him on your last date. You tell him about your Texas boyfriend - your college sweetheart. He was a sweet boy, a little shy and he didn’t like to engage much in social events. You were the one who approached him first when you saw him looking at you at all times during one of the classes you had together. He stammered and blushed when you asked him out but agreed and he loosened up after a few months of you two dating - his Texan charm slipping on the surface. You tell him about how he smooth talked you into visiting his uncle who had a ranch. He took you horseback riding. You do leave out all of the spicy details though. Javier’s brows furrow in confusion - it seemed like you were totally in love with each other from your talking, so he didn’t understand why you broke up. A quick “ah” follows when you explain that he fell out of love with you. You stayed friends but eventually, both of you parted going your separate ways. Back then you were still bitter about your break up even if it wasn’t his fault. Things like those happens. But you know, love blinded you and the rage you felt sat heavy in your heart for a long time.

And in return, Javier tells you about his girlfriends and to your surprise there weren’t many. A few flings here and there - kissing behind back of his house, exploring but neber doing anything more - before he met Lorraine during high school. His high school sweetheart. They both were the talk of the town when they announced they were getting married. The sweet, handsome and hard-working Peña boy and the perfect Lorraine who seemed to be adored by everyone. She was the one who taught him a lot of tricks when it came to sex. You listen as he tells you about how he left her at the altar - it didn’t feel right and Colombia felt like a place where he could make some kind of change. Not that he made any after the years spent here. You scold him with a quick “hey”, your hand shooting to grab his hand that rests on your thigh.

“Don’t bring yourself down, Javi. You are a great agent and an even greater man. Even if you don’t believe so.” He throws you a crooked smile, his pulse going from zero to a hundred because of the way you look at him. As if he was worth looking at. He brings his lips to kiss the back of your hand.

“So, tell me; why did you give me the nickname ´mariposa’?” you ask and the mood car shifts to playful and loose again.

He can vividly remember how you were so bothered that you didn’t know what it meant and asked him about it constantly. He teased you and each time you asked - because you could tell he wasn’t telling the truth - he told you something different. It drove you mad, you wanted to ask Steve but didn’t engage with him back then as much and you felt awkward asking some random person working in DEA. He lived for the way you squinted your eyes at him and jabbed into his chest with your nimble index finger as he didn’t even budge. Eventually, he gave in and told you the true meaning of it - and as of right now, you asked him why. He never answered you.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” He asks cheekily and you huff, your hand coming to draw circles on the back of his hand.

“It doesn’t bother me per se. I just want to know why do you call me “butterfly”? His fingers drum against the steering wheel as he parks outside of a club. It was a big building and the outside of it seemed new - a big neon sign shone in the dead of the night to grab the attention of passersbys. The outside of it was made out of black bricks, and the door was made out of glass.

He turns his torso towards you - his knee bumping with the driving console while doing so. And he really does look incredible tonight - the dress pants fit as if they were made just for him and you can see the visible bulge between his legs. You look away quickly to look into his eyes but you are pretty sure he caught you staring as he shifts in his seat again.

“You remember the first time we met?” He asks and you nod - it’s hard to forget.

“Yeah, I wanted to slap you across your stupidly handsome face for how you looked at me. As if I was a piece of meat.” He laughs, his tongue poking out to lick the seam of his lips.

“Well, you looked like a butterfly - moving past me as if I didn’t even exist, your movements so effortless in those god-forsaken high heels you wear to work. By the way, I still can’t grasp how you can walk in those. Anyways. You had this green pencil skirt on and it just seemed suitable, even more so after I found out you really do wear crazy and bright colored combinations of clothing.”

They made fun of you for that - all in a good and light-hearted manner though. Not really wanting to upset you. You still remember how Javier smacked Steve behind the head when you wore a bright pink blouse with the said green pencil skirt and the blonde asked you if you were going to masquerade. When Javier saw how your jaw set and your eyebrows pulled together in silent rage he almost beat up Steve. He came to your desk later that day and told you to ignore Steve, his words of “don’t mind Murphy, he’s an idiot. You look nice, mariposa” ringing in your ears for the rest of the day.

You nod and have to agree that indeed - the nickname does suit you. He grins at that and takes you by the hand when you both get out of the car, dragging you towards the entrance of the club.

The first thing you notice is that it’s super noisy in there - people cheering, music blasting. The dance floor is a big space and even with all the people on it there are still spots where you could squeeze in with Javier if you wanted to dance. The bar is opposite the dance floor - long and more than one barman is working there, the bottles of liquor shine under the lighting that is reflected from the disco ball that lies above the dance floor. The floor isn’t sticky from all of the sweet alcohol as is the bar you frequently visit with Javier. The booths are small but cozy - a maximum of four people could squeeze in there and Javier drags you towards the empty one that is further in the back with not a lot of people there. When you sit he whispers if you’d like something to drink and you shake your head before you leave your coat on the leather seat. This time you are dragging him on the dance floor.

His hands find your hips almost immediately as the music speeds up - flowing through your veins, your ears ringing as you concentrate on the way his hips drag against yours as you grind against him.

Javier’s brain stops working - he pulls you closer to him, his hands drag across your exposed thighs higher and higher, his hands stopping just under your breasts and his touch tickles as his fingertips hover above your ribcage. He is close -you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and his mustache scrape you there, his hands gliding and groping. His hips move alongside yours and yes - he didn’t lie when he said he knew how to move his hips.

You feel him everywhere but nowhere at once - you want more and you moan when he tests the waters and one of his hands brushes against your collarbone, slowly moving the hair away from the slope when your shoulder and neck meet and he places a tentative kiss there. The ghost of his lips is so feather-light you almost don’t feel it and his other hand squeezes your hip tighter when you brush against his clothed cock that strains behind the fabric. You can feel the scrape of his mustache on your skin and feel the tip of his tongue slowly slip out from his mouth - tasting the salty taste of your skin, his blunt nails digging into your waist when you lean against him, his hand snaking to hold you in place.

You are drunk but not from alcohol - neither of you drank anything tonight. But from the sheer presence of him as you don’t even seem to dance but only explore each other. Your hands tangle in his hair and he hums in pleasure when you tug on one particular suck he gives to your skin. It will leave a nasty purple bruise tomorrow but he doesn’t care - his eyes darkening when he sees the imprint of him on your skin. You move and sway, and grind and Javier follows your lead, never once taking more than you give him. His touch makes your skin burn with primal desire for him as they skate under the seam of your dress but as quick as they go there, that quick they leave too. He is teasing you and he grins when he feels the vibration of your whine against his mouth.

He inhales your scent and his head spins - you smell like coconut and somehow…him. Sweet and tempting and he has the urge to drag you towards to small bathroom in the corner of the room. Show you how good with his hand and other parts of his body he can be, show you what you were missing all these years. And see what he was missing for all these years.

You stay on the dance floor for a while longer before you lean your head against his shoulder, your lips brushing the underside of his jaw as you whisper in his ear that you want something to drink and he nods absent-mindedly, leading you back to your booth. His hands now dip lower, smoothing his big palm over your ass lightly - the way you almost draped yourself all over him on the dance floor making him bolder. You throw him a sultry smile when he says he will be right back and he does - not even five minutes pass before he is back with two glasses of alcohol and you quirk an eyebrow at him as you see the long line near the bar.

“Hope you like gin and tonic. Whiskey on ice is getting old. Wanted us to try something new.” You thank him as he passes you your drink, your lips catching the straw and you move closer to him - his hands resting on the back of the booth around your shoulders. He splays his legs wider and you sneak quick glance at him and see the small grin - he is doing this on purpose.

Game on, Peña.

You move even closer to him, your torso twisting as your tits brush up against his chest and his breath hitches when he feels your hand land on the inside of his thigh - too close where he was getting hard. It seemed that was too easy when it comes to you. He eyes your cleavage, his eyes turning darker, his pupils blown wide as you take the drink from his hand and place it on the table, placing butterfly kisses on his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands - one of them digging into the leather seat, the other stroking the base of your spine. You inch your hand higher and he should really pull it away but he doesn’t have the strength in him to do that - his throat closing on its own accord.

Your fingers quickly scatter to work on his zipper and his hand that was gripping the leather seat closes around your wrist - his lust-filled eyes looking into yours frantically. You smile at him, and he isn’t holding your wrist tight, so you slowly move his hand away, his breath speeding up when you unzip his pants and your fingers brush along his course hair that grows down his belly button. You bunch the material of his shirt and move it over his belly, he slides lower into the seat as you kiss him near the lobe of his ear.

“Want to take care of you. You okay with that, baby?” He almost whimpers at the new nickname for him that falls out of your lips. You grin against his skin, your tongue licking the hinge of his jaw and he closes his eyes when your hand snakes painfully slow towards his weeping cock - the tip of him an ugly red color, precum leaking out of it and he throbs in your hand when you take him out of his pants. He hisses, his eyes shoot open when he feels a dribble of slick rolls down the underside of him - you spat on him. And fuck, if that doesn’t make him even harder.

He is hot and hard and fucking big in your hands. You cannot see much of him in the dim light but you can feel it. He sits heavy in your palm. His hot breath fans over the front of your neck, his nose trailing over your collar bones.

“I heard you jerking off to imagines of me. The walls are thin. Did you forget, Javi? Hm?” His eyes wildly look around to see if anybody is looking your way but people are minding their own business. You heard him. You heard him every time and it makes a desire shoot down his spine knowing you listened to him.

The first swipe of your soft hand against him knocks the breath out of his lungs and you squeeze him tighter around the base when he doesn’t answer you.

“Fuck, mariposa. I couldn’t help but to jerk at the thought of you.” You smile - seemingly pleased with his answer and your thumb swipes along his tip, his hips jerking forward at the contact and you tut at him - your other hand pressures his hips to move down again. He whines, sweat rolls down the side of his temple and you lick it - his eyes roll into the back of his head, your hand moving with slow firm strokes. Just as he likes it. If he wasn’t so touch-deprived and seemingly in heaven he would have at least so much decency to touch you too. But he is lost in the feel of your hand against his, the coil in his belly tightening with each glide of your hand down his cock.

The music is loud - too loud - but the only thing he can hear is the squelch of his cock in your hand. It rings in his ears and you keep up your pace - your lips never faltering as you keep assaulting his neck and the thought of you leaving hickeys on him, marking him as yours brings him closer to his release. You mouth at the vein on his neck, feelings his pulse underneath your lips and you softly bite him there - the hand that was stroking your spine digs into the space between your shoulder blades.

The muscles in his thighs flex as he chases the touch of your hand - slowly fucking up into your hand and he feels the liquid warm need to just let go seeping into his whole being, his brows furrowing. You thumb at his head and squeeze him tighter at the base, your other hand moving to play with his balls and he chokes when he feels the feather-light touch. He opens his eyes which are hooded and he wants to look at you when you make him cum - the material of his pants is soft when your hand moves up and down. It only takes a few strokes before he warns you that he is going to cum and his fists fly to bang against the table - the alcohol on it spilling as you take him in your mouth. The wet warm feel of your mouth mixed with your tongue circling the tip of his cock has him cumming in seconds and he paints the inside of your throat with his spend. He violently twitches in you - the salty taste of him hitting your taste buds. You pull off him after he softens in your mouth and you tug him back into his pants.

“We don’t want you to make a mess. Do we now?” He doesn’t answer you, his eyes wild as he looks at you before he is bringing you towards his lips by the back of your neck - his fingers tangling into your hair.

He never imagined you would kiss under these circumstances - and he imagined kissing you a lot. It never was after you’d practically sucked his soul out. He isn’t complaining though. He can taste his release on your tongue and he deepens the kiss, wanting to swallow you whole. His other hand keeps your mouth open as it rests on the hinge of your jaw - his thumb slowly stroking your skin there. He feels desperate. Desperate to feel you. To have you. To be with you. And he tries to pour everything he feels into the kiss.

He hopes you understand.

When you part away you throw him the cutest smile -as if you just didn’t jerk him off under the table of a packed club - and he laughs, his eyes crinkling. He feels happy - that is how he always feels with you. And he wants to feel like that all damn time. When he is with you he doesn’t think about narcos or Pablo fucking Escobar and his inner demons don’t crawl on the surface of his fucked up mind.

He kisses you again. This time the kiss is softer, and not as desperate. Languid pass of tongue against tongue. As if the two of you had all the time in the world.

He doesn’t drink any more alcohol that night. Afraid that the taste of you would wash out from his tongue.

He watches you all the damn time the next day at work. The images of you last night flash through his mind. How your lips felt against his, the pass of your tongue against his cock, the soft touch of yours. He craves more, wants more, needs more.

He was shook when you finally arrived at your apartment complex and he kissed you breathless - his thigh coming between your legs as you slowly grinded on him, your fingers brushing against the smooth material of his shirt before you pulled away and bid him good night. Once again, he stood outside your door like an idiot.

He wants to return the favor. So he waits and waits on the right moment so he can pull you aside - show you that you were not the only one who could bring toe-curling pleasure to someone. He grins when he sees you enter the file room and he looks around - Steve seemingly busy with reading reports as he scoffs angrily - before he slides away. Closing the door behind him swiftly but softly.

You first hear the soft click of the door and then you feel big hands splaying over the expanse of your hips, mustache scraping over the skin on the side of your neck as he looks at what are you holding in your hands. The file is pink and thick and he takes it from you and places it in its rightful place - or at least where he thinks it was before - and you close your eyes, your muscles relaxing under his touch. You’ve seen how he looked at you today and for once, you were the one who gave him a show yesterday - being as loud as possible so he could hear. He almost lost his mind, almost knocked at your door.

He will show you that his fingers are better than any of your toys.

“What do you think you are doing?” There’s no seriousness behind your voice - he can pick up on the small smile behind it and he grins against your neck, softly pecking you there before his hands move lower, bunching the material of your skirt higher. He can hear the way your breath hitches and he grins - his tongue lapping at your pulse point, his finger inching closer and closer to your core before he turns you around. He slowly sinks down on his knees and oh my fucking god, Javier Peña is on his fucking knees for you. Looking up at you as if you were some kind of goddess and he was just a mere mortal ready to serve all of your needs. And he was ready to serve all of your needs. Your back collides with the bunch of files-filled shelves and the wood of it digs into you uncomfortably but you can’t seem to give a shit right now.

“I think you know what I am doing, mariposa. Did you think of me yesterday, hm? Did you think about how dirty of a girl you were? Jerking me under that table where anyone could see?” You moan when his blunt nails dig into the roundness of your ass as he tries to find the zipper of your skirt in the back. His gaze comes to watch your reactions as he slowly pulls the piece of clothing down your hips and bare legs as it catches on your heels and he helps you out of it. You squeal when he puts both of your thighs on the broadness of his shoulders and his head moves forward as he smells your arousal through the skimpy fabric of your panties.

It takes you a while to answer, your head spinning with the image you now have in front of you - Javier’s head between your thighs which rest on his shoulders, his wild hair in which you placed your hands in; tangling your fingers in it, how his long lashes flutter against the apple of his cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh on your thighs - trying to imprint himself there. You can see the expanse of his neck and the hickeys you left the previous night - all purple and nasty looking but he doesn’t try to hide them, wearing them proudly.

“Yes, I thought about your big fat cock in my hand and how you seemed to enjoy yourself.” You tease and a sound between growl and a snarl forms in the back of his throat. What a samrt mouth you have - not for long though. One of his hands moves closer to your core and he kisses the inside of your left thigh first - his hand patting and mapping the trail of saliva he leaves with his tongue. Paying the same amount of attention to the other one as well. He worships you and takes his time - if he could stay like this forever, he would. His knees hurt under the weight of you as he kneels on the hard tiled floor but he ignores it.

You feel like you are in another world. Your breath ragged, your chest constricting as he looks at you through his eyelashes, his mustache burning your flesh in the most delicious way. You thought that maybe - just maybe - all the girls with Javier were just faking it. That his reputation was built on a bunch of fake moans and well-learned constricting of their inner muscles. But oh, how wrong you were. If he was at least half as attentive with them as he was with you right now, you had no doubt they were definitely not faking it.

“Wanna know a secret, mariposa?” You want him to just shut up and make you cum - to stop teasing you but you nod nonetheless, pathetically quickly.

“You remember when I came to you drunk? When I found the rose in your cookbook the next morning?” He murmurs as he draws patterns with his tongue against your thigh and again, you nod. How could you forget? You were so sure he was going to kiss you back then. Your lips almost touching but then Steve had to call. “I was so fucking drunk because I fucked a girl that night. She looked a lot like you and I pretended, just for a moment, that she was you. And then I went to see you and tell you that I wanted you. But this right here?” He nips at your thigh - his teeth leaving their mark behind. “Your pretty little sounds and pleas, and this pussy that is so wet for me?” He growls the last words. “This is better than any imagination I ever had. Fuck, you are so fucking perfect, mariposa.”

And his confession shouldn’t make your gut twist and fill with butterflies. It shouldn’t even surpsirise you. Not really. Because he tried his moves on you throughout the years. Multiple times. But hearing it from his mouth? That he wanted you so much that he pretended someone else was you? It makes a surge of possessiveness wash over you. He was yours all those years ago. As is he yours now, his head between your legs.

One of his hands snakes under your bum, the other trailing towards your mouth as he softly orders you to “open up” and you do - you would do anything he’d tell you right now. Two of his thick fingers work their way inside your mouth and you suck them in - moaning as he softly wiggles them before he pulls them out and in. And again, again, and again. Until you are gagging with how deep he seems to rach with them in your throat - your teeth grazing along his knuckles and he smiles; a twisted smile as if he was in pain, his nostrils flare before he removes them from your slicked mouth and shows you what a mess you made of them. Your eyes shine with lust and want and need as he drags them to your bottom lip. And then he removes them - pushes you even more towards the shelves so you won’t fall and his hand that was holding your ass moves to pull your panties to the side.

He moans at the sight of your slicked folds. His nose bumps with your clit before he inhales you all in. If he could, he’d touch himself. The image in front of him makes his cock jump in his tight jeans but this is about you. He wants to make you feel good and ruin you for any other man that would even dare to try and touch you. Because you were his - he knew it even if you never said so. As he is yours. You own him. Body, mind and soul and the thought of it hits him hard somewhere deep in his chest. He wants this. He wants people to hear and know that he is the one making you feel good - pissing off Steve would be just a cherry on top.

You plead his name - a string of “Javi please” falling out of your lips. He smiles - posessive and dark because he hasn’t even touched you yet and here you are; begging for him. All pliant and soft, and ready to take whatever he gives.

The first drag of his fingers inside of you makes you throw your head back and it collides with the wooden shelf - but you don’t feel the pain. You only feel the thickness and roughness of his fingers inside of you. His mustache burns your skin as he nuzzles your inner thigh as he watches you - his eyes dark and pupils blown back wide. He is enjoying this as much as you - you realize ,when a particular harsh thrust of his fingers makes you squeeze him hard and he moans even louder than you. It seems like he is doing it on purpose and it sends a thrill down your spine - if someone caught you here. He didn’t even lock the door.

His fingers work their way inside you - deeper and deeper, working up, up until he finds the spongy inside you. You squelch around his fingers and you beg for more. You are close, you can feel the pleasure build inside your body and when you are right on edge he stops. A whine escapes your lips as you open your eyes at him and growl in frustration. He grins and while he holds your gaze his mouth inches closer to your gaping cunt. He spits on your clit then and your eyes widen before a drawn-out moan falls out of your lips. He watches as his saliva drips down and he catches it - coating his fingers in it before he brings them into your mouth again.

You bite his fingers, the imprint of your teeth leaving its mark behind and tug at his hair when you feel the first slide of his tongue against your pussy. He moans under your harsh touch - his fingers pulling themselves deeper into your mouth and you feel the first set of tears make their way out of your eyes. It feels too good as Javier laps at you as a man starved - the vibrations of his moans making your thighs twitch.

He eats you out as if your pussy was his favorite meal - and it definitely is. The tangy taste of you hits his taste buds and he works the pink muscle into your gaping cunt - licking and exploring your walls. Javier never really was a fan of going down on someone. But with you? With the way, your breath hitches and you moan his name, how your fingers tangle in his hair and your Adam’s apple bobs with each pass of his tongue? He would keep doing this forever. And ever. He learns quickly what you like and what you don’t as he tests the waters. He is a quick learner and to your surprise - definitely a giver when it comes to sex.

He laps st you as if his life depended on it - his fingers moving with each flick of his tongue and you cry out when he puts his plump lips onto your clit and languidly sucks at it. His tongue flicking against it.

“Yeah, such a good girl. Come on, cum for me, mariposa.” He urges and one look at his state - his slack opened jaw, his ruffled hair, his hooded eyes that watch you with such an intensity you feel it in the pit of your very own being and you are a goner.

The euphoric feeling of it finally snaps, making you trash and spasm and writhe under his touch. Your toes curl and he keeps working you through your orgasm - lapping at what you give him before you push his head away forcefully as he tries to protest and give your sensitive clit a few more soft licks.

When you stand up on shaky legs he is still on his knees - his hand snaking behind the back of your thighs to hold your ass. He looks breathtaking like this - his mustache and chin covered in your release, his eyes hooded and he seems sedated, proud of himself.

You bring him to you by the collar of his shirt and he moans into the kiss you give him - all teeth and tongue, quick and he tries to deepen the kiss before you are pulling away. The taste of your own release sitting on top of your tongue and he grins when you start searching for your skirt - his eyes watching your ass as you bend down to put it back on you. The image of you in your high heels and panties will be kept hidden somewhere in the back of his mind from this time on.

When he passes by you to get out of the room first, he kisses you softly on the back of your neck before he whispers:

“Thank you for the breakfast, mariposa. It was delicious.” He skirts past you with a wink. Leaving a mess of piles on the ground behind him.

And you with a stupidly satisfied smile on your face and a hazy mind.

The third official date comes around three weeks later.

Work keeps you both busy but Javier always finds time for you. He comes to yours at night or sometimes well past midnight. Plopping next to you in bed, his hands snaking around your middle as he pulls you closer to him. And he swore he never slept better than when he slept by your side. So it becomes a habit.

It’s not a surprise to you that he seeks your touch at all times. One of Javier’s love languages is physical touch. Whether it’s just holding hands, smoothing his fingers down your spine or drawing circles on your knee under the table when you eat. Sometimes he comes sooner and you watch TV on the couch and read - to your surprise, Javier is a big fan of fantasy novels but he never actually has the time to read any so you read them to him when you two are already comfortably set in bed or lounge on the said couch- or play board games - and he has to cheat because there is no way he is so good at all of them.

Your nights spent together usually end up with you two making out - teeth clashing, lips latching onto each other, you grinding on his impressive clothed length. Sometimes it’s just a slow languid press of tongue against tongue in the early morning light when he is warm, putty and soft under your hands - the hardness of his walls that he builds up against him not yet coming on the surface. And Javier is insatiable but not only in the sense of sex. He craves the intimacy that you provide - your soft touch and sweet words as your fingers trace each and every scar, the press of your lips against them.

It’s dizzying the way you disarms him in every way. Making him feel so secure and whole as he opens up to you in ways he thought he never would have.

He feels desired as much as he desires you.

He drives you crazy - the close proximity of him makes you want to jump his bones on each and every surface in your place.

“Na-ah. I want to be a proper gentleman. So sex should come at least after the third date.” He said with a teasing smirk as he kissed your pouting lips and then ate you out on the kitchen counter.

It didn’t matter that you jerked him off on your second date. It didn’t matter that he ate you out the next day at work and returned the favor by giving you a mind-blowing orgasm. It didn’t matter that he fingered you from behind on your couch or that he fucked your throat while you laid on your bed, back splayed on the soft sheets. It didn’t matter that he had to eat you out at least once a day and it certainly didn’t matter if it was on the floor, kitchen counter, table, couch, your bed or a chair.

So it's an understatement that you cannot wait for your third date to finally happen. You are supposed to go to a nice restaurant - you’ve been there once or twice with other men that asked you on a date. But as Javi said, “I will make it a mind-blowing experience for you”. And you didn’t doubt it.

So you wait and wait, your eyes keep fleeting at the clock on your wall. An hour passes. Then two. He is never late. You are pacing around your kitchen - you tried to call Steve and called Javier multiple times. You knew they had a smaller op today, “don’t worry,” he said, “this should be an easy job,” he said. Easy job my ass. You were getting worried, your foot tapping against the tiles in your kitchen.

What if something happened to him? What if he was injured? What if he was bleeding out somewhere right now? What if he was-

A soft knock stops the train of your thoughts. Three knocks, the last one lighter than the other. Only one person knocks like that and you almost trip on your own feet as you hurry to open up the door. And he is standing there. Alive.

But he doesn’t look like your usual Javier. His clothes are drenched - the rain pouring outside heavy. It sticks to him - his clothes. His hair sticks to his forehead a few strands of it fall in front of his eyes. You see the difference in his posture, the haunted look in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, what to do with himself. He doesn’t even know why he came to you in this fucked up state. And he wants to leave - he doesn’t want you to see him like this. But before he can get a sound out of his mouth, the hushed and broken “sorry” stuck in his throat, before he can move his heavy limbs, you are pulling him in, softly dragging him on the couch. And as before - you don’t ask. You just wait. Wait if he says something, wait if he needs something, wait if he wants you with him right now.

The realization of it makes him want to rip open his chest and give you his scarred and broken heart. Because you own it. It’s yours, if you will have it.

His body acts quicker then his mind can catch up and he is pulling you in - his strong arms winding to hold you close to him. And you don’t protest, you just hug him back, your fingers dancing across the broad expanse of his back. He breathes you in - coconut, vanilla, mango. It grounds him. Knowing that you are here. With him. Next to him. For him.

“They-they killed them. I fucked up. Fuck-“ He hiccups. “I fucked up, mariposa.” His hold on you tightens as you shush. The slow beat of your heart drums against his ear.

You rock him back and forth and he feels like a little kid again. As if he was five again and his mother kissed the bruise on his knee from when he fell off his bike. He feels wanted. Safe. Home. Neither of you know how much time has passed as he slowly pulls away from you. His nose brushes against yours, his eyes bore into yours and the mellow look you have in them makes him want to melt into you.

“I need you.” He whispers against your lips and his fingers tighten when he feels you pulling away, your hands bunching the wet material of his soaked-up shirt. You want to push him away. It’s not right. You shouldn’t. Not right now.

“Javi-“ You protest weakly.

“Please.” And that’s all it takes before you tentatively seal your lips with his. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t take more than what you are ready to give - enjoying the slow and languid pass of your tongue as you hum in his mouth. You cup his cheeks - your thumbs smoothing slowly down his jaw and his hands rest on your shoulder blades. It’s slow and sensual and neither of you is in any kind of rush. His body buzzes all over, his lungs clench - the oxygen seemingly leaving his lungs and the only thing that can make him breathe again is you. He feels warmth in his chest spreading and spreading some more when you peck his lips and you are careful with him - as if he was fragile peace of art. And to you, he is.

He doesn’t know how he got into the bedroom before you are slowly pushing him down onto the mattress and his back collides with the silken sheets. He watches your form in the dim light as you leisurely undress in front of him. His chest heaves, his breath picks up, his pupils extend. He leans back on his elbows as he watches you - how your hand reaches behind to pull down the zipper of your sundress and as it pools on the floor beneath you. Another time he would have jumped at you and pull you towards him. Another time he would pin you against the floor and fuck you silly that you would forget your own name. Another time he would make you scream his name before you would even have the chance to undress. But tonight you both take it slow - enjoying the show you are putting on for him. Tonight he wants to be the one taken care of. And you know it.

You are a goddess sent from above as you stand a few feet away from him only in your underwear. He wants to worship you as his eyes rake over your body, taking note of every dip, every mole every “imperfection”. And you are simply perfect. He holds his breath when even the last pieces of clothing fall from your form and leave you in all of your naked glory. And he seems to be glued in place before you are coming his way. It feels like a dream when your nimble fingers hook under his belt and he hears the metal on the belt buckle fall onto the ground with a clink. He reaches for you as he slowly sits up - his rough hands coming to brush and caress your pebbled nipples. He feels the weight of your breasts in his palms and it is so strange how his simple touch makes your insides burn. All of it is strangely intimate. Neither of you talks, only the ragged breaths and quiet moans that fall out of your mouth can be heard in the stillness of the room.

You push at his chest and he falls backward again with a quiet thump. You rid him of his jeans - the damp material of it sticking to him and you both laugh when you almost push him on the edge of the bed with them. It’s sweet and it doesn’t feel forced or rushed. Just two people enjoying the presence of each other, the feel of their skin, the sentiment behind each touch going straight into their hearts.

His cock is hard, the tip of him resting on his belly and he scoots backward on the bed, you following the suit. The last piece of clothing - his shirt- is gone before he knows it as you throw it somewhere behind you and it lands on the floor with a wet plop. Your thighs swing on either side of his narrow hips and your wet core makes contact with the hardness of him as you smear your juices over his length. You roam and caress his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his neck. Stroking and teasing, and rubbing. And he does the same to you, his hands squeezing your ass before they move higher up your hips, his thick fingers ghosting over them and you squirm and giggle, your forehead bumping with his the movement tickles you. He wants to roll you over, to hover above you, to fill you up but your hands move to his shoulders, holding him tight as you look into his eyes. Your noses brush against each other and he sighs - as if all the weight from his chest had been lifted - when you whisper “I want to take care of you, Javi”.

Because yes, that’s what Javier wants. Someone to take care of him, to share his passion and hobbies and life with. He wants someone to take for a ride while they will wear his yellow aviators. He wants to take someone back to Laredo, to eventually settle down. He doesn’t want to take Escobar down and put end to all of this - retire after. And he wants to do all these things with you.

The tension leaves his body as he yields under your touch, undressing his wounds as he knows you will caress each one of his scars and kiss each bruise that is scattered not only on his body but his soul and heart too.

Bodies naked and souls bared to one another you reach blindly into the nightstand as you rip the condom and slowly roll it down his cock. Javier is big - his cock is thick and you could feel it the first time you felt him in your hands under the table in the club. When you first saw him - really saw him- your eyes almost bugged out from your head. Because you had no idea how you would fit him inside you. But you do not worry right now as you slowly sink down on him, the pinch almost too much to bare.

He waits for you to move as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, the underside of your chin. You feel like heaven around him - your walls squeezing him tight as you try to accommodate to his size. He slips his tongue into your mouth when you lift off him and then slowly -oh, so painfully slowly - sink back down the whole length of him. He kisses you more hungry this time, the kiss heated and fiery. One of his hands cups your ass while the other holds the back of your head - pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, messy and sloppy as do your movements.

You feel like he is somewhere deep in your stomach, the weight of him in you makes your toes curl and the coarse hair on the base of him scratches your small bundle of nerves just right with each slide of his cock. You feel every ridge and grin of him, the tip of him hitting something deep inside you. The muscles on his thigh flex when he starts meeting your thrusts and he growls against the soft skin of your neck when your blunt nails scratch his back, your breasts bouncing with each thrust upwards. It’s glorious - this feeling you both feel. It’s not about the physical proximity right now. But It’s about everything that led you to this moment. All those years of bickering and flirting, of fighting and spending your time together led to exactly to this moment. And the awareness of it all hits you like a truck because somehow, deep inside, you knew that this would happen one day. And you think he knows it too.

The droplet of sweat that rolls down the valley of your breasts makes him lap at you there and you moan, your nails digging harder into the muscles of his back when he catches one of your nipples into his mouth, one of his hands roaming to find your clit before his skilled fingers start to draw circles on it. The roughness of his fingertips and the feel of his tongue swirling on your nipple makes seizes before your inner muscles pull him deeper, the squelch ringing in your ears before you are clamping around him - falling into an abyss. You moan his name, your orgasm washing over you before you tug at his still-damp roots and he hisses - at the way you squeeze around him, at the way you hold him.

You kiss him frantically, your tongue exploring his mouth when you feel him sob into your mouth. He pulls away and your legs lock tighter around his middle, you can feel the softness of his stomach and a sound between a growl and a moan bubbles in the back of your throat. You can feel he is close when his thrusts become more hectic as he loses rhythm, his arms somehow trying to pull you closer, his pace increasing as he chases his own high.

It only takes a few more passes of his cock through the inside of your slicked pussy and your encouring words "Come on, I want you to cum, Javi" before he is cumming. He cums with a loud moan, thrashing and jerking under you. Pumping his seed into the condom and he holds you closer, his forehead resting on your clavicle, his hands tracing over your back as a shudder runs through you when you feel him twitch inside of you.

You stay like that before he moves you off him, disposing the condom into the bin and he is surprised he can even feel his own legs. His body completely relaxes when he falls into the bed with you and pulls you almost on top of him - your legs tangle together, your chin rests on his chest as you trace his eyebrows with your fingers and he smiles at you. Because he is so fucking happy in that moment he could burst with joy.

You talk a long time after as you tell him about your sister - how she squealed into your ear when you told her over the phone you were going on a date with Javier - and he grins because if you talked about your sister with him that means that he is worth talking about. He cherishes this information and hides it into the back of his mind.

You fall asleep not long after, moving away from him a little and he watches you - you are so pretty when you sleep. You are always pretty. And his. He knows you are because he is yours.

His lips plant soft kisses where your heart is before he murmurs into your skin where it rests “I love you”. So only your heart can hear it. He is not ready to tell you. Yet. But he is completely fine with knowing your heart heard the hushed words under the ray of moonlight stream coming from your window.

TAGS: @harriedandharassed

[andeimmortal]

I was sleepily scrolling before bed and this caught my eye ….. I woke up straight away cos i needed needed to finish this beautiful story

૮₍ ꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ ₎ა the pining and the 3rd date ;) was so ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ and him trying to do right by mariposa made me cryyyyyy aarhehhdjdjdjd such a fun read, thank you so much ^•ﻌ•^ฅ♡

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Aaah, thank you so much. I am so happy that you loved it so much you actually didn’t go to sleep xd❤️. Mariposa and Javier are just perfect for eachother and I love that people love them 🫶🏽

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Do you have a tag list?<3

Hi! I do not have taglist form but I do write down people’s @ when they message me they want to be tagged :))

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Ah your writing makes my heart feel so warm! There’s so much depth and intimacy present, it really sticks with the reader. I appreciate you sharing your beautiful words so much! 💕

This right here made my heart feel warm ❤️. Thank you so much for your kind words. I love sharing my works with all of you 🥰.