[quotefeeling]

“Even now, as broken as you may feel, you are still so strong. There’s something to be said for how you hold yourself together and keep moving, even though you feel like shattering. Don’t stop. This is your healing. It doesn’t have to be pretty, or graceful. You just have to keep going.”

— Maxwell Diawuoh

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Kinktober Day 5/6: Tied Together 

summary: she wants to give him everything, wants to have his child, and tie them together forever with the life of another.

kinks: breeding & morning sex

pairing: black!fem!reader x javier peña

contents: NSFW/18+/MINORS DNI, fluff, unprotected sex, mentions of trying to get pregnant, pregnancy

AN: this is the second most self indulgent thing ive ever written, hope y’all can enjoy <3

word count: 950

kinktober masterlist | misc. masterlist

The first golden rays of sunlight peak through the white curtains of their shared bedroom. Javier’s eyes blink open, and he smiles at the thought of beginning another day with her. She’s laid next to him, on top of him really, every inch of her warm, brown skin pressed against his as she sleeps peacefully.

Javier never thought he’d get this, or that he deserved it for that matter. He finds himself here often, staring at her with an overwhelming sense of wonder. He never thought there would be a day that he’d fit into someone’s life like this. Marriage, kids, the white picket fence were all off the table until he met her. The ring that makes him hers still feels heavy, foreign on his finger, but he loves it. Cherishes it.

His hands trail gently over her skin, smooth and supple. He tries to do it slowly so as not to wake her, but her eyelashes flutter, enticing him, and his mouth finds her hair line, kissing at the stray curls that spill out of her braid, haphazardly framing her face.

She stirs, blinking slowly before looking up at him with a lazy smile, “Morning, baby.”

This existence, it’s sweet, it’s fluffy, sometimes it feels unreal. Like a dream, all too good to be true. But, she looks at him like this, with so much love knowing his past and his sins. She wants to give him everything, wants to have his child, and tie them together forever with the life of another.

“Morning,” He lets out, voice rough with sleep and emotion.

He’s turned into a sap, can’t help but think about how much shit Steve would give him for falling into a life that he once stayed so far away from. It’s her. She changes everything, makes every moment brighter.

“Happy to see me?” She asks teasingly, her eyes flicking down to his hard cock. Her lips dust his skin until she finds his pulse point, and he moans when her teeth sink into his skin.

“Always,” He rasps as his hands find her hips, rolling her over and pushing her into the bed.

One of his hands finds the nape of her neck, guiding her lips away from his neck to meet his. He kisses her firm and desperate, dipping his tongue into her mouth to taste her. She tastes like morning and the ghost of him as he settles himself between her legs. In the quiet still of sunrise, the room fills with the sound of wet mouths and a creaky bed frame from rocking himself against her clit.

Their rings catch as he tangles his fingers with hers to pin her underneath him, the sound of metal on metal and he groans at how much weight the sound means. She opens herself for him and he lines himself up with her heat, finding her wet and easy to slip into.

“You want my cock? Want me to put a baby in you right now?” They’re the only directive words he’ll get out and he knows it. They make her whimper, a sly smile spreading across her lips as she wraps her legs around his waist.

He’s always liked to be in charge, to give praise and instruction and like his good, sweet girl she’s always taken it. Something shifts when they try for a baby, her filthy, plush mouth taking over. His primal instincts rule him, and he can focus on nothing but getting as deep into her as possible. It had been unexpected for both of them, but Javi melts into it readily.

“Fuck, yeah. Javi, nice and deep for me,” She encourages, her hands leaving his to palm at his ass and urge him deeper.

Javi anchors his knees, gets his hands around her shoulders and drives himself in with harsh, concentrated thrusts.

“Close?” She gasps, noticing the way his mouth falls open, an indicator that his orgasm is on the horizon.

“Close.”

“Me too, you’re so good, feel so fucking good. Give me a little more,” One of her hands sneaks in between them, rubbing dutiful circles into her clit and she moans, loud and erotic.

“Fill me up baby, let me have it,” She begs with a broken cry, her orgasm ripping through her.

She pulls him down with her, and he cums, heavy and hot with a low groan that bubbles in his chest. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, grinding his hips against hers repeatedly, as if he can get himself any deeper. She clutches him tight, bucking her hips in aid until they both still, heavy breaths mingling together. He uses the last of his strength to flip over onto his back, hauling her with him, his cock still inside her, holding his seed in.

“Mmm, that feels like it took,” She murmurs happily against his sweaty skin.

Javi tugs on the end of her braid playfully, “You’re ridiculous, querida. You can’t know that it took.”

She leans back to look at him with narrowed eyes, “Who are you to tell me about a woman’s body and intuition, Javier Peña?”

“You’re right, amor, it feels like it took,” He concedes, sinking further into the bed.

When she sees the two lines about a month and a half later a triumphant smile paints her features, a giddiness coursing through her veins. The look that spreads across Javi’s face when she holds up the test, tender and scared, makes her heart ache and she holds him close, comforting and reassuring him with soft whispers.

We’re ready. I told you it took. You’ll be the best father.

She’s always right, he accepts that now, and he believes her completely when she says he’ll be a good father.

pedro taglist: @lesbianhotch, @honeybrowne, @multiverse-mxdness, @fanofverymanythings, @angstyvirgin001, @jazzelsaur, @mccn-bcys, @jxvipike

[yours-stevie]

Zendaya 🔥

[thefalloffs]

BEYONCÉ x LEVII'S JEANS 👖 Chapter 02: POOL HALL

[bergamote-catsandbooks]

Overwhelmed | Frankie Morales x f!reader | 998

✨HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY 🧢🚁

I was feeling a little down and I wanted to make myself feel better so I wrote a thousand words of self soothing Frankie comfort and smut. I was missing him a bit. This is basically unedited, written at work in about an hour so I apologise for any mistakes. I’m happy to report I’m already feeling a lot better so the Frankie medication worked!

cw: self deprecating thoughts, spiralling, lots of smut (i’m not going into details but Frankie is the pussy king).

Main Masterlist | Frankie Masterlist | read on AO3

—

You are tired. Exhausted might a better word. So much to think about, so many little nothings that added together make a mountain higher than the highest mountain on earth. It’s insurmountable. It’s also not much if you look at it one little thing at a time. But you can’t. You feel yourself drowning and with that comes the sense of guilt. Guilt of not being capable. Of being a burden. You know it’s mostly not your fault. You know it’s part because of your malfunctioning brain, part because you are tired and also a little bit because of hormones; that feeling guilty doesn’t help and that asking for help is the solution.

But you can’t. Because you are afraid that people will say that you are making excuses for yourself. That now that you know the reason for this, you hide behind it for all your little fails. And part of you think it’s true. You can’t remember how it was before. In reality you do, but you didn’t think it was that bad. Shouldn’t knowing be easier? Why do you feel worse? Why do you feel like hiding even more?

He senses it. You know he does. He hasn’t said a thing yet but he’s been watching, assessing, analyzing. You see it in his pretty brown eyes, in the crease on his forehead, in the way his fingers rub against each other or his pants. The self soothing when his anxious. And this time it’s because of you, which makes the guilt even worse. You keep saying you’re fine to him, to your friends, to your family. It’s a spiral you can’t get out of, a vortex pulling you in, dragging you down, down, down. Either you’ll crash either you’ll find a way to get out. But for that you need a hand and you still haven’t had the courage to ask for it. Might as well crash, drown, burn. At least it will seem real to others.

But the hand comes anyway. It has callousness, some scaring, it’s attached to an arm that is strong, muscular. Veins and golden skin, hardness and softness. One you like to admire when it makes the t-shirt stretch. An arm that has a twin, both attached to a bust by the shoulders. All broad and beautiful. Some freckles on it. Large but tapered at the waist, small stomach and flat ass, the kind that makes you feral and makes him scoff and scold because he wished it was the other way around, flat stomach and curved ass. You prefer him this way. The legs are slim, yet the thighs are thick, muscles all around. You love to ride them, one or two, when he makes you feel good, when he takes the worry away. Like now, when the hand pulled you of your vortex, of your head.

When he hugged you tight until the weight on you shoulders fell off, until the one you felt on your sternum eased away. Until with his kind words, he eased the guilt away, and made you stop thinking. With his skills, not the one he learned in the army, not the one that helped him stay up in the sky and focus on the problems to solve them.

Scratch that. It’s actually those skills that make him so good at helping you stop thinking. He takes your problems and solves them with you, he uses his focus to make you feel better, to make you fly higher and higher and eases the fall back. Until you climb again.

He does this so expertly, with every part of his body. Tongue and mouth, fingers and hands, face and nose, cock and hips snapping over and over.

Both your bodies are merged together. He whispered that he wanted to help you and he has been doing that since he got home in the evening, well into the night. A Friday evening when you mistakenly booked two events and couldn’t muster the energy to go to any. An evening where he found you hiding under a blanket.

He took off every piece of clothing on you, kissed and licked every part of you body making whine and moan. He buried his face between your legs and ate you like you were his last meal. Once you came, fast, he took his time. You were pliable, mind mostly turned off, yet still a little worry left in your eyes, the kind that sometimes took over during sex and prevented you from coming. He made you feel the need again, and edged you, over and over again. His large hand holding your hips to prevent you from moving, from trying to get more when you needed it. Until you begged almost crying. And then he feasted on you again. One hand on your stomach, on other opening your core as he lapped and sucked. Moaning, eyes glazed watching you squirm and give up any willpower as you took what he gave. This time making you come over and over despite overstimulation.

And when he sensed you were gone, exhausted not from burnout but from bliss he fed you, made you drink water and took you to bed. Before letting sleep take over you he put his warm and large body over yours, giving you his heat and weight to help you give everything up, pounding into you from behind as you lay on your stomach, mouth opened making noises almost animal like, spit soaking your pillow, slick from between your legs soaking him and the sheets.

Crying out his name in bliss and agony when he bit your shoulder, making you come one last time before he coated your back with his semen.

Sleep overcame you while he was gently washing your back, your legs, your core with a wet cloath. And half dazed, you felt his arms take you in, felt his kisses and heard his whisper, telling you how much he loved no matter what.

—

Tagging a few Frankie girlies (gn) and other who might enjoy this: @iknowisoundcrazy @baronessvonglitter @sawymredfox @picketniffler @imaswellkid @pedrit0-pascalit0 @berryispunk @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @milla-frenchy

[pregnanthudsonwilliams]

not naming names but some of you are so creative and talented it's an honor to have you in my phone

[bergamote-catsandbooks]

La petite mort | Frankie Morales x f!reader | 4,4k

Summary: Meeting Frankie in a bar, you take him home for the night, and discover someone who is very patient with your needs.

CW: smut (oral f receiving, protected p in v, use of a sex toy, this is porn with very little plot), mention of cigarettes and alcohol, Frankie is a consent king, discussion of medication and side effects, mention of depression (slight description), Frankie is bi and that's that (in this house we ship FishBen), Frankie made me feel too many things as I wrote this fic and that deserves it's own warning.

Reader is abled body and almost no physical description, she has hair that can be tied up, and that's it, but if you notice anything please let me know.

A/N: Hey everyone, let me warn you before you read this, just in case. This is porn but with some realism. Sometimes, when you take medication, it affects your sex life resulting in sexual dysfunction: it lowers your desire, can result in anorgasmia (absent, delayed, infrequent or lacking intensity despite being aroused) etc... And that sometimes sucks. So, for once, I wanted to write a reader who experiences this but finds the perfect man to understand and help her. Yes this very self indulgent. Hope you enjoy it!

Edit: the title means « the little death » and it’s a metaphor for orgasm and more specifically to the post-orgasm sensation.

I'm always happy for comments and/or reblogs, so please don't be shy !

Main masterlist | Read on AO3

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You met him in a bar, like you met most guys recently. Apps didn't really get you anywhere. Swiping, trying to hold a one-sided conversation, receiving barely written messages, like "WYD?" (What you doing?), while you tried to get to know them. Profile pictures of them holding fish, of them with friends at a party, but rarely good ones of them alone. Not that looks mattered the most, but damn, women took so much time to look pretty, choosing the right picture, coming up with the perfect bio, while guys barely took time to take a good picture or try to get to know you.

So bars it was, more often than not. That was your dating service. Even if it rarely lasted longer than the night. It was fine. Not that you didn't want more. But the spark never sparked. It felt more like scratching an itch. And since you slept on the first night, you were considered damaged goods. Not someone good enough to date. Just someone to pass the time with.

You could try harder, but what was the point, at your age, after everything? You didn't feel the energy, the will to look for more. Lately, life was… well, hard. Hard to get out of bed, hard to go to work, hard to see people. Life was just hard to live.

And sex was one of the only times you felt something: desired, sexy, a person. Even if it sometimes made you feel some shame, slightly disgusted in yourself, at least for a moment, you felt like more.

But this guy managed to spark your interest. He was handsome, nice, and he made you feel butterflies when he smiled at you. Everything in his looks made you tingle, from his broad shoulders, the curls of his brown hair under his hat, to that dimple when he smiled. He even made you laugh, something that happened less these days.

He talked to you, asked you questions about yourself, made you feel human, not because of your body, even if he seemed to like what he saw, but because of who you were.

When you asked him if he wanted to go back to your place, he looked deep into your eyes. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment, but it went away so quickly that you weren't sure. He paused, interrogation in his look, seeing if you meant it, before leading you to his car.

You must have imagined the disappointment, because the way he kissed you made you very well aware of the hunger he had for you. Pressed against the passenger side door, his heat radiated through his gray t-shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders, his mouth claiming yours, making you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. His hard length under the denim gave you a sense of the desire he had for you. When he pulled away, and you chased him with your mouth, he pressed his forehead to yours and asked you if you really wanted to take him home, eyes boring deep into you, like he wanted to hear your thoughts, like he almost could. The thoughtfulness of his words and actions made you falter a moment. Maybe you should take it slow, maybe take his number instead, maybe try something different. But you needed to feel something, anything, erase any other thoughts, so you pulled him in for another kiss, one to close those brown eyes, one so he wouldn't see your hesitation, one so he couldn't guess your thoughts, and see the emptiness you felt inside.

The drive was quick, and his hand never left your body. On your knee, on your leg, climbing up the inside of your thigh.

Now, on your couch, the touches and kisses are getting heated, the desire is pooling in your body, as his mouth slowly gravitates down your neck, with little bites that drive you crazy. He murmurs sweet nonsense, little praises, about how you make him feel, the effect you have on him. Your core is pulsing, your hands gripping him wherever you can, and your voice shakes when you plead, "Frankie, I need you, please." He lets out a growl, kissing his way down your body, pushing you gently down so you lie on the couch. His mouth is delicate and urgent at the same time, on your clavicle, between your breasts, on your still covered nipples, on your stomach.

"Let me taste you first, let me make you feel good with my mouth." His voice is strained, like it takes everything from him not to devour you right away. You want it, you want to feel him between your legs, but the thought of what might happen, what will inevitably be the outcome, makes you freeze, just for a moment, while your mind races to try to find an excuse. He feels it instantly.

"What is it?" His face levels with yours, eyes seeking yours.

You feel ashamed, but you try to brush it away, "Nothing, nothing." You start kissing him again, your hand going to his pants to unbuckle his belt. But he stops you, "What is it? Did I do something?" You can see the worry in his gaze, the way he tries to look into your soul.

It makes you feel vulnerable, seen, something you try to avoid, to hide from. But he won't let it go. Sitting back up, you pull yourself together, folding your legs up to your chest.

You can see he's keeping a respectful distance, trying to give you space and agency in the situation, and that he is afraid of crossing a line. You feel miserable, everything was going so well. The moment is gone, and the beautiful man standing in front of you is just going to leave now that what you have to offer seems off the table. Your own desire is slowly slipping away, leaving in its wake shame and distaste for yourself. You didn't expect him to offer to go down on you. They rarely do and never during a hook-up.

Your silence prompts him to ask you, "Do you want me to… go? Or stay? I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you or anything…"

Before he even finishes his sentence, you cut him off, "Can you hold me?" You barely have time to finish talking, that he is holding you in his arms, a hug that makes you feel safe. Gently caressing your shoulder and back, holding you tight, he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"

Even though you had been kissing merely seconds before, even if you were already in your bra and panties and he was just in his boxers, he still takes time to check everything. He makes you feel secure.

"Yes."

A few quiet moments, some light kisses on your temple, cheek, nose, and then mouth. It's tender, and you start relaxing. Pulling slightly away, he looks at you, asking, "What did I do wrong?"

He's so vulnerable, so respectful that you put your arms around his neck and kiss him with intent before answering.

"It's not you. It's me. And it's not even me. It's just…" You sigh, stretching on the couch. He's looking at you expectantly. "You really want to know?" you ask him.

Frankie nods, still a little uneasy. You sigh again and start playing with a string on a cushion, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm taking antidepressants. I have been for a few months now, and…" Your eyes go up, looking at him. His gaze doesn't falter, he just gives a slight nod of the head, and you continue.

"And I don't really have orgasms anymore."

There is a slight pause, he swallows, your eyes are drawn to his throat, to the freckles you see there and on his neck and shoulder. You can't help the small sigh as you wait for him to find an excuse to leave.

Instead, he just asks, "Never?"

"Well… almost never… but… never with anyone."

There is another silence, one where Frankie looks at you and then continues to ask you questions.

"And the guys before?"

"I just fake it… Orgasm isn't always an endgame. I mean, I take a lot of pleasure in sex, I just fake it after a while when I know it's not going to happen."

"But then why didn't you want me to…"

"I've never had a guy want to go down on me in this kind of situation." You interrupt.

"You mean, a one-night stand?"

"Yes… I didn't think I could fake it. And I don't want you to feel forced or…" You don't finish the sentence, still uneasy at the whole situation.

You see him relax somewhat. Now that he knows that he didn't cross a boundary, that he didn't hurt you, he closes the gap between you, eyes turning black again, making you hungry for his touch. The air shifts, and you can tell he's not going to leave. His hands go to your waist, and he starts kissing you deeply. His voice turns low and sultry.

"Let me be blunt. I love eating pussy, I get off on it. I can even come just from it. This is not something I would feel forced to do. I very much want to do that now, but only if you want to. I want to try to make you come with my mouth, make you feel good, even if it lasts hours. And we can stop whenever you want. Would you want that?"

The desire that had left you is back in a second. You can feel it in your cunt clenching around nothing, in your pulse quickening at his words, in the slick between your legs ruining your underwear. The hunger in his eyes makes you feel weak. You nod.

"I need your words. I want to make sure you want this."

"Yes," You wish your voice was stronger, but it's still a little meek.

"Then let's get you comfortable, show me your bedroom."

He never leaves your body, always touching you on the way to your bed, with his mouth and fingers. Both of you lying down, he starts kissing your body with reverence, taking off your bra and then your panties, licking, nipping everywhere. You're at a point where you could scream from heat and lust. You need him now, anywhere, anyway, you just want to feel him, your cunt feels heavy, almost painfully.

"You tell me whenever to stop." Frankie rasps, eyes looking up to you from between your legs. The sight makes you shiver.

He takes his time, kissing your hips, your thighs, and then slowly drags his tongue between your folds, uttering a sinful sound like you are the best meal he's ever had. His tongue then gives a few kitten licks on your clit, circling it before going back to your folds.

The sensation is bliss, you can tell he's enjoying this as much as you are, and he is trying to see what feels good for you. You watch him and his eyes look up, giving you a wink before circling your clit with his mouth and sucking, the action making you moan loudly and close your eyes, head rolling back. Your hands go to grab his arms that have you pinned to the mattress, his big hands gripping your thighs, holding them apart, and pulling your cunt closer to him. He lavishes you, all his previous restraint is gone as he hears you cry out from pleasure. Lapping and sucking, tongue fucking you, then swirling it back to your clit, alternating slow and fast motions, light and hard, making you see colors through your closed eyes. You feel it coming, the orgasm, something you didn't think possible, it's right there, you can almost reach it, if you hold out your hand, you could grab and bring it closer, but it recedes. Your voice falters, something like a whine comes out of you. Frankie pushes a finger inside you, slowly fucking you. Your pleasure starts climbing again as he adds a second one and starts curling them inside you, his mouth and tongue working in unison. It's almost there, almost on you, you screw your eyes shut in concentration, willing the orgasm to wash over you, but again it evades you. You feel like crying.

"Frankie, stop, stop." You tug on his hair, and he stops, raising his head and looking at you, eyes dazed in lust, but soon shifting to concern.

"You're all right?" He whispers. You try to catch your breath, your heart is beating fast, like you were running a race. One to reach climax, only you didn't run fast enough.

"Yes, it was… God! Frankie, you're good, very good, but I just… It's not working."

He comes up, kisses you. The taste of him mixed with your release is intoxicating. His kiss is messy and starved, making you dizzy, holding him close to you, feeling his hard cock on you. "That's OK. Let's take it slow." He finally murmurs.

"I think… let's just fuck." You're frustrated by your desire, you feel bad, the fact that he is so hard against you, and that he probably just needs to come, makes you want to do anything so that he doesn't leave you alone. And even though he has been sweet, you doubt he won't soon get tired of your shit, so he might as well fuck you and get it over with.

He looks at you, like he understands every thought that goes through your mind.

"No. Not like that."

"But… Aren't you…"

"I'm fine, OK? We are not going to fuck just so I can come while you take no pleasure. We can stop here, I can stay, or leave, whatever you need." His tone is final. But it turns sinful when he adds, kissing your neck, "Or we can try something else."

"Something else?" You want anything he can offer, you don't want him to leave you.

"Earlier, you said you never orgasmed with someone. That means you can come while masturbating, right?" He nips your shoulder, making you gasp.

"Yeah."

"How? Fingers, toys?"

"Vibrator." Dazzed by the questions and what he is doing with his depraved mouth, you barely think of how unusual this conversation is with someone you met only a few hours ago. But it's easy, natural, with him. So you add, "On my clit."

Frankie hums, his lips circling one of your nipples, sucking before he lets go with a pop.

"What if I fucked you while using that vibrator on your clit? Would that work?" Instead of answering, you lean to your bedside table, pull out the vibrator, and condoms from the drawer.

Frankie grabs a condom, puts it on, and then lies down on his side next to you, turning you so that you have your back to him. Slowly continuing to unravel you, he touches, grabs, and pinches your body, sliding his cock between your legs, coating his tip in your release. Adjusting your leg, he slowly sinks inside you, both of you letting out a moan.

One of his arms goes under your body, hand splayed on your stomach, holding you pressed to him. The other hand is kneading your breast and pinching your nipple, as you cry out. He slowly starts to thrust, letting you feel him wholly, his mouth peppering kisses on your neck, right behind your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe, leaving you shaking in his arms.

Holding the vibrator, still off, you take time to enjoy the feel of him, the leisure drag of his cock inside of you, deep, until his hips snap hard, jerking you forward, his hands pressing you to him. He murmurs sweet words in your ear, how good you feel, how much he wants to be buried in you forever, how hot you are and how he couldn't take his eyes off you since he saw you in the bar, how he wants to do this again, how he wants to see you again, all these words that make you feel so much, feel things you can barely understand. He's working you until your pants and small gasps turn to moans, until you feel the pleasure rising and him getting worked up. His words are filthy now, asking you if you feel him, if you feel how hard you make him, how wet you are, the sound of him inside you proving his point. How good you take him, how much he wants to fuck you in every position, make you scream his name in pleasure, make you feel more than anyone ever has, how much he wants to eat you again, how good you taste.

His hands continue to work your body, gripping, kneading, as he kisses, licks, and bites. One hand is traveling between your legs, cupping your pussy. The heat of his body behind you is almost unbearable, the feeling of him inside and out of you. It's almost too much but also not enough. You feel limp in his arms, brain almost shut down as you take his thrusts that get deeper, faster, taking everything he gives you again and again and again.

His fingers circle your clit, making you sob until he pinches it. You cry out a sound so obscene and loud your neighbors probably hear it. You don't care, you're too into the moment. He appeals to all your senses, the feel of him inside, outside, your own hand gripping his arms, feeling the muscles of his strong forearms, the softness of his curls under your fingers, nails on his scalp, the sound of his deep, low voice when he talks and the growls he makes while grinding inside you, the sight of him between your legs, cock opening you up and fingers driving you insane. The smell of sweat, sex, and his cologne, the taste of beer and cigarettes when you kiss him, all of it exhilarating.

He was good with his tongue and mouth, and he is just as divine with the rest of his body.

You can feel it again, the rise of the orgasm, like a wave coming but leaving before it touches you, coming a little closer every time. Like a light you can barely reach, like a feeling close to explosion yet receding before the fireworks go off. You can't help but cry in frustration. You want him to have his own pleasure, to feel good, but it's borderline painful to be so close to your release and feel it escape you again. Before you get in your head, Frankie murmurs, "Turn it on, baby." With shaky hands, you turn on your vibrator. When it starts vibrating, he grabs it with one hand and puts it on your clit.

The pleasure spikes again, you can feel it, but it's not enough. The hand that was in his hair goes straight to the one holding the toy, giving it the pressure you want. Frankie is a fast learner and applies the exact amount of pressure you need and the exact friction you show him. Nails digging on his arms, you start climbing again, the peak so close, closer than it has ever been. You can feel it, it's finally here, the wave is touching you, the explosion is impending.

"Yes, Frankie here, like that! Don't stop, please, I think, I think… Fuck Frankie," the pleasure is so intense as it ripples through you, barely understanding what you are babbling, what he's saying. Until you shatter, a climax that seems to last forever, almost an out-of-body experience.

Senses coming back, you hear yourself whimper, and feel him behind you, losing his control, hips snapping fast, as he moans and groans in your ear. You quickly shove the vibrator away, grab his hair again, and talk him through it.

"Come for me, Frankie, come inside me, I want to feel you deep, baby. Let go for me."

His sounds are obscene in your ear, hips jerking, hands gripping you hard as he comes. The afterglow of the orgasm, coupled with the feel of him losing control, is the best you've felt in years.

You both lie for a few minutes, catching your breath, delicate touches on one another, while you shut off the vibrator with a trembling hand.

You feel relaxed, exhausted, and you want to stay in his arms forever, feeling the scruff of his beard and his mustache against your skin as he kisses you tenderly.

But you have to get up at some point, you untangle yourself slightly, and you feel Frankie's arms loosen. With a quick "I'll be right back," you slip into the adjoining bathroom to use the toilet. When you come out, it's to the sight of a very naked Frankie standing in the middle of your bedroom, looking for a trash can to throw away the tied-up used condom in his hand. You can't help but chuckle at the sight, endearing and also hot. He's confident with his nudity, but the sight of his tousled hair, the nail marks you can make out on his arms, and the hickey you gave him on his shoulder gives you a surge of electricity in your belly. You realize you don't want him to leave. You don't want him to be another one-night stand. You wonder if what he said about wanting to see you again is true. After the sex, after the time and energy he put into making you feel good, you wonder if he still wants it, what he said in the spur of the moment.

To test the waters, you ask, "Do you want to take a shower with me?" A huge smile illuminates his face, showing the dimple that made you take him home in the first place, and he follows you in the shower.

"Just don't wet my hair," you tell him as you tie it up in a high bun to avoid water on it.

You both spend a few wordless minutes washing each other. Hands discovering the other's body in another way, not heated but still with desire. And also curiosity and wonder, lightly touching marks and scars. Too soon to ask questions, but already an interrogation as to what the other one has lived before. His body tells more stories than yours, but he did mention serving in the army, so it fits with his previous occupation.

The intimacy of the moment is something you haven't felt in so long. Giving your body never felt like intimacy. Sex had been a means to feel lately, but even before that, it had always been something you never shied away from. But this, exposing yourself in this context, body and mind, the way you spoke before, makes you feel far more vulnerable. And yet he makes you feel safe and seen.

As he lightly rinses soap off your shoulder, pressing a light kiss after, your back to him, he breaks the silence.

"I also used to take antidepressants." He lets a silence settle, you don't move, so he continues 'They had an effect on my sex drive and also sometimes gave me erectile dysfunction." He speaks matter-of-factly. Not shying away. You understand it's a form of reciprocity, but he's also making you understand you aren't alone. It warms you, and you turn around to look him in the eyes as you ask, "Did it last long?"

"A while, yeah... I took medication for a couple of years. And when I started, I wasn't dating anyone anymore, so the first few times it happened wasn't with someone I really knew. It didn't feel good. And then I got in my head, and it was hard to tell if it was the medication or me sabotaging myself."

You swallow hard because that's exactly what you feel. The first few months, you knew it was because of the medication, but now it feels like you're expecting it to happen, so it does.

Frankie looks at you, like he's hearing your thoughts, "But eventually I found someone who helped me. Someone I trusted and was able to let go with." You want him to mean something else when he says this, like he could be the one you can trust, the one to help you if you want.

"How did she do it?" you ask him, instead of pursuing that thought.

You sense his hesitation, and like he's about to take a leap of faith, before he speaks again, "He… He was a friend, still is. We were in the army together, went through the same stuff, and I guess… knowing he understood, helped me." He is searching your face, gauging your reaction.

You know your eyes widened at first, but you do everything to show him it doesn't matter to you and that you are still here with him. So you put your hands on his waist, touching him and showing him instead, and ask, "Do you still see him like this?"

He smiles when you came closer, when you touch him, relief flooding through his features, and then he laughs at your question.

"No! No, I don't see Benny like this anymore. It was never more than friends with benefits, really. We needed to be with people we trusted. We are still very much friends and very open and clear on what has happened. And Benny is now happily married, and his wife knows everything." The way he explains it and the look he gives you, everything makes you feel like he's giving you these details so that you know he meant what he said earlier.

Smiling, you turn off the water and hand him a towel. Wordlessly, you give him a toothbrush, looking at him expectantly. He takes it with a smile, and while you both brush your teeth in silence, you can't help the grin on your face. No words are needed as you put on your pajamas and he puts on his boxers. Not a word when you slide under the covers and he joins you, holding you after you turn off the light.

In the dark, your back to him, his arm draped over you, you whisper "Are you free tomorrow morning?"

He pauses before answering and utters a yes, his breath tickling your neck.

"I know a very good breakfast place around the corner." You add and you can feel him smile on your shoulder as he kisses it.

"I would love to have breakfast with you tomorrow." He says before sleep overtakes you both.

Thank you for reading ❤️

tagglist, also adding people who showed interest in the wip (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @grogusmum @here-briefly @iknowisoundcrazyreads @javierpenaismyhusband @mani-pedro @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @sunnytuliptime @picketniffler @sawymredfox @cuteanimalmama @berryispunk @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @vindictivegranny @half-moon16

[bergamote-catsandbooks]

Come Undone | Frankie Morales x f!reader | 6,2k

Summary: You and Frankie navigate a relationship that isn't supposed to be one.

CW: smut (oral both m and f receiving, unprotected p in v but they talk about it, use of a sex toy, this is porn with very little plot). Reader is still dealing with anorgasmia, and Frankie is still being perfect about it. Frankie is a consent king, Frankie is a pussy king, this is my love letter to Frankie,

Reader is abled body and almost no physical description, she has hair that can be tied up, and that's it, but if you notice anything please let me know.

A/N: I got so many wonderful responses from La Petite Mort. I wanted to thank every one for this. And since this story also haunted me, I couldn't let these two go. This starts the day after and it will be less heavy on the mention of depression and way more fluffy. It can be read as a stand alone, I think. But you can give the first story a try.

Edit because I’m a horrible friend who deserves none of you. Thank you to @sawymredfox @iknowisoundcrazy and @petalsinblood for holding my hand and cheering me up while I wrote this (probably because I said there would be lots of smut. You depraved beautiful people)

I'm always happy for comments and/or reblogs, so please don't be shy !

Main masterlist | Read on AO3

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"So, what's your deal?" You cross your arms and lean them on the laminated plastic table.

"What do you mean?" Frankie mimics your position. You are both staring at each other in the small family-owned diner, only a block away from your place. People around you are minding their own business, grabbing breakfast before whatever they are about to do with their day.

"Well, you know that I'm depressed and medicated, that I use sleeping with guys as a coping mechanism, that I am emotionally unavailable, as well as hard to please in bed. I don't do sleepovers, I don't do next morning breakfast, yet here I am. And I don't know what your deal is. And let's face it, single people our age usually have something. If this," you gesture between the two of you, "is going to happen again, whatever this is, I need to know what I'm getting into. So I'm asking again, what's your deal?"

He smiles, and that damn dimple makes you want to grab him by the shirt and drag him over the table to kiss him. Instead, you look dead serious, and barely move when the waitress brings your food: eggs and pancakes for you, eggs and French toast for him.

"Are you suggesting this might happen again?" His eyes are twinkling with mirth. You don't know if you want to laugh with him or wipe that smile off his face. Maybe with a kiss.

"Don't play with me, Frankie. You made me come, of course, I want to see you again." You keep your stern voice, but let your mouth tug slightly.

He laughs and starts digging into his food. You are trying hard to rattle him, and you don't know why. Well, you know why, you just aren't going to get into it right now. But you have to give it to him, he seems to take it in a stride.

"I'm a veteran, an ex coke addict, barely two years sober, divorced, and father of a three-year-old daughter. I slept with my best friend on a regular basis and still see him, but just as a friend. I was unemployed for almost two years, and just got my pilot license back, a job, and a place where I can share custody of my daughter. I'm pretty much fucked up. So yeah, that's my deal."

He looks up at you, and even if he is playing along, even if he is laying out all of this like it's nothing, smiling between bites of eggs, you can see that little vulnerability in his eyes. It's not much, and most might not see it, but you do. Because you know it's the same he saw in yours when you tried to scare him away.

"I can work with that." You simply say, before adding, "I was married, dumped after three years because I didn't want kids, and he did. After, might I add, agreeing to not having any because, of course, we talked about it before. Surprisingly, he got his best friend pregnant. Before he broke up with me. I buried myself in work, got burned out, was laid off, and had to go live with my parents for 6 months. I got a job and a place about 6 months ago." You are daring him to leave.

"I didn't know this was a competition." He sips his coffee, eyes boring into yours, unbothered with everything you just said, and you can't help but smile.

"If it were, who do you think would win?"

"Me. You can't surpass drugs and active combat."

"Damn, you're right."

"Although I have to say what happened to you was very shitty, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks. You too."

"Yeah, mine was mostly my fault, but I dealt with it. I'm good. Well, better."

You both stay silent while you finish your food. You want to see Frankie again, for sex, sure, but maybe for more. You enjoyed his company. But you don't know if you can do it yet.

"Frankie." He stops eating, looking at you, sensing by your tone that this is going to be serious. "I do want to see you again. I had fun last night, even before the amazing sex. Don't look so smug!" you laugh when you see he can't help a smirk on his face, "But–" You shake your head, trying to find the right words.

"But you don't know if you are ready for it." He supplies for you.

"Yes, that's pretty much it."

"Look, I really did have a great time last night, and sure, the amazing sex is part of it, by the way, it takes two for that, so you are allowed to feel smug." God, he is so sweet. "I want to see you again, but as you might have guessed from my many attractive features, my life is a mess. I'm still learning how to navigate co-parenting, I'm working weird hours, and I try to go to NA meetings as much as I can, because my sobriety is still fragile." He stops and sighs. "I know I'm not selling myself right now."

"How can you say that? I think those happen to be your selling points." He laughs and takes your hand." What I'm trying to say here is that I'm OK with just hooking up if that's what you want. Sure, I might want more, but I'm definitely not in a good spot to start anything serious. So what I can offer is one step at a time, and checking with each other at each one of them to see how it's going."

"Wow, that sounds so adult. Who knew communication could be so hot in a man?" You make it seem like it's a joke, but you are actually impressed by his self-awareness.

"Yeah, funny how therapy actually does help." He smirks, looking at you expectantly.

You purse your lips for a bit, thinking things over. "OK, Frankie, let's do this."

"Let's do this." You both smile at each other, letting the comfortable silence envelop you.

"You sure you want to do this, baby?" Frankie's head rolls back and bangs on the door as you take him in your mouth as an answer.

"Fuuuuuck." You love it when he swears, when he loses all composure, when he lets himself go. He's always so good to you that sometimes you just want to do everything for him.

"Babe, wait, wait–" you hollow your cheeks, swallowing him deeper, and his sentence is cut short, his hand grabbing your hair, in a motion that half pulls you back, half keeps you there. You know the conflicted feeling he is having, and it makes you smile around his cock. You slowly pull him out, your eyes on him, with the most innocent look you can muster.

"Do you want me to stop?" Your voice is husky, and you are so wet you can feel your panties getting soaked.

His eyes are closed; it feels like torture to open them and look down at you. He looks wrecked, and you feel proud to be the one who did this. He doesn't answer, just breathes heavily. You could torture him, you could give him a taste of his own medicine, and tell him to use his words, or whatever he loves to whisper in your ears whenever he has you speechless and thoughtless. But you are too greedy, instead you slowly lick his length, your tongue tracing the vein that decorates it, until you get to the tip, and you put your mouth around it, sucking it like a lollipop. You hear the small sounds that seem to come from his throat, half-whine, half-growl, and you chuckle.

One of your hands grabs his base, working him slowly, while your mouth continues to play with his tip for a moment. The small pants and noises coming from Frankie make you feel so powerful, and also needy. You take him in while your other hand motions to grab his ass to bring him as deep as you can take him.

His moan is music to your ears, and you keep the exact pace, sensing his hips moving unconsciously, thrusting his cock deeper.

It doesn't take long until he comes in your throat, whimpering "Babe, no, no, oh, I'm, I'm coming, oh my god, yes, fuuuuck, yes."

You swallow around him, as his hips jerk from the aftershock of his orgasm, until you feel him slack on the door, spent, the hand letting go of your hair, and his fingers tenderly graze your cheek, your lips, his thumb tugging your lower lip once you pull his softening cock from your mouth.

"You little minx", he chuckles, as he helps you up and pulls you in his arms, his head nestling in the crook of your neck. "I wanted to fuck you against the door."

You let out a small laugh, your fingers in his curls, that damn hat on the floor somewhere. He shivers from your touch, and you let yourself breathe him and the moment in.

Dinner was fun, a laid-back burger joint, a walk along the bay, and then he brought you home to spend the night. Technically, a date, except you both never put any words on it. Ever since that breakfast, you had been clear. No labels for the moment, no pressure. Sex and fun, and you both took it one step at a time. It's been two months, and you didn't see each other that much; he had his work and his kid, you had your own work. But you texted, you went out a few times for drinks and food, you talked and laughed, and of course, you had sex. Sex like you hadn't had in a long time. Comfortable, fun, mind-blowing sex. And orgasms. So many of them. Always with the help of your vibrator, but still. Even when it took time, even when you felt frustrated, he was there, focused, persistent, but not insistent. When you said it wouldn't happen, he didn't pressure you and always made sure you were content in any way. He made it seem like it was normal, but the bar was so low you were still surprised by his basic decency. He never felt threatened by the fact that he couldn't make you come without help. You were the one who felt frustrated by the matter, never him.

Frankie untangles himself from your arms and pulls back his pants, without bothering to close them.

"Let's get you in bed and taken care of." He pulls you toward your bedroom, his deep voice making you shiver from need.

"It's not a trade, Frankie."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm going to have as much pleasure as I intend to give you."

His mouth is killing you, expertly destroying every part of your being, one lick, nip, suck at a time. Right now, he is destroying your soul with both hands pinching your nipples, and his tongue slowly circling your clit. You don't know where you are, or what you are doing, barely conscious that your knuckles are white from gripping the sheets tight, and uttering noises that are barely human. You feel it in the periphery, the orgasm taunting you. But once again, as soon as you sense it, your mind starts acting, thinking. Why do you have a fucking brain? As soon as it acts up, like a butterfly whirling in the wind, your orgasm flies further and further away. You can't help but make a small, frustrated whine.

And Frankie, ever so perceptive, sensing the change in your demeanor, slowly stops, "Everything's OK, babe?"

"Yes, sorry, just got… almost, but then I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey, don't worry, it's OK. There isn't any pressure." He climbs over you, his eyes pouring into yours, to reassure you. But you can't look at him, turning your head to the side, ashamed that this keeps happening over and over again. He cups your jaw tenderly and brings your attention back to him, not letting your gaze wander.

"I mean it, if you want to stop, we stop, if you want me to continue, believe me, I will," Frankie lowers his head and rasps in her ear, "if you want me to take that vibrator and use it on you, I'm fine with it, but I also have an idea I want to try."

The whirlwind in your brain is shutting off. He just knows how to make you stop thinking.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I want to fuck you with that vibrator while I eat up that pretty pussy." Sometimes, he uses words so filthy you could blush; he has no filter. But when he does it like this, in bed, pining you down with his eyes black with lust, his arm caging you, it makes you feel liquid, a boneless being of lust and pleasure.

"Fuck." That's all you can say, you push him off you so you can get your vibrator and the lube, handing them to Frankie.

"Lie down, baby, I'm going to take good care of you." You know he says it in a way that is supposed to be hot, but you can't help the rush of emotions in your body and surge to give him a deep kiss, one devoid of heat but full of feelings.

"You always do, Frankie," and you lie down, knees bent, legs wide open. For a moment, he looks slightly stunned by what you just said, a sheepish smile on his face, and when his eyes start raking your body all spread out for him, his smile turns into a devilish grin. You watch him apply the lube on the toy, and he bends down to kiss your mouth before kissing his way down your core.

Closing your eyes, you concentrate on the sensation, willing your brain to shut up with the thoughts that sometimes plague you. You hear the buzzing sound and then feel the vibration applied softly on your folds.

"Is this OK?"

"Yes." You gasp when he slowly starts pressing the toy at your entrance. You are already pretty open, his fingers have done some work, your own pleasure, and the lube is easing it in. You feel it opening you up, the vibration is on the lowest setting, just giving you a small thrill as Frankie slowly pulls it in and out, each time a little deeper, until he gets it all the way in, and you let out a low moan.

"All OK, babe?"

"Uh uh, yeah, s'good, so good." He fucks you slowly, finding a nice rhythm and sets the vibration a little higher. The sensation is oh so good, even more when he twists the vibrator up, allowing it to hit that good spot.

Frankie is an expert, a man of precision, and you just know that if you opened an eye, you would see him watching you intently, checking your pleasure response. With a twist of his wrist, he hits the spot again, and your legs shake.

"Frankie." It's a whine that comes out of you, it's even better than when it's you using the vibrator, because you know he is doing it, you know he is watching you as you abandon every last part of yourself to him. You can feel the pleasure coiling inside you, in your lower abdomen.

"You ready for more?"

"Please, I want it, please."

You feel his tongue and let out a gasp, the few licks making your whole body shiver from the pleasure.

"Oh, Oh!" He takes this as encouragement, and you feel his whole mouth devouring you. He isn't here to tease or drag it on. He is a man on a mission, with only one objective. And God, you can feel it coming fast.

His thrusting doesn't falter, and the vibration is at its max, his other hand lying on your stomach to pin you down.

"Oh Frankie, oh Frankie, oh Frankie." You are barely conscious of what you are saying, as your hand presses on his head, fingers tugging his hair, mind empty.

And then it's an explosion. Colors and lights, behind your closed eyelids, deafening sounds in your ear, from you screaming, and Frankie moaning loudly, and then your whole body trembles, jerks, and falls back. You don't even get to the point of overstimulation, Frankie turns off the vibrator, and slowly takes it out, while kissing your stomach. You are still panting, eyes barely open, exhaustion suddenly hitting you like a weighted blanket. Or maybe it's the feel of Frankie who lies next to you, pulling up the covers on both of you, and holds you close to him.

"Thank you, Frankie."

"You don't have to thank me. Was it OK?"

"More than OK." You say this in a breathless laugh, still trying to get back to this plan of reality.

"Good, that's something we can do again then." He nuzzles your jaw and squeezes you tight.

There is something in the back of your mind, but you push it away; you are too tired for it. You feel him hard against you.

"Do you want to–" Your hand goes to his cock, but Frankie pulls it away and keeps it in his.

"Shhh, don't worry, you gave me the perfect blowjob. I'm fine. Sleep." You hum in assent and fall into a deep slumber.

A few weeks later, you wake up in Frankie's house, again. Since he brought you here, you can't help but want to go there every time. His house is homey, well-loved. It's a little old and in need of renovation, but he's been working steadily on it, and you can see the love and care he puts into it and how much he is making it a place for him and his daughter. Her bedroom is the best one in the house and the one that has been totally renovated, while his own bedroom still has the old and faded wallpaper. The garden is nice and well taken care of, with a small slide and swings. It's a place that makes you feel at home more than your own apartment in downtown Tampa, all modern and new, with no real charm, even if you've moved there 9 months ago. Frankie lives in a suburban neighborhood, in the historical part of Tampa, not very far from your place. But it's drastically different, almost like a village. He knows his neighbors, it's within walking distance to some restaurants and stores (when the heat allows it), and it just… feels good.

Both of you have been exploring the eating options around his place, you spending the night, and more often than not, staying the next day. It looks awfully like dating. Even if you still don't name it.

It's Sunday morning, and it's the second night in a row you've spent together, something you never thought you would do. And even sleeping together without actually sleeping together. Last night, you came back from a day's outing, hiking the nearby trail, stopping by the beach for a sunset, grabbing some pizza on the way back, and crashing in bed exhausted after a shower, which you didn't even share.

You are fucked. Because you know this is it. You have feelings, real ones, for a nice guy, who you slept with, who has a life you never interact with, not his friends, not his daughter. And even if you did manage to get together at least once, but more often twice a week, the ease and comfort and the shared activities that had been going on for the past three months, it felt more than just sex. It has never been just sex, if you are honest with yourself.

The bed is empty, but you aren't worried. Frankie mentioned he wanted to go on an early run, before the day got too hot. You think about making some breakfast for when he gets back, so you take a quick shower, air the bedroom, make the bed, and go to the kitchen.

As you are rummaging in the fridge trying to see what you can make with what's there and contemplating the idea of going to grab something out, when you hear the front door open, and Frankie walks into the kitchen. He looks delicious in his shorts, his large and worn-out t-shirt, and his hair a little wet from the effort. He is holding a Kraft bag in his hand and looks at you with an appreciative eye. You are wearing a t-shirt and some shorts, nothing fancy, but he always looks at you that way. And you never tire of it.

"What are you doing in the fridge?"

"Trying to see if I could make some breakfast, but I have a hard time deciding what I can do with the lone tomato, the bottle of ketchup, and that old piece of cheese."

"Yeah, I know you do wonders in the kitchen, but I knew this wouldn't work, so I grabbed sandwich bagels on my way." He comes close to you, puts the bag on the counter next to the fridge, and leans in to kiss you lightly.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, deepening the kiss. You are hungry for more than bagels, it seems. Frankie starts wrapping his arm around you, but stops.

"Wait, I'm all sweaty and smelly." He makes a move to leave, but you grab him tighter and start kissing his neck, grazing it lightly with your teeth.

"You aren't smelly at all." He moans in answer, and you take the opportunity to pull his t-shirt. Without any complaint, Frankie helps you take it off, and you run your hands on his naked chest, feeling his hot skin on your palm, still a little humid from the exertion. Sweat should disgust you, but right now, it's a very potent aphrodisiac.

"You don't want breakfast first?" It's a question that doesn't need a verbal answer. Instead, you push him out of the kitchen, and he keeps moving toward the bedroom, never breaking away from you.

You both fall down on the bed, a tangle of limbs and clothes half discarded, leaving a trail behind you. Before Frankie can bring out the condoms from the bedside table, you stop his hand and decide to do something that you know might change this for good.

"Frankie, I, I told you I have an IUD, and we both mentioned having been checked right before we met, maybe–" You don't finish, but you can see in his eyes as he pours them in yours that there is one question that you have to answer first. He's above you, one knee between your legs, both elbows around your head, and he doesn't move. There is a hope in his eyes that makes you be brave when you finally say. "There has been no one else."

"You sure?"

"That there is no one else?" You smirk.

"No, no, that you," he swallows and looks away before saying, "that you want this?" This can mean a lot, you know, this can just mean sex without a condom, but it can mean putting a label, or maybe it's just another step, and you should stop overthinking.

"Yes." For a moment, he just stares at you, and a smile starts spreading on his face. He kisses you and reaches again for the drawer, for the vibrator he bought and surprised you with the first time you came over his place. At the time you you were stunned, that he went out to look for the same exact model to have just for you was such a beautiful act. But you stop him again.

"No, I don't want it, just you."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't want a complicated position, him concentrating on you, using the vibrator to make you come. You just want to feel him, you just need him. Even if you won't come, you just know having him over you, watching him lose himself, sensing him come in you, bare, will be pleasure enough.

And it is. It's slow and deliberate at first, with a lot of raw emotions as your eyes meet again and again. The feel of him pressed on you is bliss, the slow drag of his cock in you makes you want to weep, you probably do, you aren't thinking much at the moment, the way he starts to move faster, hips snapping, face pressed against your neck as he starts losing the rhythm and chasing his high, moaning, makes you feel powerful. You love when Frankie is in charge, talks dirty in your ears, praises you, or talks you through it. You just love his voice while you have sex. But you secretly love it even more when you render him speechless, when all he can do is feel and murmur incoherent words that are more noise than anything else. You relish in the feeling that he is going to come inside you so fast, just because you feel too good, this man who spends so much time bringing you pleasure, sometimes to his own detriment. You can give him that, and so you rake your fingers in his hair, let your nails scratch his scalp, down his shoulder, and you murmur all the words you feel: "Let go, baby, let me feel you come inside me. Let me make you feel good, as good as you always make me feel." And it's with a strangled cry that Frankie comes, and that you feel a pleasure that might not be an orgasm, but that is so much more in the moment. You are falling in love, and it feels terrifying but good.

As you both lie side by side, catching your breath, Frankie turns to look at you.

"Is it OK? You didn't come, I didn't–"

"Shh, it's fine, I wanted this." You stroke his cheek, looking at him fondly.

"But I feel so selfish."

"Frankie, you are the least selfish man I know. Don't worry."

You get up to use the bathroom, and while you clean up, an awful thought crawls in the back of your head, and is at once the only thing you can think of. Why does your brain do that? You are perfectly happy, enjoying a perfect moment with Frankie, and now all you can think of is, "When will he get tired of me?"

And it probably shows because when you get out, Frankie, who is still lying in bed, looks at you, concerned.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." You start to pick up your clothes, without looking at him.

"You sure? You don't seem. Please tell me if I did something wrong."

Warmth runs through your chest. How do you deserve someone like him? You feel like crying and know that you have to say out loud what has been weighing you down for so long.

"What if I'm broken? What if I never can come normally ever again?" You finally let it out, looking down, avoiding his eyes. He gets up to you and takes your face in his hands.

"Oh, baby. I don't think so, but even if that happens, it's OK."

"But what if no one wants to go through the trouble?"

"I want to." He looks so earnest, you want to believe him.

"And if you get tired of it? Of me?"

"I'll never get tired of you, of what we have."

"You are sure?"

"I am. I promise. I like you. A lot, and I know I agreed to no labels, but I think we both know lately it hasn't been just sex. So believe me when I say it." He pulls you into a warm hug, and you cling to him, breathing in his neck.

"I like you too. I am still scared, but I like what we have, and I want to see what might happen next." You feel him let out a relieved sigh.

"Well, that's good." He pulls you away to look in your eyes again, "Now I think we need to shut off that pretty brain of yours. See, I didn't make you come, and now you've got way too many thoughts." His tone is sultry, and he wiggles his eyebrows, you can't help but laugh. You love that he just knows how to break the tension.

"I'm serious, though. I actually have something in mind I've been wanting to try."

"Frankie, you just fucked me, you are insatiable." You say this, yet you still let him guide you to the bed.

"I don't intend to fuck you, at least not with my cock."

"How can you be so sweet and so filthy?"

"You love it, baby. Do you want to hear my idea?"

Of course you do. His crude talk makes you want to feel him again, desire pooling in your belly. You nod, and he smiles.

"Do you trust me?" He sits you on the bed and kneels in front of you.

"Always"

"I want to tie you up, put a blindfold on you, and eat you up."

The idea makes you gasp, and his smile turns cocky. "I knew you would like it. Have you ever done it?"

"Never with the blindfold, just tied up."

"Are you OK with doing both?"

"Yes."

He makes sure you are comfortable, putting a pillow under your head and around you, kissing each of your wrists before tying them up. He uses silk ties because he doesn't have anything else in hand.

"I'm surprised that you even have one, let alone two! I thought you were going to be all feral and use zip ties."

"I don't have any, but–" He stops, his voice and eyes betray his thoughts.

"Maybe we can go buy some." You were teasing, but you are even more turned on thinking about it. And you have to admit that watching Frankie walking around, confident, naked, taking care of everything, it's hot.

He takes out a black scarf from a drawer and walks to you.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

He wraps the scarf with so much care, making sure he doesn't pull your hair, asking if you are comfortable, telling you he'll stop whenever you want. You don't think he would do otherwise, but you appreciate the reassurance. You've rarely been so vulnerable. Especially with someone you've known for such a short time. And yet, you feel more at ease, more yourself with him than with anyone else. The thought is scary but also exhilarating.

Soon, thoughts leave you, as Frankie trails little kisses and nips down your body, spending time on the places he knows make you melt.

You swear he has studied your body like an explorer mapping a territory, one first unknown, until every crevice, slope, and nook has been explored, noted in a part of his brain, and mastered. First, you neck, where you think he leaves a small mark, then a path down to your breasts, where he spends a little more time, both for you and him. He always seems hypnotized by them, loves to touch them, taste them, watch them bounce when he fucks you. Once you are a whimpering mess, once the small noises, gasps, and sighs turn to pleas, he trails to your stomach and then to the crease between your hip and thigh. But he stops when he gets to the part where you want him the most. And all at once, you don't feel him on any part of your body. A moment of unease, and your eyes that were closed under the scarf open. You see light behind the fabric, but it's still dark. You feel the panic rise, the thoughts of not knowing where he is and what he is doing rushing in your mind. Not that you don't trust him, you always will, it's more a sense of not having control that scares you. You hear a shuffle on the covers and two hands touch your hips. "You OK?" from the slight concern in his voice, you know he sensed the unease.

"I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yes, just a little panic, but I don't want to stop." You know he will ask, so you get ahead of him. For a second, you just feel his warm hands as they grip you a little, and then, without leaving your body, one hand runs down your thigh, calf, and lifts your leg, and you feel the pressure of his mouth on your ankle, then up your leg, your knee. He settles it on his shoulder, and from the position, you know he is kneeling between your legs. He does the same on the other leg, taking his time. He is quiet and apart from the sounds of the kisses and your heavy breathing, nothing breaks the silence. You feel like you are an alter, he is kneeling and praying too, all reverent and worshipful. You feel him shuffling to lie and feel his breath on your core. A slow moan escapes him, and he murmurs, "You are so beautiful." It almost feels like he is telling himself, like it's a prayer he let escape out loud.

You feel the desire sharpening, knowing he is so close, after the time he took taking care of you, you feel the need flow out every pore, it's more: desperation.

"Fuck." That is even more reverent than any thing he has said. He says it like it's paining him, like he is suffering. And when his mouth circles your core, and his tongue grazes your entrance, sighing with contentment, it feels like you are the cure to all his ailments.

He takes time to lavish you, licking and kissing every part of your pussy, but not touching your clit. It's a slow torture that has you fighting once or twice, you restraints, you want to push his face to the place you need him most.

He can hear your moans becoming almost frustrated, the slow chuckle he lets out that reverberates against you is part bliss, part torture. But he soon puts an end to your misery, with a lick, another, oh so light, too light.

Yet you cry out from the feeling. Louder when he kisses your bundle of nerves with more pressure. You know that now he is ready for a kill, using his magic, one that makes you arch underneath him, legs trembling.

When he brings both hands to your nipples and pinches them, it's like electricity runs inside your body, a jolt of pleasure so intense his name is a ragged cry out of your throat.

You can feel the pleasure, you can feel it climbing, the peak you always want to reach, but you never do. The pressure is almost perfect, almost what you need.

Once again, you fight your restraint, you want to show him what you need, you want to pull off the blindfold and watch him take you apart. It's almost too much; you are about to ask him to stop when something snaps in your brain.

It's as if it surrenders, it just decides that since it can't fight, it will go willingly. You feel a form of tension falling out of you, and you imagine the scene painted as if you are floating outside your body and watching from above: you opened up, legs now spread wide on the bed, unable to move, vulnerable, Frankie and his broad shoulder between your thighs, large hands on your breast, and you feel a shiver course through your whole body. You can't fight; you just have to let go and surrender to it.

And then Frankie does something that makes everything go black. One large hand splays on your stomach, preventing you from moving even more, caging you on the bed, a weight that feels so good. You feel his other hand on your core, when two fingers slide inside you effortlessly, pumping a few times, until he adds a third. You feel the stretch, the curve, the thrusts, and combined with his mouth that sucks hard on your clit, lights and colors appear in your vision. It takes you by surprise. It's like you are already on the top of that mountain you were trying to climb. You were stuck mid-course, and Frankie pushed you to the top, and before you realize it, you are coming. Loud cries that sound almost surprised.

"Oh! I'm, I'm com– Frankie!"

And you jump from the summit and fly high, until you fall in bed, spasms shaking every part of your body, while you feel Frankie slowly, taking out his fingers, and kissing his way up to you, all while tracing his hands up your body.

"Oh my god, Frankie, I can't believe it."

You hear him laugh and can feel the pride in there, but also the happiness that you feel this way.

You feel him untying you, massaging your wrist and forearms, then take off the blindfold, and when you finally see, you blink to Frankie's face close to yours. He is a mess, uncombed hair, face slick with you, and a smile so big that his eyes crinkle. It makes you feel something you don't want to name yet, but you think it's too late to go back, as you wrap your arms around him to bring him close to you. He wraps his arm around you, and you lie for a while, basking in the silence.

It's too late to turn back; you have fallen deep and all the way. But you know that it's OK, you wouldn't want it any other way.

Thank you for reading ❤️

tagglist, also adding people who showed interest in the wip and the first story (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @grogusmum @here-briefly @iknowisoundcrazyreads @javierpenaismyhusband @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @sunnytuliptime @picketniffler @sawymredfox @cuteanimalmama @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @vindictivegranny @half-moon16 @sin-djarin @whocaresstillthelouvre @hanahleah @missadangel @simpingforjoel @aurorawritestoescape @kirsteng42 @annwrites24 @vodkaandpizza @quinnnfabrgay @littlepedrito @ingoldthewizard @petalsinblood

[youmetuscany]

zendaya's the odyssey press tour outfits ♡

[purr-in-ink]

[la-vie-est-une-fleur29]

[encasedinobsidian]

not together

Frankie Morales x OFC│explicit, 18+

My relationship ends with a sulking whimper, and my best friend drags me to a hockey game. [Whack, whack, whack. Left, right, left.] Morales, goaltender, number thirty, whacks his stick against the poles on either side of him. Then he stretches his neck side to side, halfway crouches, and leans against the massive pads on the front of his legs.  [James… Garcia… Back to Davis…] I tell myself that a year of no men will do me good, but Frankie doesn't give up that easily.

Tags: Hockey goalie Frankie, smut, angst with a happy ending, post-breakup w/ another guy, size difference, age appropriate relationship for once lmao, dad Frankie, hockey bullshit, primal kink aka slight predator/prey dynamics, a lot of reflections on the end of a long term relationship A/N: this is my love letter to @javiscigarette now everyone say thank you cami for introducing me to hockey and thank you chloe for suffering through an entire season, loyal to a currently shit tier team

Chapters: fighting interference diving too many men holding epilogue

[notjustjavierpena]

Needy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: LONG AGO, @yxtkiwiyxt tagged me in a post about Pedro in a black tee and jeans that reminded her of her hubby. Then this happened. I hope you can forgive the wait.

Summary: Pregnancy comes with horniness.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Pregnancy and hormones, touch-starved, hot sweaty javi, so many pet names in spanish, praise kink, pregnancy sex, light dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, couch sex, slow and intense riding, piv sex, pussy eating, face-sitting, finger-fucking, multiple orgasms, squirting, handjob, pillow talk

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62563027

Needy

A few months ago, a friend from work had asked you how far along you were in your pregnancy over lunch and snickered knowingly when you said that your second trimester would be ending around now. She had leaned close and whispered in a voice only meant for you that she’d not been able to keep her hands off her husband when she’d entered her third trimester. 

You had scoffed with heated cheeks, embarrassed by talking about your sex life with a coworker, and had not been sure what to say to such a statement. However, at 29 weeks pregnant where only sweatpants and dresses feel comfortable, you find yourself grateful that someone took the opportunity to warn you. Why? Because it’s like an itch that you cannot scratch. 

You want Javier Peña all the goddamn time, not caring whether you will be the cause of rug burn to his poor manhood. You are a caged animal, stalking around restlessly in your enclosure because the confinement makes you stressed out and horny. There’s no time for decorum, no time to keep it together because it’s so torturous to have hormones raging through you that you have two options: Either you get down and dirty, getting fucked by him, or have a hissy fit that results in sobbing after flinging yourself onto the bed (a thing that often results in Javier doing his duty and pulling up the skirt of your dress with polite surrender).

Thankfully, not all days are that bad. Some days, the prickle of your skin and the ache between your thighs are nothing more than a dull sensation in the very back of your mind, a simmer that has a manageable warmth. It means you can take on the day without being on the verge of tears, suffering greatly if you aren’t touched.  

Today, however, is not such a day. 

Javier has been out of the house since sunrise, having kissed you goodbye in the morning in a way that has left you wanting more. His reason for leaving you to yourself all day hasn’t been unreasonable, spending his time as an unpaid ranch hand at his father’s farm. 

Meanwhile, you have been listening to the tick of the clock on the wall, waiting like a damsel in distress for him to come home and save you from the curse your body has you under. You have tried everything to satisfy the devil in you and you’ve gone as far as to keep your phone locked up in your bedroom so you wouldn’t text him to come back early. After all, Chucho has had a rough time during spring, and this summer has called for an extra field hand, a thing he cannot afford to pay for in his retirement. The way Javier is committed to his family is actually one of the things you love most about him, and also why you had convinced yourself that it was fine to have a day to yourself this morning. However, as the sun dips lower on the horizon, it becomes more evident that Javier can never leave this long again. 

Finally, as the evening drags on slowly and the sun starts painting the living room in yellows and oranges, you hear the sound of your husband’s truck pulling into the driveway. Your body responds immediately, your pulse spiking in the anticipation of the moment he walks in the door but there’s impatience in you unlike anything you have experienced before. 

You rush to the window to peer out at him and spot him just in time to see him stepping out onto the stone driveway and slamming the old door shut behind him. A thrill goes through you, a longing to be in his arms immediately and it is so profound that you feel your throat tightening with relieved tears at having him here. 

You cannot wait the minute it takes for him to walk inside, you decide, and so you rush to the front door and pull it open. You rush outside to greet him, your dress swooshing along your knees as you take quick steps. 

The second he sees you, you can feel yourself ready to melt into a puddle. He looks dusty and tired yet still smiles softly as his eyes meet yours. He is just about to greet you when you give him no chance to speak, wrapping your arms around his neck and catching his mouth in a deep, fervent kiss. He rests his hands on your hips and you think you might die if he doesn’t have you right here. 

“I missed you so bad,” you confess in a whine and find yourself unable to stop kissing him. You obscenely nip at his bottom lip, brush your tongue against the seam of his mouth, all the while murmuring in a desperate plea, “Don’t you ever leave your horny wife that long again.” 

When in need of catching your breath, you make the mistake of burying your face in the crook of his neck. You pant already from how worked up you are, your mouth feeling sensitive and swollen already from your make-out session. His scent is of the outdoors mixed with the sweat from hard labor, and as you pull back slightly to gaze upon your man, you see the damp patch on his black t-shirt around his neck, a testament to how gorgeous he has looked as he worked under the sun all day. 

Finally, as he is allowed to take a breath, a low chuckle falls from his mouth. There’s a tinge of desire in his voice as he speaks, “Let’s get you back inside the house, mi amor (my love). I fear what you might do out here.”

“Promise me you’ll fuck me,” you groan against his shoulder, at the mercy of your body and therefore not strong enough to play coy, to tease and make him chase you. You’re all his because his touch is the only remedy for your relentless yearning. 

“Te prometo, mamacita (I promise, mamacita),” he promises. He locks up the car, smiling to himself as he sees you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. When he has pulled the handle a few times to make sure the truck is locked, he urges you to go back into the house.

When you start walking, you feel his broad hand rest on the small of your back and the car keys jingling from his thumb. You have to catch a feeble noise in your throat, your palms laying on your swollen belly to keep them busy. 

Once inside, Javier throws the car keys into a bowl on the side table next to the door. He marches across the room, boots heavy on the floorboards, and then lets himself fall down into the couch with an exhausted grunt. He reaches up to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands, sighing deeply from the satisfaction. 

You follow him around like a puppy would follow its owner, and when he doesn’t make any moves to fulfill your every desire this instant, you take matters into your own hands and show him that you are not playing around when you display your desperation. 

You waste no time straddling him, hiking up your dress enough for the only fabric between him and your core to be the cotton of your panties. It’s visible, the way his mouth goes dry, the way your beautiful pregnant body turns him on in a ridiculously short time. When his left hand touches your hip again and his right rests on your belly, rubbing soothingly, he silences every voice in your head. 

“Mi niña (my girl),” he coos when he has regained his composure and your whole body buzzes. He has a coy smile on his face, “You’re so beautiful up there.”

“How beautiful?” You ask, reaching between your bodies to undo the zipper on his usual jeans to get his cock out. He doesn’t protest, simply lets you take what you need from him until the edge has been taken off. He knows better than to dismiss your urgency when you have been deprived of his dick for an inhumanely long time. Instead, he reaches to slip a finger into the front of your panties and moves them to the side.

“More beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in all my years on this Earth.” he charms with immediate success because you drag his jeans and underwear down just enough to be able to sink down on his bare cock and with no concern for his gnawing zipper. 

He groans while you gasp, your mouth falling open and your eyes blinking closed at the immediate relief of being stretched out by his generous size. He fits inside of you, large and pulsing against your fluttering walls and you find yourself already moving on top of him. 

“Fuck, you’re drenching me,” he murmurs gruffly beneath you, and yes, you are. Your pussy is soaked for him, squelching obscenely each time it takes him to the brim, “Is this all because of how I left you alone all day? How cruel of me. I made this pussy all wet.”

Usually, you would reply with something but you have been so desperate during the last few hours that you find yourself completely fucked out already. You move faster, greedy for release, and Javier says your name to no avail. 

Suddenly, his hand slides up your forearm and over your shoulder. It settles right at the base of your skull and it holds onto you firmly until you come back to him. He tilts your head so he can lock eyes with you. 

You whimper when his other hand stops your movements on his cock altogether, and it borders on embarrassing when your desperation causes you to tear up, “Please, Javi.”

“You’ve got such a greedy pussy today, mi amor (my love),” he tuts disapprovingly and holds you still. He seems almost like he would be content with just having your warm heat wrapped around him, squeezing him occasionally when you think about what he could be doing.

“I just want you so much, papí,” you moan pathetically and wiggle slightly in his lap. He nods while dragging his nails down your spine, testing you to see if you will behave in the seconds it takes to place his palms on your sides. 

“I know,” he says gently while cupping your waist, “Listen to me.”

You are wide-eyed and at your wit’s end. You’ll do anything to have him make you come. 

“I’m going to make you come on it,” he says and fucks up into you once, nearly making you fall off his lap from the surprise. He steadies you with his hands sliding across your skin to firmly hold onto your lower back, urging you to start rolling your hips back and forth instead of up and down, “And then I am going to make you sit on my face until you come on that too.” 

You swallow thickly, tiny mewls and moans escaping your mouth as you ride him slowly. You thoroughly love it when he directs you, takes care of you, and since getting pregnant, he knows how much you need him to make decisions before you throw a tantrum in your horniness. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He taunts without any meanness behind his words, clutching your body in his grip to keep you from falling into another vigorous pace, “To make your pussy feel good, hm? She happy now?”

“Mhm… Very happy,” you nod with a tiny smile, moving slowly in his lap because he isn’t allowing you anything more. He fills you repeatedly with each movement of your hips over his, the head of his cock threatening each time to slip out of you before he guides you to take him all the way again. It feels like heaven, your orgasm building slowly but steadily instead of rapidly. He knows you so well, knows how disappointing it would have been if it was over too soon. 

“You’re all I thought about today too,” he murmurs against your mouth when you dip down to kiss him, cupping his face and letting your thumbs caress his cheeks before you go further up to tug at his hair. Your hands are made to slide between the soft tufts, just like your body is made to melt into his arms. 

“Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero (I love you, I love you, I love you),” you repeat breathlessly, a little firmer in your pace. His cockhead catches at something just right inside of you and it makes you nearly double over into him. 

“Don’t rush it, mamí,” he tells you gently and maneuvers you to tilt your hips ever so slightly, “It’ll come. You’re so close. Fuck, I love you so much.”

You come so intensely from that slight change of angle that your vision blurs. It is deep and overwhelming, everything below your navel pulling at you before going off into squeezes of pure, indescribable ecstasy. Your voice cracks, your moans pitch, and you can hear Javier’s name tumble from your lips while you repeat just how much you’re there.

“I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming,” you groan with furrowed brows, pulling his face into your chest and feeling him kiss on top of the fabric of your dress. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he moans while you ride it out, “Fuck, I know you are. You’re taking it so fucking well.”

It takes a few long seconds for your climax to start fading. You rock in his lap until you cannot do it anymore, and then you come to a halt with him still settled deep inside you. He rubs your thighs to soothe and draws back a little to look at you while you pant from exertion. 

“Eres perfecta (You’re perfect),” he mumbles with awe, “Did that help, huh?”

You nod with a blissed-out expression, suddenly very aware of how much you were actually in distress because there’s a lightness to your very core. Your cheeks are warm, your heartbeat slowing after having pounded in your chest. 

“Let’s take this off,” he coos, helping you out of your dress completely. You haven’t worn a bra today since your breasts are sore and firm with milk, and so he has you in nearly all your glory while you are warming the length of his still-hard dick too. 

“That better?” He asks again, kissing the bare skin of your upper chest where you feel like you are burning up from not having undressed earlier. Eagerness comes with a price.

“Sí (Yes),” you mumble and inhale his scent while resting your cheek on top of his head. You swirl your hips to make him growl beneath you, “Your turn.”

“You think I’m done with you?” His voice is smug as he stills you on top of him again before his hand rubs along the curve of your pregnant belly, “You think I’d break my promise and let this pussy be all touch-starved? She needs more.” 

“But Javi,” you say with your brain still fuzzy, mind a jungle from how well he touches you. 

“Shut your brain down and take off your panties. I want to take care of my pregnant wife,” he orders with a peck to your slightly parted lips. He groans when you drag yourself off his cock, leaving a wet shine on the smooth skin. It slaps against his belly and forms a dark stain on his black t-shirt. 

You stand, albeit a little wobbly, in front of the couch and shimmy out of your underwear in the most elegant way possible with a pregnant belly. Then you watch him tug his jeans down his thighs and kick them off. He follows it up by ridding himself of his t-shirt too before rearranging himself on the sofa to make it easy for you both. He chooses to lie flat on his back, stretching his body, overworked from today’s farmwork, with a satisfied grunt while he waits for you to climb onto him. 

“Come here, mamacita,” he says when you straddle him carefully. He coaxes you to crawl forward by pushing gently on the back of your thighs. You always worry about smothering him like this, especially when pregnant, but he doesn’t ever complain, actually gets more enthusiastic about it than you. 

“¿Así? (Like this?)” You ask shakily when you hover just above his ravenous mouth. His breath ghosts over your cunt, cooling the slick slightly and driving you crazy. 

“Así, yes, just like that,” he replies. He reaches up and runs his index finger across your clit before spreading you open for his tongue, your body responding with a sharp intake of air, “You want me to touch you here, baby?” 

“Yeah, so badly,” you swallow around nothing and close your eyes, waiting patiently for him to stop his teasing. He is so good at this that the wait is awful.

“Yeah,” he repeats without mocking you, “My gorgeous wife is insatiable.”

Luckily, he doesn’t keep you waiting. His nose nudges you first then his mouth. He kisses your sensitive clit a few times before tensing up his tongue, it feeling silky smooth where you need it the most.

One of his strong hands rests on your swollen belly while the other scratches along the length of your thigh, creating nail marks that he soothes with his rough palm afterward. Simultaneously, his touch makes you relax further and settle more onto his face. 

“Use me, honey. I deserve to be used for how cruel I have been,” he hums below you before he stretches his neck and dives in to practically devour your cunt, You rock yourself back and forth with tiny gasps at the heat already tightening in your belly, his nose catching on your clit with every other grind of your hips to build another orgasm steadily. 

But despite how much he’d claim that he’s not aching to come, you wouldn’t believe it for a second. With a stretched-out arm behind you and your palm on his thigh to steady you, you lean back slightly so your other hand can reach for his still hard and ready cock. You wrap your fingers around him to earn a gasp against your core, the work of his tongue faltering for just a second.

You stroke him with the same hunger that he is showing you, working him to the edge while both of your moans bounce off the walls even if he is muffled by how enthusiastically he eats your pussy at the same time. 

He comes with his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, his body tensing up for a second until it releases with a groan. The sound is so hot that you grind a little harder on his skilled tongue, feeling how he pulses in your hand and coats it in thick stripes of his seed. 

He responds almost gratefully. Both hands settle on the small of your back to pull you forward onto your hands and knees. You try not to get come onto the couch, giggling in surprise through a moan of his name. But the laughter dies in your throat when he holds you firmly in place and slips one hand between your thighs again. 

He pushes two fingers into you while suckling expertly on your clit. You see stars begin to form on your eyelids, almost wail when he makes a come-hither motion towards your belly. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

“I think… Javi, I’m gonna— Stop, I’ll—“ you cry when your thighs start to shake. He doesn’t relent, apparently knows exactly what he wants and he isn’t shy about it like you are. His fingers work fast, enough for your cunt to drool into his palm. 

And with that, you come one more time and the pressure it releases inside of you is so good that it makes you gush all over his chin. Your voice breaks into a high-pitched cry and he holds his fingers against that perfect spot inside of you, keeps them there while your orgasm peaks and you can’t help but apologize for how much you’re wetting his face.

When you think it is over, he drags the digits out slowly and shoves them back in. The pads of his fingers have you hunching over and gasping his name, another gush forcing its way past his fingers. He drinks your come as if he were a man in the desert, desperate and starved. 

You take it like a champ, trying not to squash him with how your thighs tighten around his head during the last few shocks of pleasure that he brings out of you, and eventually, you sag enough for him to help you back down into his lap. 

You are horrified by the sight of him at first, red-faced and bathed in your slick and come. However then you see the glint in his eyes, the lopsided grin that he gives you as he props himself up on an elbow. He is pussydrunk out of his mind. 

“How are you feeling now, mi vida (my life)?” He asks while reaching for his t-shirt with his free hand. He wipes his face with it, his eyes still glazed over with bliss and pride; the combination that only exists in a man who has just made his wife orgasm let alone gush all over him. 

“Forget about me,” you laugh breathlessly and use the t-shirt for your messy hand too, “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Very good,” he sits up to face you and lets you take the t-shirt out of his hands. He looks completely at your mercy, “You’re so fucking hot.”

“I bet,” you find a clean side of the garment to wipe at a spot he has missed then playfully swipe at his nose, “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome, mi amor (my love),” he whispers as he comes closer. He takes your wrist in his hand until you drop the t-shirt and then leans in for a long, drawn-out kiss that has your whole body weak. He guides your hand to his face and mirrors it with his own on your cheek. The look he gives you causes you to chew on your bottom lip, “Lo siento por hoy (I’m sorry about today).”

“You don’t have to apologize for your wife being a little crazy because of hormones,” you brush it off - after all, the aftermath always makes you look back on it and feel silly - but he just rests his forehead against yours and nods. 

“I know but I should have cleared it with you and with the baby, or at least have taken you with me,” he kisses your forehead and you feel how tired you are now, the sweet gesture grounding you even more than sex ever could. 

“As if we could have done anything about my little problem at your dad’s,” you try once again to let it slide. You rest your face in the crook of his neck, content with your naked vulnerability in his presence. 

“I would’ve found a way,” he jokes and earns a slap to his chest but then his tone grows serious. He buries his nose in your hair, “Eres todo para mi. Eres mi vida, mi esposa hermosa, la madre de mi hijo (You’re everything to me. You’re my life, my beautiful wife, the mother of my child).”

“Javi,” you look up at him shyly from where your head rests. He smiles down at you but mirrors your tone to tease and says your name. 

“Hablo en serio (I’m serious). I would do anything for you, mamá,” he adds, “And for our bebé.”

“Even fetch me - I mean us - a snack?” You grin, glowing with fondness for him but feeling nearly overwhelmed by his words in your state of bliss. He knows how much you love him though, knows it especially by how you look at him right now. 

“Especially fetch you a snack,” he wraps his arms around you to hug you tightly, your belly bumping against his, “What does the queen of this household want?”

“A strawberry milkshake?” You suggest hesitantly as if to make the request optional, “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“A strawberry milkshake!” He repeats enthusiastically and makes you laugh, making the way he detangles himself from you easier even if you want him to never leave your side again.

“Who knew that growing a baby came with having a househusband,” you say while he gets up from the couch and helps you to lie down comfortably. He puts a pillow under your knees and one behind your back. The couch’s mess will have to wait. 

“It’s the full Javier Peña experience,” he leans down over you for one last kiss before he pushes himself to stand up straight once more. He doesn’t look at you as he continues, has already turned his back. You watch the way his muscles flex as he heads for the kitchen, shirtless and only in his boxers, “And I plan on doing it forever, mi reina (my queen).”

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If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL as Reed Richards/Mister Fantastic AVENGERS: DOOMSDAY (2026) dir. Anthony and Joe Russo

[babyh8ney]

hands… spiral tattoo… curls… 🫪 [thinking of this as harry after the events of the materialist]

[loveoverpride]

pov/imagine: he’s the late night voice you hear on the radio before you fall asleep. sometimes you call in and he answers. and then, things get interesting… what happens now?

weekend thots and foolery.

[rifflovesjoey]

Crew Call: Getting Riff to the Next Venue.

This community has always been a sanctuary, and right now, I need to call on my crew. Next week, I’m headed into the hospital for some major diagnostic testing and a high-risk biopsy. It’s a lot to face, especially after recently surviving a heart attack, but finding answers is the first step toward getting well.

To get to these appointments, I’ve got a 50-mile commute ahead of me. I'm raising funds exclusively for Ubers to ensure I can get there and back safely. This is the way—but I need a little hyperdrive fuel. Any help with the fare is deeply appreciated. i love you all so much.💜

🚀 Fuel the Hyperdrive Here