This Was Absolutely Beautiful!!! I Love Reading Your Stories So Much Shortie!

This was absolutely beautiful!!! I love reading your stories so much Shortie! ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve had this one on my TBR list because I’m a sucker for a good binge when it comes to a series. You can bet once Roommates is finished I’ll be gobbling that one up too! 😍

'i know who you are' masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

-or-

Joel has to make you fall in love with him all over again.

Series Warnings: smut MDNI (18+), post outbreak, language, angst, hurt/comfort, graphic depictions of violence, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter

Status: complete

I started a notifications blog in lieu of a taglist: @punkshort-notifs

Chapters:

1: the beginning

2: the journal

3: the accident

4: the others

5: the dinner

6: the fight

7: the week

8: the return

9: the end

Extras/BTS/Inspo:

Floor Plan

Pregnancy Scare headcanon

Drabbles/Requests:

Never Enough - a day in the life pre-accident

Before - the morning of the accident

Jealous - you finds out about Angie (the first time)

Stubborn - the night Joel convinces you to make things official

It didn't mean anything - Joel finds out about your history with Ben for the first time

Three Words - You remember another memory, this one more special than the rest

dividers by @saradika-graphics

KIKI! My word 😫 I may just love these two as much as I do Frankie and Mouse. The patience and kindness Ezra shows has me SWOONING!!! 😍🥰😍🥰😍

The Mouse Turned Little Bird feat. Frankie Morales, Ezra & f!reader

Summary: The lead up to dinner was stressful - but are you ready to take it further? Part 3 of There are Other Fish in the Sea

Pairing: Frankie, Ezra & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,052

Content Warnings: Kissing, mentions of food, overcooked salmon, unseasoned quinoa, wine, playing hooky from work, deep thoughts, deep feelings, Ezra being a patient wonderful human being, Ezra also has two arms (sorry for not mentioning that previously)

Author's Notes: Mouse is trying, y'all... she really wants to move on and get better, but as we all know, healing isn't linear.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled, @mothandpidgeon and @neverwheremoonchildfor their eyes and love.

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You couldn’t sleep. 

Despite the initial joy you got from rebuffing Frankie and getting a yes from Ezra, you weren’t able to settle. The day’s events, while not enough to move mountains, had moved you a little farther on your path to…

Fuck.

You had no idea where this path was leading you or if there even was a path. Maybe you were lumbering through dense forest towards a chasm, or wandering aimlessly through a desert. Or maybe there was a path, but it was the wrong one and you were trudging to certain doom and not self discovery. 

The room was so quiet as you laid back and blinked in the dark, thoughts and worries swirling in your head as your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your ears. You felt guilty on top of the uncertainty. The guilt gnawed at you; Benny had opened up his home and put the relationship with his brother and his best friends below you and you felt that there was nothing you could do to repay him or even let him know how much you appreciated it. 

But there was something else, under that guilt, picking away the last bit of shrunken-in-the-night confidence you had left - regret.

Regret for denying Frankie the chance to show you he was a better man now and regret for perhaps moving on to Ezra too soon. What if Frankie was truly sorry? What if Ezra was no better? What if you still loved Frankie and you could never love Ezra?

Why the fuck am I thinking about loving Ezra? I wonder how big his dick is.

Your face skewed in shock at yourself. 

“I didn’t mean that.”, you hissed out in urgency, as if that would atone for the alleged sin of thinking about Ezra’s manhood. You paused, waiting to see if someone would answer then you furrowed your brow.

“Who the fuck am I talking to?”

*****

You’d taken a sick day since you got so little sleep, opting to stay in bed and mull over the irony of a sick day while you had a work-from-home job. After texting Benny to let him know, you tossed your phone down and rolled over.

There was a knock at your door, then it opened and cats came in, wailing their morning song, followed by Benny carrying two cups of coffee.

“So you’re moping.”

“M’not moping.”, you groaned into your pillow.

“Hey, man - I am all for taking advantage of sick days, but you’re not sick. You’re moping.”

Benny places the coffee cups on your bedside table and sat on the end of the bed, then laid back, his head on your blanketed calf.

You shifted your leg in irritation and huffed, and he in turn grabbed your ankle from under the blanket and tugged gently.

“Tell me again why I should go away and abandon you for a weekend?”

“Benny…”, you sighed.

“Just say the word, Mouse. I’ll stay.”

You said nothing because you knew your silence was enough of an answer.

You both laid there quietly for a period of time, the cats both joining you on the bed, and you were just about to lull off to the sound of Bagels purring as he rolled up in the crook of your neck when Benny spoke, the shit eating grin on his face apparent in his tone. 

“You’ve got a fuckin’ date tonight.”

*****

Benny left for work, taking his packed bag with him and said he would see you Sunday night, and you spent the day tidying up the apartment. Grocery shopping 2.0 was far more successful and you got the items you needed for making dinner.

You knew Ezra was not a vegan or vegetarian - based on his declared love of trying exotic meats on his travels, and you knew he did not like mashed potatoes, given the face he made when another patron at the bistro mentioned them and he responded with, “Solanum tuberosum was meant for roasting and nothing else, friend, Saying otherwise is an affront to nature herself.”

The memory made you smile, recalling how Ezra smirked and winked at you after you googled what a slolanim toobera som was and mouthed Potato? at him.

*****

You buzzed Ezra up to the apartment and nervously fixed your dress. You heard his footsteps in the hallway and preemptively opened the door. His hand was up, ready to knock, and his eyebrows were raised. You both look at each other, nervous excitement charged between you.

“You are an eager host, little bird.”

Even though you forgot the salt in the quinoa and the salmon was over cooked, Ezra never let on that there was anything wrong. He talked at length about him and his life, and repeatedly gave you the chance to step in and share, which you did albeit cautiously. His eyes never carried judgment - just curiosity, like the kind you might find in the eyes of someone trying to solve a riddle. And he didn’t prod too deeply, but  rewarded you with his smile when you did share.

“Any more family beyond Benny?”, he queried as he took a bite of very well done salmon.

“Benny has a brother, but he and I are… we’re not close.”

Ezra nods. “I, too, have family that I find associating with beyond my mother’s annual yule note to be grating.” He took a sip of wine. “Which is why I firmly believe in the family you make.”

You nodded and watched him. You wanted to know why he took such an interest with you. You’d wondered aloud to Benny once, asking if certain people were drawn to broken things and if so, was it because they wanted to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable state. Benny had smiled and responded with, “Some people are just tinkerers and want to help fix broken things.”

Benny’s words had reminded you of Frankie and his innate need to pull apart engines and electronics and rebuild them in a way he thought was better - like he wanted to control the make-up of the things around him and make them work better for him. Maybe even you fell under that banner.

Ezra didn’t seem like that. Less concerned with control, he was more of a poet: he watched and observed and made commentary. He seemed to be more along the lines of ‘let the pieces fall where they may’ and that is what drew you to him. But what was it about you?

“How long have you lived with Ben - “

“What’s the catch?”

He raised his brows at you and put his wine glass down, huffing a chuckle. “Catch?”

You nodded, grinning slightly and leaning in. “You said yes to coming for dinner after I left you in a panic. I’m just curious.”

He sucked his teeth a bit and sat back, crossing his arms. 

“You looked lost when you darkened my doorway the first time.” Looking you over, he seemed to be contemplating how to answer. “You seemed to find yourself a little more each time you sat across the bartop from me. And the more I saw of that little bird, the more I wanted to know why she could not fly.”

Your question was answered.

*****

After the table was cleared, you stood in front of the kitchen sink, rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

“Mouse.”, he murmured softly.

You looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at a picture on the fridge - the one that was torn in half, its partner probably thrown out or burned. It was you and Benny from a few years ago, both wearing shirts with your names crudely spray painted across them. The other side of the picture that held Will, Santi, Hannah and Frankie was left behind in your old home.

Ezra kept his eyes trained on you in the photo, leaning in, and his index finger gently grazed the torn, ragged edge. You swallowed, wondering if his mind was trying to imagine what the missing piece held that rendered it unwanted, and solve another riddle you had set out for him. The longer he stayed quiet, the more fidgety and anxious you felt.

“I assumed Mouse was a pet name reserved only for those in your inner circle.”, he mused softly, taking one last look at the photo before turning to you with a lopsided smile. “You prefer Mouse or…”

You let go of the breath you were holding with a nod, relief washing over you. You moved toward him in a few small, slow steps. “Uh - Mouse was a nickname from when I was a kid that stuck. I- uh, didn’t really have a say. I… I kinda like Little Bird - but you can call me Mouse. Whatever you want.”

The nervous, forced titter of a laugh that you ended with made his eyes soften. Ezra nodded, turning his body towards you. He grinned, giving you a flash of his gold tooth. “Then I dub thee Little Bird.”

****

“... and I made Benny swear that he’d go to his grave with it, but I’m sure my mom knew something was up - how could she not?”

Ezra’s eyes creased as he laughed. “You are as devious as you are beautiful.”

As you sat on the couch, turned towards one another, both nursing a second glass of red wine. God, you wanted to kiss him. That freckle on his neck, the dimple on his cheek… you imagined kissing him and running your tongue over the golden tooth in his mouth. His fingers played the sleeve of your shirt and his eyes softened and darted to your lips and back up.  His jaw ticked as if he were weighing his options and deciding on his next move, seemingly thinking the same thing as you were.

“A conundrum you are, Little Bird.” His voice was so soft, yet it held so much power. “Sublime, soft, sweet, vexxed - but wounded.”

Your face heated up and you looked down at your glass of wine, clutched in your hand. You mulled over how much to share with him; you didn’t want to scare Ezra away, but you felt he deserved to know at least something about where you had come from.

“The last guy I was with… He and I had- well, we ended things at a low point… badly.”

He shook his head, hushing you. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re - “

“He had issues and I couldn’t- didn’t help. Communication was not his strong suit and eventually, it felt like I didn’t know him anymore. And… he hurt- we hurt each other. A lot. And he cheated on me.”

Raising your gaze, you looked at him, cautiously, waiting for the fallout. Instead you met with Ezra leaning in, taking your wine glass and putting it aside, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a moment. As he moved to pull away your hand came up to his face, silently begging him to not stop. He pushed in further, running his tongue along your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth. It was nothing like you imagined; for the last six years, you’d only ever kissed Frankie and his kiss was dominant and forceful, like a freight train. Ezra though - his unfolded like a slow, enchanting dance. There was nothing rushed and you felt as though you were falling hard for him.

It was too soon. Too fast. You barely knew him outside of the almost two months you’d spent sitting at the bar and tonight’s dinner. Your mind began to panic, racing with the thought of Frankie’s crestfallen face as you rejected him and now you were kissing another man so soon after.

You parted from him, clenching your eyes and you rested your forehead against his. His large hand held your jaw, his thumb soothing over your cheek and murmured, “Little Bird…”

Sitting back, you felt foolish and vulnerable, but you forced yourself to speak.

"I... I don't think I'm ready. Ezra, I - I'm sorry." He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the grooves in your palm. 

"You'll take flight again, Little Bird. And when you're ready, I'll be there to help open your cage."

Oh fuck me. 

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This was such a fun and hot read 😍🥵

Come Fly With Me

Thank you anon for this request!

I'm double dipping and using this as an entry into my own AU August Writing Challenge ❤️

Pairing: pilot!joel miller x flight attendant!reader one-shot

Summary: You and Joel have a little fun in the cockpit.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), competency kink, public sex (kind of?), unprotected piv sex, reference to blow job, light spanking

WC: 2.5K

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Welcome on board flight 1092, flyin' from Orlando to Austin. Our flight time today is 2 hours and 40 minutes, but I know a few shortcuts, I'll get us there a little quicker.

You smiled to yourself when you heard the familiar ripple of laughter cut through the plane.

On a personal note, this flight is particularly special for me. My wife is on board today, so if you see her, please don't listen if she tells you 'bout my drivin'.

Captain Miller just got married a few days ago and it was still strange to see the gold band around his finger. It seemed he was struggling with it, too, because you caught him fiddling with it every time you glanced inside the cockpit.

You listened from the galley, doing your checks and making sure everything was locked and secured as Joel announced the temperature, how to operate the systems installed in the seats, and how to call an attendant for help. It was a speech you heard a thousand times.

Finally, he wrapped things up with on behalf of myself and the crew, thank you for choosing us as your airline today. Have a wonderful flight.

You stood at your post with a smile plastered across your face as you watched Marissa and Brian explain to bored looking faces how to engage the floatation device and oxygen masks hidden around each passenger when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You didn't even turn around. You knew who it was.

"Once we're clear, come and see me, sweetheart."

A thrill of excitement slithered down your spine and you tilted your face to the side so you could whisper, "you're a married man, now. We shouldn't be doing that anymore."

"A ring 'round my finger ain't changin' a goddamn thing here."

And then he was gone.

It took nearly an hour. A full hour where you had to do your first round of service, handing out snacks and drinks to people who mostly ignored you and rarely offered their thanks before you brought your cart back to the galley to clean up.

You heard the door to the cockpit open and Frank, the co-pilot, stepped out and stretched. He saw you and smiled, nodded his head, then asked if he could take ginger ale, like always. And your response was always the same.

"You don't need to ask, Frank."

He grinned and gave you a little salute before he did his rounds. Frank was very personable. He enjoyed meeting new people and hearing their stories. When an extrovert has a job where he meets new people every six hours or so, it's a match made in heaven.

And it's especially good for you and Joel because you both know he won't be back for at least half an hour, probably more.

Glancing around to make sure none of the other flight crew saw you, you tapped lightly on the door then slipped inside.

No matter how many times you saw it, and at that point it had to have been hundreds, the cockpit always left you breathless. When you first step in, you're instantly overwhelmed with lights, buttons, levers and monitors. The control panel was absolutely massive and intimidating. And it was one of the things that attracted you to Joel in the first place.

Watching him operate a plane with such ease, hardly even having to think as he went through the motions turned you on from day one. Part of you always thought he knew it, too. From the moment he saw you, he knew he had you in the palm of his hand.

And you loved every second of it, married or not.

"Captain," you said breathlessly, then grinned when he turned around and slid off his headset. The ache between your legs had been steadily growing for the past hour and you were at the point where if he didn't do something about it within the next five minutes, you would take matters into your own hands. Literally.

"C'mere, darlin'. Why don't you sit on my lap?"

He patted his thighs, clad in dark navy blue, same as your skirt, and you giggled before doing as you were told.

He hummed appreciatively and ran his big hands up and down your legs, which were spread wide and straddling him.

"Pretty little thing," he murmured. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and slowly, subtly, began to roll your hips.

"What if someone catches us one day?" you whispered before leaning forward to taste the skin under his jaw.

"Ain't no one gonna catch us," he assured you, dragging his hands up and over your hips to cup your ass and give it a firm squeeze.

You groaned and started to move your hips faster. You could feel his cock stiffening against his leg and you felt yourself clench around nothing. Fuck, you wanted him so badly. Every single time it was like this. Your need for him was never quenched. But still, you enjoyed teasing him from time to time.

"Didn't you just get married a few days ago?"

You felt his hands pause momentarily, leaving your skirt hiked up around your waist but your underwear still on.

"What's your point?"

You smiled and bit gently at his earlobe. "My point is, wasn't your wedding night enough to satisfy you?"

His hands resumed exploring your body and you felt a deep rumble vibrate from his chest.

"You know the answer to that."

And he was right. You did.

The answer was the reason he asked you to come see him in the first place.

Joel slid his fingers past the waistline of your panties, swiping them through your folds with a pained groan.

"Fuck, so wet, baby," he said. Your hips tried to chase his fingers, tried to keep him where you needed him most, but he was too fast.

"You gonna fly this plane and fuck me at the same time, Captain?" you murmured seductively. He smirked and nodded.

With your breath coming in quick little excited pants, you tugged on his zipper while he pulled your panties to the side.

"Need me that bad, huh?" he teased, and normally you might say something smart right back, but on that particular day you wanted him more than usual. Maybe it was the gold band that was catching the sun in just the right way, the thought of him being married now egging you on and making you needier, but whatever it was had the seam between your legs absolutely dripping for his attention.

"Oh!" you cried out, then immediately slapped your palm over your mouth when you first felt him breech your opening. He chuckled and continued to guide your hips down, watching in a trance as you took every inch of him deep within your walls while you whimpered in his ear and tried you best to remain quiet.

"Shh, darlin', I got you," he said softly, his own face pinched as he tried to hold back from slamming up into you. "I got you. Yeah, feel that? Feel how good you take me?"

You nodded because it was true. You could feel your body relaxing and opening for him, happily welcoming him back in.

He gave you a few minutes to adjust. He always did, and you appreciated that. You were always the one who ended up doing most of the work given the small space, so it was the least he could do.

With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder and gazed out at the clouds while he gently stroked your back. The view never got old. It felt so surreal every single time, to be staring out at such beauty while stuffed full of his cock. It didn't get much better than that.

He whispered your name, voice sounding strained, and you lifted your head.

"Who's needy now?" you asked with a grin. He bit lightly at your chin and gave one of your ass cheeks a quick slap with his palm, making you jump and giggle before you began to roll your hips over his lap.

Joel's fingers dug into your skin with a sigh, gazing up at you adoringly while you rode him just the way you liked. There was something so fucking hot about him having complete control over the aircraft, hundreds of lives in his hands every single day, but you were the one who had the power over him. You were the one he yearned for, ached for. Since the first day you were assigned to his crew, he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He began to request you specifically be assigned to his flights as much as your schedules would allow, then one day on a particularly long flight you had brought him something to eat without him even asking. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes and you just desperately wanted to take care of him, so you brazenly dropped to your knees and took him inside your mouth while his eyes fluttered closed, the only noises filling the air came from the back of your throat and the tinny voice echoing through his abandoned headset nearby.

The rest was history.

He wondered if getting married might dull his desire for you, but he was foolish to think his feelings could ever change.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he growled when you picked up the pace and began bouncing in his lap, your tits jostling in your navy blue polo. He feverishly yanked the hem of your shirt up so it bunched up over your breasts and he made a pathetic little noise when he saw the white, lacy bra you had on underneath.

"Look at you, filthy thing," he murmured, squeezing at your covered breasts. "Fuckin' a married man like this. But I bet that just turns you on even more, don't it?"

You moaned and tipped your head back, chin aimed at the ceiling of the cockpit. His lips dragged down your throat, tongue shooting out to taste your skin, careful not to leave a mark. He was convinced at least Frank knew what you were doing in here but he didn't need to give the rest of the crew any reason to gossip.

Air traffic control crackled through the radio, checking in like they usually did when the plane reached a new zone.

"Hang on," he told you, so you gripped his shoulders while he leaned forward to pick up the receiver. His thumb hovered over the button to answer when he gave you a look. "Didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You grinned and resumed fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed down on the button, dropping his voice to sound more professional when he answered the man on the other end. He confirmed his coordinates, his credentials and his flight pattern with ease, all while you circled your hips and ground yourself down, your clit catching on the coarse hair at the base of his cock. You had to bite back a moan when he was talking, the pleasure mounting low in your belly making it difficult not to make any noise.

Finally, he put the receiver back and you moaned his name, your face buried in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound.

"You fuckin' love this, don't you? Love gettin' fucked in here, love the thrill of it, huh?"

"Yes," you whispered, your eyes squeezing shut as you closed in on your release. "Oh, god, Joel - fuck!" you sobbed when he began to lift his hips from his seat, fucking up into you, matching you thrust for thrust, grunting like an animal in your ear each time your hips made contact.

"Lemme feel you, baby. Wanna feel you shake for me," he said through clenched teeth. You gasped and nodded, mustering every ounce of energy you had left to slam yourself up and down on his thick cock, so desperate to come you didn't care if the door flung open and the whole plane saw what you were doing.

"Tell me how it feels, honey," he said. He must have been close, too. You've done this enough times to know he likes hearing you talk dirty to him right when he's about to come.

"Feels so good," you began, "you always fuck me so good. No one else has - shit - n-no one else has ever... oh, god, Joel," you whined, losing focus when your vision began to blur.

"Don't stop," he begged, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "Keep talkin', baby, please."

"Will you come inside me?" you whispered, your teeth scraping against your lower lip, turning the skin raw. "Wanna feel you inside me the whole flight. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," he gasped, forehead beaded with sweat, face flushed and jaw slack. "Yes, yes, yes... fuck! C'mon!" he groaned, slapping your ass a little harder than before.

You kept babbling, telling him how big he was, how badly you wanted him, how no one else has ever fucked you as good as he does when your voice caught in your throat and you came around his cock with a strangled moan.

He didn't hold back. He circled his arms around your waist and fucked up into you recklessly, your cunt pulsing around him while your chest heaved and your fingers clawed at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself through your high.

At the last second he pressed his face against the side of your neck, pinning you against his chest. He moaned, his mouth falling open when he came, not caring how loud he might have been. It felt too fucking good to feel himself fill you up, feel his hot spend pooling and dripping down his length while he weakly pressed into you, prolonging his orgasm as best he could before his limbs went weak and he sighed against your chest.

You were cooing in his ear, telling him how good he did, how full you were, fucking thanking him while his shoulders sagged and a shiver ran down his spine.

"Can't get enough of you," he whimpered. You grinned and kissed the top of his head before lifting yourself off his lap. He helped you slide your underwear back in place, the fabric immediately soaking with your combined release while you fixed your polo and stood up.

"Shit, my skirt's gonna be wrinkled," you muttered while he tucked himself away and zipped up his pants.

"Next time we'll just have to take it off," he teased, making you giggle and playfully swat at his shoulder.

"Next time? What would your wife have to say about that, Captain?"

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your left hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. He silently appraised the two rings nesting on your finger with a pleased smirk before letting you go.

"I don't know, you tell me."

You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against his lips, lingering for an extra moment before pulling away.

"She'd say she can't wait."

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

This fine piece of art got brought up in a discord server not long ago. When I saw it got reposted I had to make sure to save it so I could read it

🥵

Jett you beautiful soul! I have never wanted a sweaty Javier Peña more than I do right now!

Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot

Summary: A man starts coming into the gym where you work, and you find you can't keep your eyes off him when he starts to pump...

Pairing: Javier Peña x GN!Reader (No name, confirmed sex, age or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: PWP/Javi wearing the tiniest satin shorts ever made/cock outline/possible peek of a ball/very pervy thoughts over a very sweaty Javi 🥵

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I saw this amazing fanart of Javi, and the thots just thotted the fuck out of me... 🫠

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

His visits are the fucking highlight of your day.

You find yourself searching for him as you meander through the gym with an added bounce in your step, stack of laundered towels in hand as you drop them around the equipment like newspapers tossed on garden lawns.

Rows of clunky weightlifting machines stand proudly, their chrome frames gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights.

Tattered, vinyl-covered benches line the perimeter of the room, each one bearing the marks of countless hours of use by sweaty bodies and muscled lunkheads striving for physical perfection.

The sound of heavy metal plates clinking together fills the air as the group of agents, from the local DEA office across the steamed pavement street, load up barbells and dumbbells, their focused expressions a melee of pinched, taut brows and refined muscles.

Despite the seriousness of their profession, the moderately sized gym is a tatty haven where they can unwind and bond over their shared passion for catching dangerous narcos and pumping iron in machismo camaraderie.

The walls in Manny’s Gym are adorned with curled edge motivational posters featuring slogans like No Pain, No Gain and Train Hard, Fight Easy, with iconic muscle men of the current era plastered over them like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Franco Columbu, and Lou Ferrigno, serving as constant reminders of the grit and determination required to succeed in both the gym and the field.

The air is always thick with the unmistakable scent of musky sweat, mingling with the earthy aroma of old leather from well-worn punch bags that hang from the ceiling like dangling scrotums swaying in a pendulous rhythm.

Steamy showers and weak powdery deodorant permeates. It’s a heady concoction that hints at the countless hours of exertion and dedication that's saturated the space.

A scent that you’re all too familiar with and breathe in like starved oxygen.

The wooden floor creaks beneath your sneakers as you make your way further into the gym, the sound echoing off the walls.

As you approach the rows of clunky weightlifting machines, the tangy scent of metal fills your nostrils, accompanied by the faint whiff of oil used to lubricate the gears.

Despite his gruff exterior, Manny himself hosts a warm and welcoming demeanour to the regular gym goers, always ready with a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back for those who train under his roof.

He takes great pride in the sense of community that’s flourished within the gym, fostering a supportive environment where the local Bogotá law and DEA alike choose to pump here.

It’s not exclusive, your regular Joe Sixpack will frequent on occasion, but the familiar faces make it far more easy on the eye as you bask in the array of sweaty limbs on the daily.

They give you wolf-whistles and jeers as you shimmy on by handing out towels and sweat bands with a beaming, enticing smile.

But you don’t pay them no mind when they flirt back and grin with glistening rows of hungry teeth like you’re ripe for the plucking. A juicy peach bobbing in a swamp full of toothless alligators. They're physically respectful despite their obvious leers.

Most of them aren't really your type anyway. Stiff, upper pale bodies with honeyed hair falling in waves; the Americans are all the same Mattel crafted hard plastic.

Whereas you prefer something more dark and velvety rich like Colombian coffee that goes down easy and smooth and leaves a heady aftertaste on your lips.

There's one man in particular you'd like to drink down, whom you’ve noticed coming in a few times in recent weeks.

It’s hard to forget him with those tiny, satin shorts he wears in a stark canary yellow, and riding dangerously high up his lean, caramel thighs.

A break in the tight denim jeans that wrap around his legs when you’ve spied him leaving the gym, freshly clean and dressed after a hard workout, and heading back into the office.

Package stuffed tight up in there, poor thing; the brilliant tightness restricting and choking around that hefty bulge all day.

A neatly trimmed moustache adorns his upper lip, thick and fluffy, adding a touch of rugged charm to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. His standard issue DEA gym t-shirt seems a little on the small side, hugging around his golden biceps and riding skintight across the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man his size; a complete opposing parallel to the trimness of his waist. He’s like an inverted triangle.

It rides up a little over his tiny belly; a galaxy of dark hairs trailing down into his shorts that makes you lick your lips every time your eyes fall onto that hairy column.

His dark brown hair, slicked back slightly and curling on the nape, glistens with sweat, adding to his aura of intensity and focus. He exudes an effortless confidence as he moves from one exercise to the next.

The Latino-looking man focuses on a combination of strength training and cardio, showcasing his versatility and athleticism needed for the job he does.

And you find yourself enthralled in his routine, interrupting yours as you covertly watch him from behind the small desk trying not to flood it with your drool.

He usually starts with a set of heavy deadlifts; the sound of his puffs hissing through his teeth and reverberating through the gym as he lifts with perfect form.

Next, he moves on to explosive plyometric jumps. Clad in those tiny, satin shorts that hug his muscular thighs, his powerful legs propel him effortlessly into the air before landing with precision. You can’t help but watch as the muscles and cords in his thighs ripple with each slam of his soles on the floor.

Throughout his workout, he maintains a steely determination and laser-like focus with punishing chocolate eyes, pushing himself to the limit with each repetition; sweat glistening around his brow and temples and falling in tracks.

Despite the intensity of his workouts, there’s a relaxed confidence in his demeanour, reflected in the easy, fluid movements of his svelte body as he moves through the reps.

You watch his back move and shift, broad shoulder blades folding in and out as they flex under the snug fit of his fading t-shirt. His posture is upright and nonplussed, conveying a sense of self-assurance.

Standing at an average height, his frame is lean, yet powerful, and you can’t help but let your thoughts drift into murky territories as your eyes wander all over him and drink him up like a quenching soda on a sweltering day.

You know very little about him, only hearing his name muttered by the other agents as he addresses them pre-work, out or when they stop mid-way through to discuss, what you can only assume, is the cases they’re working on.

The dusty jukebox in the corner playing the current Billy Idol hit drowns them out somewhat at this distance.

But they call him Peña, or Javi as they sometimes greet him through lazy Spanish chit-chat.

He called you cariño once as he passed, mouthing a good morning to you with little effort.

He speaks with a soft, deep cadence; a gravelled grizzle wrapped around his pert lips, which is almost muted and out of full earshot.

But the one thing that's unmistakably loud and clear, is the grunting that pelts out of him.

Particularly when he does bench presses, or those barbell squats with the large weight resting on his shoulders. A deep, guttural grunt ruts out of him that sets your skin alight and makes your genitals want to break out the pompoms and start cheering his name doing high kicks.

They flow unabashed out of him as he pants and hisses. And you like it when he does those squats the most, watching as he parts his feet steady, and slowly lowers his pert ass down towards the floor, rendering those tiny shorts to almost disappear entirely into the rounded crack of his cheeks.

Fuck...

Javi focuses on his reflection in the mirror, lips curled back under that buoyant dark fluff lining his top lip, and teeth clenched in a snarl as he breathes out and grunts loudly with every push upwards from those strong thighs that tense and quiver.

As you observe him from across the gym, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you feel towards him as it licks up your spine; it makes you clench and sweat just watching him and the fantastic sex-like faces he makes in the mirror.

His sculpted physique and rugged good looks are certainly appealing, but your eyes betray you and head further south at the constant movement inside his flimsy shorts.

Gaudy in their brightness, you see past them at the way they flout their thinness like they’re almost fucking see-through. You like the tease of how low they sit on his svelte hips. A simple tug and they’ll be round his ankles with ease.

You can make out the perfect outline of his heavy, flaccid cock hanging between his legs. Curves and ridges imprinted against the material like muscle memory. Flopping about so uncouthly as he moves like it’s battering you in the face.

Jesus fucking Christ.

With your task temporarily forgotten and brain slowly sluicing out of your ears, the sight of his cock outlining around the thin satin draws you in further. A third arm beckoning you in. Punching against the material with every movement from his hips as though you're mesmerised and drunk on the wildly pornographic view.

You’re pretty certain he’s not wearing any underwear, which is only confirmed by a fuzzy, pink sack peeping out at you some time later when he works on the bench, and draws his leg up.

You swallow dryly as you stare at it, and wonder instantly what it would taste like as you imagine running your mouth around its swell.

Tasting damp, matted pubic hairs sticking to your tongue, with a salted sweat and mixture of his own masculine musk on your tastebuds, and the more you ponder it, the more it makes your mouth water.

You just want to push him back on the bench, naked from the waist down except for his faded white sneakers on, ribbed thick socks pulled up to his shins, and spread his legs wide.

You want to slide your inquisitive tongue all over those sweaty, heavy balls of his and watch his cock throb and pulse before taking it deep into your throat.

A tight clench and a hiss. A pucker of a fluttering hole as you tease it with your tongue. Lips and hips bruised in unison.

Googly frog eyes stare out at him in wonder. A noise at the back of your throat registers, something inhuman between a gulp and a hiccup as he rises up again off the bench.

Humming and sighing audibly as he presents that ass out at you, shorts flapping around his cock lewdly in the mirror’s reflection as he squats again.

As you observe him from across the gym, you feel the pull of heavy want flooding your body in a stifling and suffocating heat. It makes your toes tingle and your heart thrum a bit harder. White noise steams inside your ears.

The dull, aching throb between your own legs makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair as you gulp and swallow at the spectacle.

With each lift of the weights and every drop of sweat that glistens on his brow and moustache, you find your mind sinking further into a perverted swamp of lust and unbridled thoughts running amok over your amygdala.

In your mind, Javi’s pushing you up against the mirror, face crushed against it, trailing bites down on the back of your slick neck like a dog in heat. Your breath fogging against the reflective sheet as he pins your wrists to it with his hands, leaving misty fingerprint smears on the polished glass.

You can taste the sweat on his top lip, fuzzy and damp, and it's damn delicious as he pushes his crotch into your ass. Hard and thick under those flimsy, lacquer-like shorts, leaking a patch of pre-cum soaking into them that blooms and darkens the silk.

His hands let go of your wrists and work their way down your arms, tickling gently and sending prickles to bubble and blister against your burning skin. He skims over your belly and hovers above your waistband; his hot breath inside your ears in gaspy, mouthed moans as he breathes out.

He whispers how much he wants you, how much he wants everyone to watch him fuck you up agasint this mirror, before he slips his nimble, thick fingers down inside the front of your shorts, grinding and rubbing himself against you.

He’s pulling down his satin shorts to let his hard, thick cock bounce out at you, pumping its uncut, rosy head inside his giant hand. Weeping and sticky, it shines at you as his fingers and thumb smear in the secretions, and you watch as he licks his fingers free of his own greased drippings.

You lick your lips ready for a taste as he guides the bulbous head towards your mouth as you sink, thudding to your knees. Feel him weighty and warm in your palm, squeezing just under the head and sliding the skin back to reveal that succulent bulb as you lick the tip and taste glassy bubbles flowing from him before swallowing him down deep.

Suck it, cariño, yeah like that… Tómalo todo. Trágatelo profundo. Si… aah, si. Fuck... (Take it all. Swallow it deep. Yes, aah yes.)

Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice when Javi actually glances in your direction; his dark eyes meeting yours briefly with a knitted brow and pink pout, before returning to his workout.

The brief exchange sends a thrill of wanton excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a spark of curiosity and anticipation that you can't ignore as it pulls tight between your legs and makes you pulse.

As the DEA agent finishes his workout and begins to gather his belongings - he carries a modest blue duffle bag, although never takes anything out of it's fullness - you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving you so riled up for another day.

He grabs his worn water bottle and squeezes a stream of water into his mouth, swallowing deep and plentiful mouthfuls of the jet, and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand when some of it trickles down his smoothly shaved chin.

You watch him pick up the towel you’d laid out, wipe his face off and that onyx-like stare is in your direction again. Two pools of dark tar sucking you in.

A wet, slithery thought creeping in between your ears makes a mental note to take that towel when he's done and defile the fuck out of it.

He finds something in your eyes, perhaps something that excites him, or repulses him. You’re not sure. You’re yet to embark on any formal conversation beyond a simple greeting out of politeness.

As Javi makes his way towards you, passing the desk towards the showers, you're convinced you see a small smirk prick at the corners of his lips.

Another wanton thought bolts its way into the filthy pit of your mind. You see yourself rising up on the balls of your feet in the shower block and presenting your behind out to him and he bends you over further to touch your toes.

You feel his grip around your waist as he slides in and packs you out, stretching you around him. Knees buckling and being drowned by the spray from above as he fucks you hard against the cool, mildewed tiles in the shower block.

You feel like your spine will crack with the pressure, but you don’t care as he pulls you back, hammering up into you. Fingers grazing around your throat, teeth biting into the ball of your wet shoulder.

So fucking tight, just like I love it, baby...

You're gasping his name as your orgasm rips through you and he spills himself inside of your hole with Spanish expletives howling in your ear.

His thick, plentiful come seeps out of you; leaking, pouring. So much pumped into you as he grunts into your ear - shuddering with a high-octane thrill as his moustache tickles against your skin.

You’ll think about this again - about him - when you're at home later; that towel shoved between your legs and soaked with your own leakings.

You catch the hazy scent of Javi as he passes by the desk, subtly inhaling the stench of his sweat; an intoxicating, potent blend of musk and masculinity that leaves you feeling breathless.

A primal aroma that grabs you by the lapels to shake the cock-addled stupid out of you as you catch a glimpse of that package swaying and bobbing around in his tiny flaxen shorts to torment you further.

And once more you swallow around a constricted gulp as he meets your wandering gaze.

“Hasta la próxima vez, cariño.” (See you next time, honey.) He simply husks, as he tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder and struts towards the showers.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this sweaty story. Please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

**This is a re-creation of my original post from my old deactivated blog, therefore the links on the old post will no longer work. This is the most up to date version.**

@beefrobeefcal How ironic I stumble across this!

(sobbing, through tears) i... i wanna watch him jerk off!!!!!

(sobbing, through tears) i... i wanna watch him jerk off!!!!!