Thank You For The Challenge! I Had So Much Fun Writing This, Glad You Liked It!

Thank you for the challenge! I had so much fun writing this, glad you liked it! ❤️

When It Rains

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! PWP, mostly porn but some plot, unprotected PIV(Don't do this IRL, be safe, make smart choices), kissing, fingering(f receiving), cream pie, flirting.

I'm trying to practice smut more, be kind. This is for @undercoverpena's April Showers prompt!

Thank you so much to @notjustjavierpena for helping me with the moodboard and the grammar stuff, @strang3lov3 for editing and leaving encouraging comments, and @beefrobeefcal for also betaing! Don't know what I would do without you lovely people! ❤️

@jay-zzle is my Spanish expert and dear friend who has helped me with a lot of my translations. Plus she's also one of the main reasons I'm trying to learn Spanish 🥰

divider by @saradika-graphics

You’ve been assigned the stakeout with Javier Peña at a nightclub, where it’s been rumored that some of Escobar’s sicarios frequent regularly. It’s not a problem per se, but it could just be a tad distracting considering the circumstances. No one, not even Murphy, has seemed to catch wind of what has been going on between the two of you; the late-night meet-ups, the storage closet, the file room, hell - there was even one time late at night in the office the three of you share. You’re professional though, work always comes before play. That’s been the rule since the beginning. 

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Javi comments, pushing his head to the car’s window, and looking up, “We could definitely use it.”

You hum in agreement, watching the nightclub like a hawk. As you listen to the pulsing music radiating from the club, watching people file in and out of the building, none seem to be any of Escobar’s crew just yet. The night seems to be growing darker as the clouds glide across the sky, covering the bright moon's light. Soon enough, small drops of rain begin to fall, turning into fat drops within minutes, downpour to follow.

“Fuck,” you hiss, gripping the steering wheel and peering out the dash window, “Of course.”

“Nothing wrong with some rain,” Javi smirks, looking at you.

“Except for the fact we can’t see shit!”

“Maybe we could do something else with our time?” Javi suggests, laying his arm against the back of the bench seat and scooting his hips forward to get more comfortable. His hand creeps onto your shoulder, rubbing small circles against the bare skin there, skimming past the hem of your tank top.

“Javi,” you scold, shrugging your shoulders to get your point across,  “No, we’re working.”

“Can’t see shit in this rain,” Javi grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest, “Least we could have some fun.”

“Maybe it’ll die down,” you suggest, looking at him. He matches your stare with those pleading eyes of his. Those dark eyes, the way they make you want to melt every single time they land on you.

It’s been 20 minutes and the downpour hasn’t relented. After seeing how you wouldn’t be doing something else with your time like he suggested, Javi’s beginning to become restless.  

“When it rains it pours, hermosa,” Javi says, grinning at you. Your pulse jumps at that word. Hermosa. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s how it always starts.

“Javi,” you warn, reminding him again, “We are working. You know the rules, work then play.”

He moves closer to you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “We’ve played at work before, cariño.” Goosebumps pebble across your skin. You hope he can’t see them with how dark it is. You crane your head away from him and grab the binoculars from the dash, choosing to ignore the burning desire between your thighs. You just need to focus on work. You feel Javi lean back in the seat, his eyes boring into the side of your head. You put the binoculars against your face, grunting in annoyance when you still can’t see anything.

“Bebé,” Javier says, grabbing the binoculars from your grip, “Let’s call it night, hmm?”

He throws them into the back seat with a smirk, leaning closer to you, grabbing the back of your neck, and gently urging you toward him. His index finger sweeps against your cheek, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. He smiles warmly at you before dipping his head to meet your lips. Your hands rest against his chest, fingers fiddling with the open V of his button-up. 

You moan against his mouth when he licks your bottom lip, allowing him access to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues caressing each other, your hands move to the nape of his neck. Your lips make their way to his jaw and down his neck, your teeth lightly scrape his pulse point.

“Mira que duro me pones(look how hard you make me),” Javi says, pulling you onto his lap, grinding against your center to let you feel his growing bulge. “Te deseo(want you),” he growls.

You let out a faint gasp. Javi has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you against him, one hand finding its way to your center, palm pressing firmly against your clit through the denim of your jeans. You moan against his throat at the sensation.

“Javi,” you whimper as he flicks the button of your jeans open and begins to tug on them impatiently. “Fuck, Javi. I gotta get my damn shoes off first.”

He grabs your jeans, helping you out of them after knocking your shoes off. Javi brings his hand back to your center, rubbing precise circles against your clothed clit, moving down to pull your panties aside. Javi hums, capturing your lips again, tongue tangling with yours, enjoying feeling the slick against your slit.

“So wet,” he says, teasing two thick digits against your entrance. You hum with a nod of your head, crying out when he pushes them into your wet heat.

“Javi,” you moan, putting your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips in time with his fingers. “Fuck.” Beginning to feel the coil in your belly tightening.

“¿Así, bebé?(just like that, baby?)” He asks, moving his thumb to massage small quick circles on your clit. You whimper his name when he curves his fingers just right, hitting that spot he knows you love. His mouth leaving open mouth kisses along your neck, reaching your pulse point he begins to suck lightly. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening more, your walls beginning to flutter against his fingers every time he hits that spot with the pads of his fingers.

“Eres mía(you’re mine),” Javi whispers against your neck.

“So close,” You whine, moving your hips faster, his fingers sinking in deeper with each roll of your hips. He moves his head from your neck to look at you, gripping the back of his neck, crashing your mouth into his. Javi moans, beginning to feel your walls clamp around his fingers. The coil in your belly snaps, shooting white-hot lightning through your entire body. Your hand pulls onto the hair at the nape of his neck, causing Javi to let out a guttural groan, pulling you back down from your high.

“Fuck me,” you sigh against his lips.

“That’s the plan, cariño(honey),” Javi smirks, kissing you again, scooting to lay his back against the seat.

Your hands slide down his chest, popping open the buttons of his shirt. You smirk, leaning into his collarbone and placing soft kisses before biting down gently.

“Fuck, bebé(baby),” Javi says sucking in a breath, moving his hands between your bodies to fumble with his belt, “Te necesito(need you)”

You lift up, swatting his hand away to work his belt and jeans open. He lifts his hips and helps you lower his jeans, his stiff member slapping against his stomach.

“Javier Peña,” you tsk, shaking your head at him, “Commando? Did you miss laundry day?”

“Knew about this assignment for weeks now. Asked to be paired up with you,” Javi smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Figured this would happen.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You laugh, playfully smacking his chest.

“Awe, come on now, chica sucía(dirty girl)” Javi says, placing your hands on his chest, “You know it’s—“

You grind against his cock, hands pressing firmly against his chest and he lets out a groan.

“That’s one way to get you to shut up,” you grin, slowly grinding your wetness along his shaft, the tip catching your bundle of nerves with every roll of your hips. Javi shifts up grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you to his lips in a hungry kiss. He moves his hand down to line his cock up to your entrance and you slowly sink down on it, taking it inch by inch. You're no stranger to Javi’s cock but each time feels like the first with how thick he is.

“Estás tan apretada, mi amor(you’re so tight, my love)” Javi growls, against your throat, “No pares(don’t stop)” holding onto your hips as you sink further down on him, ass cheeks finally resting on his thighs. You kiss him, both of you taking a minute to savor the feel of one another, Javi gently rubbing his fingers up and down your spine with one hand while the other holds your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javi murmurs, caressing his nose against your cheek before capturing your lips again, moaning into the kiss as you tentatively roll your hips. His hand settles on your lower back, letting you take control at a slow tempo, letting you enjoy the way his cock massages your inner walls. You moan feeling your nipples beginning to harden between your layers and his chest.

“Javi!” You gasp when he snaps his hips holding onto your lower back firmly.

“Need to see you,” Javi huffs, moving his hand from your face to your shoulder and pushing you to sit up, breath hitching as you swallow more of his length into your core. He rids you of your tank top and pushes the cups of your bra down. You begin to lightly bounce on his cock, moaning at the feel of his hands on you, fingers from one hand beginning to pinch your left nipple while his other hand slides down your ribs, gripping your waist. “Eres mía(you’re mine),” he growls. You can feel your climax nearing, your thighs beginning to shake, feeling the heat running through your body as you bounce.

“Want to take you out,” Javi grunts, your walls begin to tighten at his words, “Make sure that ev-fuck-everyone knows you’re my girl,” he rambles, gripping your waist tighter, snapping his hips into you. “Eres mía(you’re mine).”

“Javi,” you cry out, wanting all of those things and more, your walls fluttering around his shaft, “Fuck, Javi- yes, yes, yes, yes!” Your walls clamp down on him, milking his cock while your vision blurs.

“Fuck,” Javi whines, hips stuttering, emptying himself inside you. He sits up, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him softly, leaning your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. Javi looks into your eyes and grins as his softening cock slips out of you.

“I’m serious, corazón,” Javi says, “Want it all.”

“Me too,” You nod, a grin stretching from ear to ear on your face.

“Peña?” You hear the radio chirp against the dash, Murphy beginning to call for you as well. “Anyone there?”

You giggle as Javi leans over, keeping a grip on you in his lap to reach the receiver. “Peña here.”

“The hell are you guys?” Murphy asks, “It’s been raining like cats and dogs for a fuckin’ hour, and no word from either of you!”

“Heading back now,” you say, shaking your head and laughing.

When It Rains

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! PWP, mostly porn but some plot, unprotected PIV(Don't do this IRL, be safe, make smart choices), kissing, fingering(f receiving), cream pie, flirting.

I'm trying to practice smut more, be kind. This is for @undercoverpena's April Showers prompt!

Thank you so much to @notjustjavierpena for helping me with the moodboard and the grammar stuff, @strang3lov3 for editing and leaving encouraging comments, and @beefrobeefcal for also betaing! Don't know what I would do without you lovely people! ❤️

@jay-zzle is my Spanish expert and dear friend who has helped me with a lot of my translations. Plus she's also one of the main reasons I'm trying to learn Spanish 🥰

divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist||AO3 Link

You’ve been assigned the stakeout with Javier Peña at a nightclub, where it’s been rumored that some of Escobar’s sicarios frequent regularly. It’s not a problem per se, but it could just be a tad distracting considering the circumstances. No one, not even Murphy, has seemed to catch wind of what has been going on between the two of you; the late-night meet-ups, the storage closet, the file room, hell - there was even one time late at night in the office the three of you share. You’re professional though, work always comes before play. That’s been the rule since the beginning. 

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Javi comments, pushing his head to the car’s window, and looking up, “We could definitely use it.”

You hum in agreement, watching the nightclub like a hawk. As you listen to the pulsing music radiating from the club, watching people file in and out of the building, none seem to be any of Escobar’s crew just yet. The night seems to be growing darker as the clouds glide across the sky, covering the bright moon's light. Soon enough, small drops of rain begin to fall, turning into fat drops within minutes, downpour to follow.

“Fuck,” you hiss, gripping the steering wheel and peering out the dash window, “Of course.”

“Nothing wrong with some rain,” Javi smirks, looking at you.

“Except for the fact we can’t see shit!”

“Maybe we could do something else with our time?” Javi suggests, laying his arm against the back of the bench seat and scooting his hips forward to get more comfortable. His hand creeps onto your shoulder, rubbing small circles against the bare skin there, skimming past the hem of your tank top.

“Javi,” you scold, shrugging your shoulders to get your point across,  “No, we’re working.”

“Can’t see shit in this rain,” Javi grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest, “Least we could have some fun.”

“Maybe it’ll die down,” you suggest, looking at him. He matches your stare with those pleading eyes of his. Those dark eyes, the way they make you want to melt every single time they land on you.

It’s been 20 minutes and the downpour hasn’t relented. After seeing how you wouldn’t be doing something else with your time like he suggested, Javi’s beginning to become restless.  

“When it rains it pours, hermosa,” Javi says, grinning at you. Your pulse jumps at that word. Hermosa. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s how it always starts.

“Javi,” you warn, reminding him again, “We are working. You know the rules, work then play.”

He moves closer to you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “We’ve played at work before, cariño.” Goosebumps pebble across your skin. You hope he can’t see them with how dark it is. You crane your head away from him and grab the binoculars from the dash, choosing to ignore the burning desire between your thighs. You just need to focus on work. You feel Javi lean back in the seat, his eyes boring into the side of your head. You put the binoculars against your face, grunting in annoyance when you still can’t see anything.

“Bebé,” Javier says, grabbing the binoculars from your grip, “Let’s call it night, hmm?”

He throws them into the back seat with a smirk, leaning closer to you, grabbing the back of your neck, and gently urging you toward him. His index finger sweeps against your cheek, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. He smiles warmly at you before dipping his head to meet your lips. Your hands rest against his chest, fingers fiddling with the open V of his button-up. 

You moan against his mouth when he licks your bottom lip, allowing him access to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues caressing each other, your hands move to the nape of his neck. Your lips make their way to his jaw and down his neck, your teeth lightly scrape his pulse point.

“Mira que duro me pones(look how hard you make me),” Javi says, pulling you onto his lap, grinding against your center to let you feel his growing bulge. “Te deseo(want you),” he growls.

You let out a faint gasp. Javi has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you against him, one hand finding its way to your center, palm pressing firmly against your clit through the denim of your jeans. You moan against his throat at the sensation.

“Javi,” you whimper as he flicks the button of your jeans open and begins to tug on them impatiently. “Fuck, Javi. I gotta get my damn shoes off first.”

He grabs your jeans, helping you out of them after knocking your shoes off. Javi brings his hand back to your center, rubbing precise circles against your clothed clit, moving down to pull your panties aside. Javi hums, capturing your lips again, tongue tangling with yours, enjoying feeling the slick against your slit.

“So wet,” he says, teasing two thick digits against your entrance. You hum with a nod of your head, crying out when he pushes them into your wet heat.

“Javi,” you moan, putting your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips in time with his fingers. “Fuck.” Beginning to feel the coil in your belly tightening.

“¿Así, bebé?(just like that, baby?)” He asks, moving his thumb to massage small quick circles on your clit. You whimper his name when he curves his fingers just right, hitting that spot he knows you love. His mouth leaving open mouth kisses along your neck, reaching your pulse point he begins to suck lightly. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening more, your walls beginning to flutter against his fingers every time he hits that spot with the pads of his fingers.

“Eres mía(you’re mine),” Javi whispers against your neck.

“So close,” You whine, moving your hips faster, his fingers sinking in deeper with each roll of your hips. He moves his head from your neck to look at you, gripping the back of his neck, crashing your mouth into his. Javi moans, beginning to feel your walls clamp around his fingers. The coil in your belly snaps, shooting white-hot lightning through your entire body. Your hand pulls onto the hair at the nape of his neck, causing Javi to let out a guttural groan, pulling you back down from your high.

“Fuck me,” you sigh against his lips.

“That’s the plan, cariño(honey),” Javi smirks, kissing you again, scooting to lay his back against the seat.

Your hands slide down his chest, popping open the buttons of his shirt. You smirk, leaning into his collarbone and placing soft kisses before biting down gently.

“Fuck, bebé(baby),” Javi says sucking in a breath, moving his hands between your bodies to fumble with his belt, “Te necesito(need you)”

You lift up, swatting his hand away to work his belt and jeans open. He lifts his hips and helps you lower his jeans, his stiff member slapping against his stomach.

“Javier Peña,” you tsk, shaking your head at him, “Commando? Did you miss laundry day?”

“Knew about this assignment for weeks now. Asked to be paired up with you,” Javi smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Figured this would happen.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You laugh, playfully smacking his chest.

“Awe, come on now, chica sucía(dirty girl)” Javi says, placing your hands on his chest, “You know it’s—“

You grind against his cock, hands pressing firmly against his chest and he lets out a groan.

“That’s one way to get you to shut up,” you grin, slowly grinding your wetness along his shaft, the tip catching your bundle of nerves with every roll of your hips. Javi shifts up grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you to his lips in a hungry kiss. He moves his hand down to line his cock up to your entrance and you slowly sink down on it, taking it inch by inch. You're no stranger to Javi’s cock but each time feels like the first with how thick he is.

“Estás tan apretada, mi amor(you’re so tight, my love)” Javi growls, against your throat, “No pares(don’t stop)” holding onto your hips as you sink further down on him, ass cheeks finally resting on his thighs. You kiss him, both of you taking a minute to savor the feel of one another, Javi gently rubbing his fingers up and down your spine with one hand while the other holds your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javi murmurs, caressing his nose against your cheek before capturing your lips again, moaning into the kiss as you tentatively roll your hips. His hand settles on your lower back, letting you take control at a slow tempo, letting you enjoy the way his cock massages your inner walls. You moan feeling your nipples beginning to harden between your layers and his chest.

“Javi!” You gasp when he snaps his hips holding onto your lower back firmly.

“Need to see you,” Javi huffs, moving his hand from your face to your shoulder and pushing you to sit up, breath hitching as you swallow more of his length into your core. He rids you of your tank top and pushes the cups of your bra down. You begin to lightly bounce on his cock, moaning at the feel of his hands on you, fingers from one hand beginning to pinch your left nipple while his other hand slides down your ribs, gripping your waist. “Eres mía(you’re mine),” he growls. You can feel your climax nearing, your thighs beginning to shake, feeling the heat running through your body as you bounce.

“Want to take you out,” Javi grunts, your walls begin to tighten at his words, “Make sure that ev-fuck-everyone knows you’re my girl,” he rambles, gripping your waist tighter, snapping his hips into you. “Eres mía(you’re mine).”

“Javi,” you cry out, wanting all of those things and more, your walls fluttering around his shaft, “Fuck, Javi- yes, yes, yes, yes!” Your walls clamp down on him, milking his cock while your vision blurs.

“Fuck,” Javi whines, hips stuttering, emptying himself inside you. He sits up, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him softly, leaning your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. Javi looks into your eyes and grins as his softening cock slips out of you.

“I’m serious, corazón,” Javi says, “Want it all.”

“Me too,” You nod, a grin stretching from ear to ear on your face.

“Peña?” You hear the radio chirp against the dash, Murphy beginning to call for you as well. “Anyone there?”

You giggle as Javi leans over, keeping a grip on you in his lap to reach the receiver. “Peña here.”

“The hell are you guys?” Murphy asks, “It’s been raining like cats and dogs for a fuckin’ hour, and no word from either of you!”

“Heading back now,” you say, shaking your head and laughing.

Oh this is so sweet!!! 😍😍

what comes after (frankie morales x f!reader)

summary: frankie comes into your life when you’re least expecting it, and you end up falling harder than you thought possible for him. will past heartbreak hold you back from true happiness?

warnings: age gap (28/38), asshole ex-boyf behaviour, infidelity (not by reader or frankie), kinda anxious!reader w commitment issues, soft!frankie, kissing, alcohol, cigarettes, smutty thoughts & happenings, mention of protected piv, cursing, benny being annoying, food, tiny mention of blood & vomit, reader has a tattoo and wears skirts & dresses, 18+ mdni.

notes: if you felt frankie morales’ shirts, they’d be made of boyfriend material. the super sweet, amazing, hot kind. i said what i said.

thank you to my bestie & beta @macfrog 💛 i love you, babe. this fic wouldn’t be here without you. tysm for holding my hand throughout; everything i have is yours, now & forever.

You first meet Frankie Morales in a club.

You’re with Kimmy: your best friend since hazy summer days consisting of scraped knees and jelly shoes. You’re also exhibiting typical break-up symptoms: not sleeping all that well, feeling distanced from yourself and the life you knew before your ex-boyfriend.

It’s Kimmy’s idea - go out, get drunk, fuck around and forget.

You were hardly one to argue, especially when she put it like that.

You’re dressed in a meagre scrap of satin; backless and skimming the tops of your thighs, Steve Maddens from eBay on your feet. You like how it all looks on you, sad that your favourite things have languished at the back of your closet for far too long.

You both forgo jackets, hoping to spend the extra cash from the cloakroom on vodka. You giggle together, arm in arm, floating past security in a cloud of perfume and last-minute tequila shots.

This is how it should be. This is where you belong.

The thumping bass soothes your soul, neon colours swirling behind your closed lids. You tip your head back, hands thrown in the air as you and Kimmy move in time - a routine you’ve had down since you were old enough to be in these places.

You garner jealous glares and longing stares; none of it bothers you. Nobody can touch you, not when they don’t know you. Then, and only then, would you worry.

You both head to the bar after a while, sweat shimmering on your exposed skin, holding tight onto one another as you squeeze through the throngs of people. You fight for a space, bar top sticky against your elbows as you wait to give your order. Bursts of laughter and flirty chatter soon come from beside you: without a doubt, you know what’ll come next.

Kimmy always gets hit on when you go out together. You’re not upset by it - you’re the quieter one by nature, happy to let her take the spotlight. Besides, up until recently, you’d been spoken for anyway. You turn to see your friend enamoured by a good-looking blonde guy, and she giggles in your ear that his name is Benny, and he’s an MMA fighter.

You stifle a laugh, watching as he tips his head to you in greeting, leaning in close to snatch Kimmy’s attention back. You try - and fail - to get the bartender’s attention, debating whether to head back to the dancefloor alone.

Then, you notice him.

Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink down. His cap sits low on his head, dark curls spilling out underneath. He glances at you; you turn away, embarrassed to be caught staring. You feel the heat of his gaze; look back to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he studies you shyly.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Dark eyes, thick lashes, curved nose. Strong shoulders and a wide chest beneath his jacket; black and silver hair littering his jaw, save for a few patches here and there. He looks a little tired, out of place, kinda like he’d rather be anywhere other than here.

Older than you, for sure.

Sexy as hell.

He makes an apologetic gesture, rolling his eyes towards Benny, who has his tongue down Kimmy’s throat enthusiastically. Your best friend is responding just as eagerly, and you slide round them, approaching the man you’ve been side-eyeing.

You introduce yourself, and he does the same in return: Francisco Morales - Frankie, he shrugs.

You push past the awkwardness threatening to hold you back, righting your shoulders and try to emulate Kimmy. Stupid idea, in hindsight.

You find out Frankie’s a retired pilot, now the co-owner of a local hardware store. He tells you he and Benny were part of a bachelor party, made up of best pals since their military days. They happened to be the last ones standing, something that seems to surprise him as he says it.

Frankie asks about you: if you’re from around here, what you do for work. You watch him nodding intently as you talk, his eyes to travelling down to your cleavage when he thinks you’re not looking, slow smiles at your responses.

He leans close to hear you over the music, nose bumping your temple to talk to you. “You smoke?”

He smells earthy; musky cologne, a little sweat. You shake your head, but tell him you’ll tag along anyway. You check in with Kimmy, tell her where you’re headed as she drags Benny off to the dancefloor, agreeing to meet back at the bar in twenty.

You follow Frankie down the stairs, admiring his broad back in the dim lights as he offers you his hand to hold. “Wouldn’t wanna lose ya,” he chuckles, and you feel butterflies in your belly as his hand swallows yours, large and warm.

He lights up a smoke when you’re safely outside, offering it to you anyway, and you decide to take him up on it. God, what’s happening to you? You don’t do this. You haven’t done this since.. Nope. You’re not letting your mind wander there. Not now.

You hate how turned on you are by such a simple gesture: watching Frankie’s thick fingers languidly flick the lighter, cigarette dangling from his plush lips, dark eyes looking down at you.

“You both come here often?” he asks, exhaling smoke into the frigid air. You laugh, knowing honesty is probably the best policy. “More than I’d care to admit.”

Frankie grins again; his face so open and inviting. “Can’t say the same for us,” he tells you. “Will gets married next month, and it was Benny’s idea to bring him here tonight. That fucker didn’t think to plan anything else. So, the rest of ‘em got too drunk and crashed out at Santi’s.”

“So what I’m hearing is, you’re the sensible one?” you tease, goosebumps erupting over your bare arms as the trees shiver above you both. “Uh, kinda,” Frankie admits, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I don’t drink. This isn’t my usual idea of a good time.”

You digest this information, not wanting to probe. “Plus, ‘m probably too old,” he sighs, and you feel your eyebrows raising. “No age limit in a place like this,” you tell him quietly, and he stares at you again for a moment: eyes flicking between your lips and back up to hold your gaze. “Guess not,” he concludes with a slow grin, making your stomach flip over itself.

You feel yourself sobering up, rubbing your arms as the embers from your cigarette glow in the darkness. “You cold?” Frankie asks, and you shake your head. You smile at his generosity, the way his face has changed to being genuinely concerned. “We’ll be heading back inside soon, anyway.”

He shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you. “By my watch, we still got another fifteen minutes ‘til you said we’d be back. I wanna make the most of them.”

You try to refuse at first, but as soon as it’s draped round your shoulders, you embrace the warmth gladly. You sneak a glance at the curve of his biceps, thick forearms, narrow waist; and avert your eyes hastily.

Frankie tells you more about himself: thirty-eight, an ex-serviceman, set up the hardware business with his buddy Santiago - one of the no-hopers of the evening. You, in turn, tell him about your administration job in the city, how it barely covers your rent, let alone any future hopes and dreams.

But you get by, you have fun, and that’s all that matters.

You decide to omit any would-be sob story about your ex-boyfriend, the way you’d had to find a place to live within weeks due to exactly how you’d broken up. You don’t want to frighten him, and you feel out of practice with flirting: a winter coat you haven’t worn for months, potential compliments and pick-up lines forgotten like screwed up receipts in the pockets.

Frankie nods his head as you talk, crushing the end of his cigarette beneath his boot. “So you’re a live-in-the-moment kinda girl,” he concludes, and you find yourself smiling. “Guess I am”.

“What about you? Free spirit?” you ask teasingly, and his shoulders roll again. “Trying to be,” he says, laughing softly, tugging his cap off his head to run a hand through the mess of curls underneath.

Oh, you’re actually enjoying this.

Frankie’s so sweet, but you know there’s something a little deeper and darker below the surface; you can tell by the way he looks at you, his eyes tracking down to your mouth, the skin you have on show. You’re suddenly, savagely glad you wore this dress tonight.

“C’mon,” Frankie murmurs after a beat, motioning to take your arm again. “Better see what kinda carnage they’re creating in there.”

You follow him, slipping his jacket from your shoulders as you go. You’re sad to say goodbye to it: it smells so good, a woodsy scent you hope will linger for a while to come.

You’re soon plunged back into a different kind of darkness: the club is sweaty and warm, but you find the lights give you nothing other than a headache this time around. Kimmy is still wrapped around Benny, the two of them entwined in an embrace so bold you can’t even look at Frankie.

He wraps his arm around you regardless, indicating a booth in the shadows. “Wanna grab a seat?”

You find that you do. Very much.

The conversation flows easily, you sipping on a vodka tonic whilst Frankie nurses a rootbeer. You talk about your lives a little more: favourite bands, foods, beach spots. You notice your shin knocking against his; you rest it there, enjoying the feeling. You can’t help but watch his throat as he drinks, the thick expanse of smooth skin visible above the neckline of his shirt. Frankie, in turn, compliments you constantly, albeit a little bashfully.

He’s so fucking cute.

Before either of you realise it, it’s 2:00am. Benny and Kimmy stumble over like a couple of teenagers, and you welcome your friend back into your arms, lipgloss kissed off and shoes held in her hand. Benny drunkenly teases you both, shoving his friend lovingly, and you notice the flush blooming on Frankie’s cheeks, the way he clears his throat, legs untangled from yours.

“You girls want a ride home?” Frankie offers, and the four of you head out to the parking lot. You hear Benny and Kimmy making plans, swapping numbers, sharing kisses. You feel suddenly awkward around Frankie since his abrupt change in body language. You find yourself wishing - again - for the confidence of your best friend.

You take the front seat next to him, trying to ignore the noises coming from the backseat; all teeth and tongue and hushed laughter. Frankie switches on the radio, Alexander O’Neal crooning softly in the cab. You stare out the window, city lights blurring in the darkness.

The journey to your place is only half an hour, but every minute stretches out languidly as you glance at Frankie handling the wheel. The way he spins it, thighs nestled beneath.. Maybe it’s because you haven’t had sex in a while, but goddamn. Every movement he makes does something to your insides.

It falls quiet in the back after a while: you turn to see Kimmy slumped on Benny’s shoulder, the two of them snoring quietly, open-mouthed. She’ll kill you in the morning for it, but you take a quick snap on your phone anyway, dying inside at the fact your first night out as a single woman has ended up like this: her asleep on her would-be paramour’s shoulder, you in the front with some insane crush on his friend.

“Thanks for this,” you offer to Frankie, clearing your throat. “S’okay, means I know you’re home safe,” he shrugs, and you stifle a laugh - you only met him a few hours ago. “You don’t need to worry about that, Frankie,” you tell him, and he chews his lip. The scruff along his jaw and sweet curve of his nose shine in the silhouette from passing headlights, and you cross your legs deliberately.

“I didn’t mean to - y’know, be so awkward back there,” he confesses, and you stay silent, hoping he’ll say more. “I’m just used to Benny giving me shit about women, telling me not to get my hopes up ‘n all that. This doesn’t really come naturally to me, so.. I’m not.. Fuck. ‘m sorry - I’m useless at this,” he sighs, slumped in his seat.

You can’t help it. You giggle, and then Frankie’s laughing too. You hold your finger to your lips, indicating your two sleeping friends behind you.

You place your hand over his, feeling the rough skin stretched over his knuckles. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” you tell him. “Benny clearly doesn’t know shit, anyway. I’ve, uh, really liked getting to know you,” you squirm, feeling a little unease settle into your belly at how childish you sound.

You have liked it. You swore to yourself you weren’t looking to date so soon after having your heart trampled on; that you’d keep it close, under wraps, nurture it back to full health before you pulled it from your chest again.

You weren’t expecting to meet Frankie.

Yet, here you are. Offering yourself up to him, because something tells you he’s worth it. Drawn helplessly to him: a moth to a flame.

“Me too,” Frankie tells you, turning the bend that leads towards your apartment. You both grin at your quiet, shared admission, and you hate that you have to say goodbye. “This is us,” you say, and Frankie pulls over, leaning across to shake Benny awake.

You catch the sliver of skin above his waistband as he stretches, the soft belly nudging at his shirt, the edge of his boxers, the bulge beneath the material. Gotta be the vodka, you remind yourself, tearing your eyes away from him. All four of you climb out, Frankie asking if you have your keys, taking Kimmy’s shoes from you so you can search in your purse.

Your friends are in their own world - Kimmy has Benny pinned against the passenger door, toying with his shirt collar, telling him she’ll give him a call in the morning. You roll your eyes at Frankie, wordlessly apologising for the stall. He laughs it off, hand on your lower back as you approach them.

You don’t miss the small gesture.

“Kim, babe? Frankie probably wants to head off now,” you tell her gently, taking her hand. “Aw, fun sucker,” Benny teases, and Frankie tuts in annoyance. “Whatever, man,” you tell him lightly, and Kimmy gives him a final kiss goodbye. You turn away, Frankie’s hands back in his pockets, just like they were a few hours ago.

“There any hope in asking for your number?” he asks, brown eyes wide and kind. You swap digits, and he leans forward to kiss you on the cheek. Frankie lingers a fraction longer than you expect him to, and you’re so close to tugging his lips to yours. It’s the closest you’ve been to him all night, and you want more.

He pulls away before you can change your mind.

“I’ll call you,” he promises, and you feel the kind of excitement that has long laid dormant inside you. You’re seeing Frankie again. The first rays of light on your face after too long a spell in the dark.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Things burn out between Kimmy and Benny at an impressive speed. She’s at your apartment two months later, laid on her back on your bed, throwing out cheap insults you know she doesn’t really mean.

“There’s just no… what’s that thing?” she groans in frustration. “Spark?” you offer helpfully, sorting through your closet. “Yes. I mean, the sex is insane, right? But we have nothing in common. He doesn’t even try to get to really know me. Plus, I went to watch him fight, and it made me want to hurl. All that blood...” she makes a vomiting noise, and you throw a sock at her. Lovingly.

“Kimmy, you didn’t even give him time to prove himself,” you laugh, and she glares at you. “I know my worth, babe,” she sighs, flopping back down onto your sheets. “Amen, sister,” you murmur, throwing an old shirt of your ex’s into the trash pile. “Anyway, I’m starting to think I chose the wrong guy that night,” Kimmy goes on, and you pause.

“You mean Frankie?” you ask, and she hmmms in response. “He was gorgeous. It’s a shame, though. I saw him at the fight, said he’s seeing someone. Benny said he’s down bad,” she laughs, and you feel the band of tension round you snap in relief.

Down bad, huh? Interesting.

You figured you were having that kind of effect on him.

Frankie had texted you the very next morning, asking how you were feeling and if you wanted to head out for a drink sometime. You were seized with momentary panic: it’s too soon. You’d sworn yourself off of any meaningful connection, any risk to your dented confidence and wounded pride.

You were quick, however, to remind yourself of those brown eyes, warm hands, quiet laugh. Too quick.

You’re vaguely aware of Kimmy saying your name impatiently, bringing you back to the present. “Huh?” you mumble, and she stares at you. “Where’d you go? Don’t tell me you’re giving that fucking loser another second of your time,” she raises her brows, indicating Tyler’s shirt on the floor.

“I’d rather die,” you sigh dramatically, and Kimmy nods in approval. “That’s my girl. So, I’ll come over for drinks later before we head out?” she asks, and you give her the thumbs up. “Sounds good to me.”

Kimmy flashes you her signature grin: megawatt and sparkling, the one that landed Benny and several other unsuspecting people in the years you’ve been friends. She heads out, music blasting from her convertible as she goes. You shake your head fondly. You love that girl.

You’ll tell Kimmy about Frankie. You know you will. Eventually.

God, Frankie. You lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling as you try not to spend every fucking waking moment thinking about him. He’s infectious, though: he makes you laugh, treats you so good, takes care of you, calls you his cosa linda, fucks you like nobody ever has before.

Your first date was a few days after you’d met him.

Nothing spectacular, just pizza at a place nearby Frankie swore was decent. And hell, he was right. You shared a greasy pepperoni, cheap but delicious. You didn’t care where you went with him; both of you were open about the fact you didn’t have much money. You’d never been less bothered about it in your life.

Frankie tells you - between bites - how all the cash he has goes back into the business he shares with Santi, how hard they can find it to compete with the big chain stores. He’s a little more guarded discussing his previous life as a Delta Force operator: you note the pain that clouds his eyes as he skims the surface of it, wordlessly refusing to delve any deeper.

So, you don’t push him. You let Frankie take your hand as you exit the pizzeria, thumb rubbing circles over your skin, soft kiss to your temple as he takes you home and tells you how much he enjoys being with you, asking when he can see you again.

Frankie’s happier when the two of you are at the beach the next weekend, drinking Coke out of glass bottles, stretched out on a fraying picnic blanket, talking about everything and nothing. He pulls you into the water with him, holds you against his chest, kisses you deep and slow, salt on your lips and your fingers in his curls.

You sleep together for the first time that night.

He’s so fucking meticulous about it: taking your clothes off slowly, savouring how bare and messy you are for him at the end of it, his tongue and teeth and lips driving you insane. You cling desperately to the sheets below you as Frankie makes your toes curl, your back arching as you reach to tug at his hair; his name a broken, groaning, loud mantra from your lips as your legs shake around him.

Frankie gets off on your pleasure, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth, eagerness like you’ve never encountered in your life. It’s a revelation. Once you start, you can’t stop. He’s big; so much more to take than you ever have before, a sweet ache between your thighs for days after.

Soon, he’s over at your apartment most evenings. He drops by with burgers after work one Friday night, and you sit cross-legged on the floor eating them straight out of the paper, sharing fries. Eighties music and golden light flood the room as the sun slides away; Frankie reaching out to swipe some ketchup from your bottom lip, sucking his thumb into his mouth afterwards, cargo shorts snug around his thighs.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to ask him to fuck you right there and then.

Frankie asks about the tattoo he’d seen on your sternum the night before, a delicate fine-line inking of your star sign. “You believe in all that?” he smirks, tossing a fry into his mouth. “You don’t?” you raise an eyebrow, and he holds his hands up in defence. “S’long as we’re compatible, baby, I’ll believe whatever you tell me.”

Frankie spends the rest of the night showing you just how compatible you both are: hot tongue dragging over the ink beneath your breasts, nipping at the pillowy flesh he finds there, fingers digging into your ass as he pushes inside you, the two of you groaning in unison. He stays in your bed till the morning, shy smile and a dimple in his cheek as he leans over to kiss you.

“Can I take you out today?” he asks, looming above you, dark hair peppered with grey sticking out at odd angles. You think about combing your fingers through it, smoothing it down, worrying quietly about the level of intimacy you’re already sharing with him. “Sure,” you smile, and watch the creases beside his eyes deepen as he grins.

Frankie takes you on his favourite hiking trail, the two of you taking it slow, talking at length about your families as the route grows steeper. You discover he and Santi have been best friends since childhood, their mothers close since forever. You, in turn, tell him you don’t speak to your father much, but you dote on the child he has with his new wife: your baby sister.

Frankie squeezes your hand a little tighter, interlacing your fingers together. “Must be hard for you sometimes,” he says gently, and you think about it for a moment. “I mean.. I wonder why me and mom weren’t enough for him, sure. But as soon as that kiddo smiles at me, I forget all about that. She’s worth it. Even if he isn’t,” you tell him, and Frankie hums in agreement, kissing your temple.

Again, you’re rocked by the intimacy of the gesture, the way both of you have fallen so easily into soft touches and lingering glances. You know it’s naive, but you feel like you’ve known Frankie forever, like you’ve woken up to those dark eyes and broad shoulders your whole life.

One morning, on your way into the city, you decide to stop by Frankie’s hardware store with a coffee for him. Santiago finds you first, embraces you warmly, says he’s heard a lot about you. He has a twinkle in his eye as he wraps an arm around Frankie’s shoulder, hand on his chest affectionately as he introduces himself properly.

Warmth spreads through you watching how people adore him. You remember Benny’s easy teasing, how affectionate Santiago is toward him. Frankie walks you back to your car, pushes you gently into the door, taking advantage of the empty parking lot. His tongue is in your mouth, palm cradling your jaw, heat pooling in your belly. He makes that soft little groan, the one that drives you insane.

You pull away.

“You’re evil for that, Morales,” you scold him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You’re the one showing up to my place of work in that goddamn skirt,” he sighs, eyes narrowing under the brim of his cap; fingers finding the band of your panties, pulling and releasing them with a gentle snap.

You’d forgotten how much he’d liked that particular skirt: you remember Frankie on his knees below you the week before, unzipping it slowly, hands dragging across your thighs. His pupils blown apart with lust as he gazed up at you; messy kisses on the bare curve of your hip, a bite that made you gasp his name.

“Mierda,” he’d moaned. “You’re a bad girl.”

Frankie repays the favour a few days later: calling by the office with your lunch, leftovers from the dinner he’d made the night before. Your team teases you when you come back sweaty and rumpled after your hour break - little do they know, he’d fucked you in the back of his truck and pocketed your underwear for good measure.

It’s brazen, bold, and fun. Just like wearing his cap whilst you rode him one time had been: his fingers digging into your waist, urging you on, telling you how fucking good you looked, that you’re his princesa.

Last night, he said he wanted to take you some place nice to eat, that he had some extra cash with nothing he’d rather spend it on than you. You’re happy anywhere with Frankie: kissing in the bed of his truck, his arms around you in the shower, wandering hand-in-hand around the farmers market, dipping your toes in a freezing cold lake together.

But, it is nice to be wined and dined sometimes. You can’t even remember the last time it happened.

The place was fancy, kitted out in low-lighting and jazz music. You wore a lemon-yellow dress: all laced-up bustier and draping skirt. You’d thrifted it, squealing at the price tag and texting Kimmy instantly. She said it’d be a crime to leave it behind, so it was yours for keeps.

You’d felt bashful watching Frankie’s eyes widen when you opened the door, looking good enough to eat in a white shirt, taut across his broad frame. No Standard Oil hat that evening - your heart melted envisioning running his fingers through his curls, floppy across his forehead. You’re fucking stunning, he’d murmured, grin warm across his features.

He’s not your boyfriend, though. A fact you’re continually reminding yourself of.

You don’t even know if you’re exclusive: Frankie never mentions anyone else, doesn’t even talk about himself all that much, unless you prompt him. His focus is all you, all the time.

Don’t you deserve that? After what you’ve been through? You deserve to enjoy the company, the sex, the feelings brewing below the surface.

What are you so afraid of?

You think of him now as you dress, the memory of his hands on you burnt into your brain, seared into your subconscious. Kimmy texts to say she’s on her way over, and you clatter downstairs in your heels, flicking the music stations over and pouring two large glasses of wine, trying to push Frankie and your worries to the back of your mind. For now.

The club is packed out.

Busier than it was when you were last here; people crammed into the booths and across the dancefloor, posted up against the bar. You and Kimmy haven’t let go of one another all night; borrowing lipliner and gum in the bathrooms, hand-in-hand as she orders shots that sizzle in your throat.

You’re stood not far from where you first encountered Frankie, and your mind drifts to what he might be doing. Snoring, you think. Lying on his back, hand flat on his chest, sparse hair you can feel on your cheek beneath it. You check your phone: 11:23pm. There’s a text from him.

Have a great night baby. Let me know if you need me x

You know he means if you need a ride home, someone to call in the cab. Yet, panic bubbles inside you at the sentence, threatening to spill over, poisoning your blissful tipsy state. A legacy left by your ex-boyfriend, the fear you try to squash down each time Frankie takes your hand, presses his lips to yours, makes your back arch beneath him.

Do you need him?

Of course not. It’s not like you’re in love with him or anything. Right?

Tyler devastated you. You remember your legs trembling as you sat on the side of the bath one night as he slept, curiosity getting the better of you. His phone was in your shaking hands as you scrolled through scores of messages between him and his work colleague, Melissa.

He’d been your boyfriend for five years. You were ready to move in together, take his last name if he asked. Yet here he was, hanging you out to fucking dry; telling Melissa everything he wanted to do to her, had done to her, how horny he was for her. You were so fucking embarrassed, especially when he’d tried to convince you it was all in your head. How foolish you’d been.

Kimmy had distracted you through it all, kept you going. You’d put in work yourself, piecing your life back together: the person you were before Tyler, sitting with the feelings and letting them wash over you till they didn’t sting so bad anymore.

Frankie frightens you. He could pull a single thread and you’d unravel, back at square one on a boardgame nobody wants to play.

Had it all been too much? Too fast?

“Hey, babe!” Kimmy pulls on your shoulder, and you’re spinning out of your reverie. “You see Sarah’s here?! Sarah from high school?” she tells you excitedly, and you smile weakly. “Shit, no way,” you manage, and you’re pulled over into a group of girls you haven’t seen for years; all air kisses and squealing over an engagement ring.

Something you could have had.

“Kimmy,” you shout over the music, hand on her arm. “You okay if I take five outside?”

She nods, and you follow the same path Frankie led you down all those weeks ago; his hand clasping yours, eyes twinkling in the low lighting.

You feel so strongly that Frankie won’t hurt you, yet your mind’s so corrupted by what Tyler did to you: waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to reveal his true colours.

Yet, you think you’ve seen them already.

The blue ocean Frankie held you in, kissing you deeply as his fingers dug into your thighs, holding you close. The orange sky of the sunset from the bed of his truck, wrapped in blankets as he told you the craziest shit he’d seen as a pilot. The thick green of the forests you’ve hiked in together, the way he’d drag you by the hand when you were puffing out of breath because you just had to see the view.

The dark brown of his eyes; ones you swear are flecked with molten gold. The pink of his lips; the way they curve into a smile when you open the door to him. The yellow of the sunlight that creeps through the blinds in the mornings, your naked body pressed to his, sore and sweaty and satisfied. The black sky you first spoke to him under, littered with faint stars, just like it is tonight.

Each time, you worried the water might be too cold, hike too steep, sunset too boring. Frankie kept proving you wrong: every experience more vibrant, saturated and warm than the last. You owe it to yourself - and to him - to trust him.

You call him without hesitating, shivering on the sidewalk. Frankie answers on the second ring.

“Hey, princesa. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, feeling your anxiety dissipating a little at the sound of his voice, velvety and deep. “I, uh, think I’m just about done tonight, though. Was thinking about calling a cab home.”

You hear him moving, shifting in his sheets. “It’s up to you, but I’d rather come get you. Can drop you straight home, ‘f you want,” Frankie offers, and you bite into your lip to stop your grin from widening. “So you know I’m home safe?” you manage to tease, recalling the conversation you had the night you met him.

“Think I’m pretty much qualified to worry about that now,” Frankie chuckles lowly through the phone into your ear. “Can stop for some fries, and you can stay here?” He offers, and you close your eyes, thinking there’s nowhere else you’d rather be in the world than right there.

To your horror, you feel tears threatening, and you swallow thickly to force the emotion back down. Frankie notes your silence. “Sweetheart? What’s up?” he probes gently, and you tap your foot in annoyance at yourself for worrying him, taking a deep breath.

“‘m all good, baby. Promise. See you in twenty?” you ask, and Frankie tells you he’ll see you soon, as quick as he can. “Kimmy need a ride?” he asks, and you make it your mission to go inside and find her.

You spot her easily, tell her an abridged version of your plans. You decide now isn’t the time to tell her about Frankie: not in a club full of people who remind you of Tyler, when you’re teetering on a knife edge with your emotions.

She asks if you’re alright, if you mind her staying out: they’re talking about an after-party somewhere, booking Ubers to the suburbs. You tell her it’s not your vibe - not tonight - but you can see she wants to carry on. She won’t, though. Not without checking with you first.

Kimmy promises to call you in the morning, that you’ll go and grab brunch. “You sure you’re okay, babe?” she asks one final time, squeezing you close. She makes you swear to let her know when you’re home safe, and you request the same.

Frankie’s there waiting for you when you leave the club, just like he said he would be.

He’s leant up against his truck: long legs in denim jeans, an old flannel stretched across his shoulders. He’s smoking languidly, gaze on you beneath the cap he never takes off. That smile you’ve come to know and love unfurls across Frankie’s features as he reaches for you, pulls you into his arms.

“Hi,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “You look so beautiful.”

It’s such a simple phrase. But it means so much more to you coming from Frankie: older and kinder than anyone you’ve been with before him.

Your fingers grab at the collar of his shirt, your lips finding his. You slide your tongue into his mouth and he responds, huge hands sliding to your waist and squeezing. You moan a little as the kiss deepens, and Frankie pulls back, eyes searching your face.

“Hey, hey. Everything okay?” he asks, taking your jaw in his hands, thumbs stroking your skin gently. “There’s, uh, some stuff I wanna tell you about. From my past, I mean,” you sigh, watching the crease deepen in Frankie’s brow at your words. “You’re fucking married, aren’t you?” he grimaces. You smack him lightly on the chest and he chuckles.

“I’m serious, Frankie,” you huff, and he relents. “I.. Didn’t have a good experience with my ex. Cheated on me with his colleague, gaslighted me about it; the works. I guess you could say he wasn’t a good guy, right? And I think I’m kinda fucked up as a result,” you tell him, voice trembling. Frankie’s eyes are wide and pleading, but he’s quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t wanna carry this on without you knowing that some things might be hard for me. If I ever hold back a little bit, come across like I don’t trust you..” you trail off, fingering the button of his shirt awkwardly. “Baby,” Frankie grips your wrists, “you don’t gotta explain anything to me. Not now - not ever - not if you don’t want to. But you should know, none of this is your fault.”

“So, we take it day by day. We keep talking, keep being open, you let me know if something’s too much, or I’m not giving you enough. You know what I mean?” Frankie asks, tilting your chin to look at him. His thumb swipes away a stray tear from your eye, and he kisses you softly; barely there before he pulls away.

“Living in the moment, right? I told you I was gonna try,” he chuckles weakly. “I’m not going anywhere, mi amor. I like you too damn much,” he admits.

You kiss him again, taking his cap in your hand so you can feel his curls, pressing your lips to the bare patch in the scruff along his jaw. With Frankie’s hand in yours, the pain begins to fade away. You’re sure it won’t be long till it’s gone forever. You smile at him.

“Let’s go home.”

Oh this is adorable! 😍

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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Caught in 4k

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Summary: You catch Din watching porn and discover his secret; his breeding kink.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), established relationship, porn, heavy on the breeding kink, daddy kink kinda, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, helmet comes off, pet names, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

It’s been a long week. You and Din have barely seen each other. That seems impossible given the small confines of the Razor Crest. Your schedules have just been opposite from each other lately. And it’s driving Din insane, in more ways than one.

He misses how you feel when you sleep, your back pressed up against his chest with a protective arm slung around your waist. He misses your conversations in bed, recapping your day to each other, being the person you both come home to at night. 

But he also misses having you underneath him, squirming under his cock. It’s been too long and the urge to cum is getting uncontrollable. 

He doesn’t normally masturbate. Unless you’re right there with him, telling him what to do, whispering in his ear, and making him melt. But this is a special circumstance. It’s been days since he came and he feels like he’s going to burst. When he arrived back at the Crest you were already gone, running your errands. He doesn’t know when you’ll return and the ache in his balls is painful. 

He sits in his bunk, looking at your data-pad at the foot of the cot. He’s watched porn videos before but it was always with you, right before the two of you are about to have sex. If you’re not here to help him out, who’s to say he can’t watch something to give him a bit of inspiration? 

He searches for a video, something to satisfy a certain kink he’s been hiding from you… his breeding kink. 

Maker, he can’t stop thinking about it. You have the implant so you wouldn’t actually get pregnant. But it would be fun to pretend, to talk about knocking you up as he’s balls deep inside you, pumping you full of his cum.

His cock twitches against his flight suit.

Kriff.

Yeah, he needs to cum. Now.

He clicks on the first video under the breeding kink search results and pulls his cock out. But he wants to be extra comfortable. He lets go of his cock and takes off his helmet, setting it on the floor beside the bunk. He spits in his hand and returns to jerking off, watching the holo-vid with wide eyes. It’s a man and a woman. He has her on her back, folded into a mating press, moaning in her ear about how he’s going to breed her, make her his, telling her how pretty she’ll look carrying his children. 

He thinks about you carrying his children and his cock gets even harder. How everyone will know you’re truly his.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby. You want that? You want daddy to breed you?” the man in the holo-vid says.

“Yes, daddy. Please, I want it so bad,” the woman whines as the man is pounding her.

He thinks about you, shuddering underneath him while he has his way with you. Maker, where are you? This is certainly getting the job done but it could be so much better than this. 

He’s so enthralled in the experience he doesn’t hear the exit ramp lowering. He doesn’t hear your footsteps. He doesn’t hear you set your bags down. 

You lean against the door frame and he still doesn’t notice you. 

“Gonna stuff you full of my cum,” the man moans.

“Yes, daddy. Please. Breed me. Fill me up,” the woman whimpers.

Your eyes widen at those words. 

Breed me. 

You had no idea about this secret little kink of his.

“Din?” you say, ripping him from his bliss.

He startles with a jolt, almost dropping the data-pad. He looks at you with wild eyes, skin slick with sweat all while his hand is still wrapped around his cock. 

“Cyar’ika, when did you get back? I’m sorry you had to see that. I-”

He’s rambling so you cut him off.

“How long?”

“How long what? How long have I been masturbating?”

“How long have you had… this kink?”

“Uhh.”

“You can tell me.”

“A while,” he says, putting his cock away and standing to meet you.

“How long?” you press.

“For a long time! I just never told you about it.”

“Why?”

“I just… I was afraid you would judge me.”

“When would I ever?”

“I don’t know…” he starts, trailing off. But then he realizes… You didn’t explicitly say no. 

“Please, can we try it?” he says, falling to his knees. His are wide, pleading with you.

“I have the implant,” you chuckle, “You’re not getting any babies from me for a long time.”

You run your fingers through his curls and look down at him. It’s just dirty talk. It’s not like you’ll get pregnant. But it’s still funny that you caught him in the act, that you discovered his little secret. 

“Please. It’s all talk, cyar’ika,” he begs.

“Fine. Show me what you’ve been watching.”

He blinks twice in disbelief as you start to get undressed, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it on the floor. He stands and grabs your waist, bringing you close and planting his lips on your neck.

“Really? You mean that?” he moans into your skin.

“I’ll try anything once,” you shrug, “But let me finish getting undressed,” you say with a chuckle.

Reluctantly, he takes his hands off you, letting you get undressed while he does the same, shedding pieces of armor and putting them in a neat stack on the floor. You watch as he strips his flight suit, his cock springing free from the fabric as he kicks off his boots. 

You two stand in front of each other, completely bare and admiring every little detail. It doesn’t take long for his hands to be glued to you, fingertips sinking into your skin, holding you tight as if you’re going to slip away. He directs you to the bunk, gently coaxing you to lie down. He hovers over you, large hands palm your inner thigh, You spread your legs apart and he marvels at how wet your cunt is already. 

“You’re so wet for me already, cyar’ika,” he teases, running two fingers along your entrance. “Bet you want me to pump you full of my warriors.”

Bet you want me to pump you full of my warriors.

Your mind just about short circuits at that. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. He brings his fingers to your mouth and like a reflex you open it, knowing what he’s asking for. You suck his fingers, getting them nice and slick for him. You maintain eye contact the whole time, obscenely swirling your tongue around and putting on a show for him. His mouth falls open, watching you suck his fingers like such a good girl until he can’t help himself anymore. He needs to feel you coming around his fingers now. 

He takes his fingers back to your cunt, thrusting both of them inside you slowly. Your breath hitches at the sudden girth inside you. His other hand grips your chin as he lowers his face to hover above yours, looking into your eyes deeply. 

“You can take it,” he reminds you, curling his fingers against your g-spot.

He lets go of your chin and lowers himself in between your thighs. He watches the wetness seep from you, running down his fingers and onto his hand. He goes for your clit, mouth latching around the sensitive spot and sucking for dear life. This man is aching to make you cum like his life depends on it. 

Your back arches up off the bunk, the tension in your core breaking loose. Your cunt clenches his fingers and he hungers for that feeling around his cock. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you throughout your release, mouth never leaving your clit. It borders on overstimulation until he’s finally done satiating himself, getting drunk off your scent and taste. 

When he looks up at you his chin is dripping. He swipes the wetness away with his thumb and pops it in his mouth, moaning at the taste. Always such a slut for you and only you.

“You taste so good, cyar’ika… so sweet,” he moans, swiping two fingers up your cunt one more time for a final taste. 

He rests on the back of his heels as he strokes his cock, collecting more of your wetness to lubricate himself. He looks down at you, lips curled into a smirk as he tells you the filthiest things. 

“Gonna stuff you with cum, mesh’la,” he says, hovering over you and aligning his cock with your entrance. Just before he thrusts into you he adds, “But not until you beg for it.”

You go to respond but you’re cut off with a moan, his cock entering you and splitting you apart.

“Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl and beg for me to breed you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice high-pitched and filled with arousal. 

He draws his hips back and slams into you, hands resting by either side of your head. The look on his face is one of pure lust, fueled by a primal instinct.

“What are you waiting for? Beg.”

“I want you to breed me,” you beg, eyes wide and pleading with him. He thrusts into you over and over again, an unforgiving pace as he makes your cunt his. 

“Not good enough.”

“I need you to breed me,” you whine, voice incessant and needy. 

“Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad,” you whine, “More than anything.” You reach your hand up to his hair and entangle your fingers in his locks, tugging on them as he rails you. 

A deep and guttural moan escapes his throat like you just unlocked something inside him. His thrusts grow faster and harder. Your second orgasm is nearing, core muscles tensing up in anticipation again. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. 

“I’m gonna-” he starts, cutting himself off.

“Please. I need it. Fill me up,” you beg, just as you finally cum. The sensation of your orgasm draws his own from him. At long last, you’re filled with his spend, cock pumping in and out of you, sending it even deeper inside you. 

He’s delirious at this point, moaning over and over. 

“Mmm gonna pump you full of my warriors.”

“You’ll be so pretty carrying them, mesh’la.”

“And everyone will know you’re mine.”

With one final rut of his hips, he’s done, pulling out of you and lying beside you on the bunk. It’s silent between you two as you catch your breath, the small bunk only filled with the sound of labored pants. 

“So… About that implant.”

You grab the pillow and playfully smack him with it, laughing as he puts his arms up in defense. 

“Don’t push your luck!”

I mean… can’t say I blame you! 😅❤️

When It Rains

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! PWP, mostly porn but some plot, unprotected PIV(Don't do this IRL, be safe, make smart choices), kissing, fingering(f receiving), cream pie, flirting.

I'm trying to practice smut more, be kind. This is for @undercoverpena's April Showers prompt!

Thank you so much to @notjustjavierpena for helping me with the moodboard and the grammar stuff, @strang3lov3 for editing and leaving encouraging comments, and @beefrobeefcal for also betaing! Don't know what I would do without you lovely people! ❤️

@jay-zzle is my Spanish expert and dear friend who has helped me with a lot of my translations. Plus she's also one of the main reasons I'm trying to learn Spanish 🥰

divider by @saradika-graphics

You’ve been assigned the stakeout with Javier Peña at a nightclub, where it’s been rumored that some of Escobar’s sicarios frequent regularly. It’s not a problem per se, but it could just be a tad distracting considering the circumstances. No one, not even Murphy, has seemed to catch wind of what has been going on between the two of you; the late-night meet-ups, the storage closet, the file room, hell - there was even one time late at night in the office the three of you share. You’re professional though, work always comes before play. That’s been the rule since the beginning. 

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Javi comments, pushing his head to the car’s window, and looking up, “We could definitely use it.”

You hum in agreement, watching the nightclub like a hawk. As you listen to the pulsing music radiating from the club, watching people file in and out of the building, none seem to be any of Escobar’s crew just yet. The night seems to be growing darker as the clouds glide across the sky, covering the bright moon's light. Soon enough, small drops of rain begin to fall, turning into fat drops within minutes, downpour to follow.

“Fuck,” you hiss, gripping the steering wheel and peering out the dash window, “Of course.”

“Nothing wrong with some rain,” Javi smirks, looking at you.

“Except for the fact we can’t see shit!”

“Maybe we could do something else with our time?” Javi suggests, laying his arm against the back of the bench seat and scooting his hips forward to get more comfortable. His hand creeps onto your shoulder, rubbing small circles against the bare skin there, skimming past the hem of your tank top.

“Javi,” you scold, shrugging your shoulders to get your point across,  “No, we’re working.”

“Can’t see shit in this rain,” Javi grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest, “Least we could have some fun.”

“Maybe it’ll die down,” you suggest, looking at him. He matches your stare with those pleading eyes of his. Those dark eyes, the way they make you want to melt every single time they land on you.

It’s been 20 minutes and the downpour hasn’t relented. After seeing how you wouldn’t be doing something else with your time like he suggested, Javi’s beginning to become restless.  

“When it rains it pours, hermosa,” Javi says, grinning at you. Your pulse jumps at that word. Hermosa. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s how it always starts.

“Javi,” you warn, reminding him again, “We are working. You know the rules, work then play.”

He moves closer to you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “We’ve played at work before, cariño.” Goosebumps pebble across your skin. You hope he can’t see them with how dark it is. You crane your head away from him and grab the binoculars from the dash, choosing to ignore the burning desire between your thighs. You just need to focus on work. You feel Javi lean back in the seat, his eyes boring into the side of your head. You put the binoculars against your face, grunting in annoyance when you still can’t see anything.

“Bebé,” Javier says, grabbing the binoculars from your grip, “Let’s call it night, hmm?”

He throws them into the back seat with a smirk, leaning closer to you, grabbing the back of your neck, and gently urging you toward him. His index finger sweeps against your cheek, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. He smiles warmly at you before dipping his head to meet your lips. Your hands rest against his chest, fingers fiddling with the open V of his button-up. 

You moan against his mouth when he licks your bottom lip, allowing him access to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues caressing each other, your hands move to the nape of his neck. Your lips make their way to his jaw and down his neck, your teeth lightly scrape his pulse point.

“Mira que duro me pones(look how hard you make me),” Javi says, pulling you onto his lap, grinding against your center to let you feel his growing bulge. “Te deseo(want you),” he growls.

You let out a faint gasp. Javi has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you against him, one hand finding its way to your center, palm pressing firmly against your clit through the denim of your jeans. You moan against his throat at the sensation.

“Javi,” you whimper as he flicks the button of your jeans open and begins to tug on them impatiently. “Fuck, Javi. I gotta get my damn shoes off first.”

He grabs your jeans, helping you out of them after knocking your shoes off. Javi brings his hand back to your center, rubbing precise circles against your clothed clit, moving down to pull your panties aside. Javi hums, capturing your lips again, tongue tangling with yours, enjoying feeling the slick against your slit.

“So wet,” he says, teasing two thick digits against your entrance. You hum with a nod of your head, crying out when he pushes them into your wet heat.

“Javi,” you moan, putting your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips in time with his fingers. “Fuck.” Beginning to feel the coil in your belly tightening.

“¿Así, bebé?(just like that, baby?)” He asks, moving his thumb to massage small quick circles on your clit. You whimper his name when he curves his fingers just right, hitting that spot he knows you love. His mouth leaving open mouth kisses along your neck, reaching your pulse point he begins to suck lightly. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening more, your walls beginning to flutter against his fingers every time he hits that spot with the pads of his fingers.

“Eres mía(you’re mine),” Javi whispers against your neck.

“So close,” You whine, moving your hips faster, his fingers sinking in deeper with each roll of your hips. He moves his head from your neck to look at you, gripping the back of his neck, crashing your mouth into his. Javi moans, beginning to feel your walls clamp around his fingers. The coil in your belly snaps, shooting white-hot lightning through your entire body. Your hand pulls onto the hair at the nape of his neck, causing Javi to let out a guttural groan, pulling you back down from your high.

“Fuck me,” you sigh against his lips.

“That’s the plan, cariño(honey),” Javi smirks, kissing you again, scooting to lay his back against the seat.

Your hands slide down his chest, popping open the buttons of his shirt. You smirk, leaning into his collarbone and placing soft kisses before biting down gently.

“Fuck, bebé(baby),” Javi says sucking in a breath, moving his hands between your bodies to fumble with his belt, “Te necesito(need you)”

You lift up, swatting his hand away to work his belt and jeans open. He lifts his hips and helps you lower his jeans, his stiff member slapping against his stomach.

“Javier Peña,” you tsk, shaking your head at him, “Commando? Did you miss laundry day?”

“Knew about this assignment for weeks now. Asked to be paired up with you,” Javi smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Figured this would happen.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You laugh, playfully smacking his chest.

“Awe, come on now, chica sucía(dirty girl)” Javi says, placing your hands on his chest, “You know it’s—“

You grind against his cock, hands pressing firmly against his chest and he lets out a groan.

“That’s one way to get you to shut up,” you grin, slowly grinding your wetness along his shaft, the tip catching your bundle of nerves with every roll of your hips. Javi shifts up grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you to his lips in a hungry kiss. He moves his hand down to line his cock up to your entrance and you slowly sink down on it, taking it inch by inch. You're no stranger to Javi’s cock but each time feels like the first with how thick he is.

“Estás tan apretada, mi amor(you’re so tight, my love)” Javi growls, against your throat, “No pares(don’t stop)” holding onto your hips as you sink further down on him, ass cheeks finally resting on his thighs. You kiss him, both of you taking a minute to savor the feel of one another, Javi gently rubbing his fingers up and down your spine with one hand while the other holds your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” Javi murmurs, caressing his nose against your cheek before capturing your lips again, moaning into the kiss as you tentatively roll your hips. His hand settles on your lower back, letting you take control at a slow tempo, letting you enjoy the way his cock massages your inner walls. You moan feeling your nipples beginning to harden between your layers and his chest.

“Javi!” You gasp when he snaps his hips holding onto your lower back firmly.

“Need to see you,” Javi huffs, moving his hand from your face to your shoulder and pushing you to sit up, breath hitching as you swallow more of his length into your core. He rids you of your tank top and pushes the cups of your bra down. You begin to lightly bounce on his cock, moaning at the feel of his hands on you, fingers from one hand beginning to pinch your left nipple while his other hand slides down your ribs, gripping your waist. “Eres mía(you’re mine),” he growls. You can feel your climax nearing, your thighs beginning to shake, feeling the heat running through your body as you bounce.

“Want to take you out,” Javi grunts, your walls begin to tighten at his words, “Make sure that ev-fuck-everyone knows you’re my girl,” he rambles, gripping your waist tighter, snapping his hips into you. “Eres mía(you’re mine).”

“Javi,” you cry out, wanting all of those things and more, your walls fluttering around his shaft, “Fuck, Javi- yes, yes, yes, yes!” Your walls clamp down on him, milking his cock while your vision blurs.

“Fuck,” Javi whines, hips stuttering, emptying himself inside you. He sits up, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him softly, leaning your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. Javi looks into your eyes and grins as his softening cock slips out of you.

“I’m serious, corazón,” Javi says, “Want it all.”

“Me too,” You nod, a grin stretching from ear to ear on your face.

“Peña?” You hear the radio chirp against the dash, Murphy beginning to call for you as well. “Anyone there?”

You giggle as Javi leans over, keeping a grip on you in his lap to reach the receiver. “Peña here.”

“The hell are you guys?” Murphy asks, “It’s been raining like cats and dogs for a fuckin’ hour, and no word from either of you!”

“Heading back now,” you say, shaking your head and laughing.