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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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Basic Training - Chapter 7

Basic Training Series Masterlist JHFTM Main Masterlist

Word count: 5900

Rating: Mature/Explicit for smut, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x “You” (female reader, no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: It’s 1997 and Frankie is 22 years old; older woman/younger man dynamic; former teacher dynamic; kissing; oral sex/F receiving; curse words and vulgar language; 10+ year age gap but everyone is legally an adult; story switches back and forth between Frankie’s POV and Reader’s POV

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You woke Tuesday morning to warm summer sunlight streaming through the curtains and a small, furry paw batting your chin gently. Even Oscar’s slightly rude prodding for breakfast couldn’t wipe the big smile off your face. You shifted the cranky cat off your chest and rolled to the side of the bed where Frankie had lain the night before.

You buried your face in the pillow and tried to catch a whiff of his scent, the Old Spice classic deodorant he favored or maybe his shampoo… but there wasn’t anything there. The lack of sensory proof was disappointing, and then you felt silly. Frankie had been there, really. He had kissed you and talked intimately with you and had fucked up into you with his jaw clenched and his eyes on fire. He had stroked your thigh and touched your face and made you feel like a sex goddess with the way that he gripped your flesh and poured his adoration into you.

You tumbled out of bed and stalked naked to the kitchen, pouring Oscar a generous helping of kibble. He rewarded you by rubbing against your leg before he got down to the business of crunching. You popped one ice cube out of a tray and plunked it into a tall glass before running the cold tap for a minute. You chugged the entire glass in thirty seconds and started toward the bathroom, intent on taking a shower.

Something dark on the floor near the couch caught your eye, and you almost tripped.

Frankie’s hat, forgotten again when he had set it down to kiss you repeatedly on his way out last night. You had walked him to the door, wrapped in your robe and nothing else, and your goodbyes had turned into fifteen minutes of very handsy making out. Your kisses and caresses had been peppered with Frankie’s repeated murmurs of “Okay, I’m really leaving now,” and “I have to go, but before I do,” and “Just one more kiss.” You had finally gotten him out the door with the promise that he could return on Tuesday and pick up where he left off.

Frankie had set his cap down on the arm of the couch, saying that he couldn’t possibly hold it and cup your face with both hands at the same time. And then he had demonstrated with glee that freeing up his hands also meant that he could slip one inside your robe to caress your breast while the other grabbed your ass. Oscar must have knocked it off the arm of the couch to the floor while you were asleep.

Just as you were wondering if you should call Frankie - was it too early to call him? You had just seen him last night. Would he want you to call? Were there ‘rules’ for this kind of thing? - your phone rang. You rushed to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey! It’s Monica.” Her voice fought to reach you over the sounds of a loud children’s cartoon in the background. “The kids want to go to the beach for a couple of hours. Are you up for joining us?”

You hesitated, “Oh, um… I was just planning to hang around the house today. I kind of had a late night, and I just woke up.”

Monica pounced. “Oh really? Do tell! Wait, hang on…” You heard her muffle the receiver with her hand and say something to her kids in a firm voice. When she came back on the line the background was quieter.

“Okay, I’m in my room. Spill, woman. What kind of ‘late night’ did you have? It’s almost 10:00, I can’t believe you slept in this late! Must have been a really late night.” Monica sounded almost gleeful.

“I- uh…” you stumbled over your words, completely unsure of how to start. Fortunately, Monica was a pro at interrogation, and drew everything out of you with a series of pointed questions.

“Were you alone?”

“No.”

“How many people were there besides you?”

“One.”

“Did you go out or stay in?”

“In.”

“Girl or guy?”

“Guy.”

“Your place or his?”

“Mine.”

Monica laughed. “Ooh. Was it a date?”

“Kind of?” You hated how unsure your voice felt.

“Who was it? Wait! Don’t tell me, let me guess: Mr. Handsome from your classroom?”

“... Yeah,” you admitted, but weren’t sure why you felt guilty. Just a few minutes ago you had been so happy about Frankie’s presence in your bed.

“Did you get takeout and eat dinner and watch a movie? Did he try anything during the movie? Oh! Did he put his hand on your boob?” Monica sounded like she was feasting vicariously on the idea of a date, any date, that didn’t involve being interrupted by a small human.

“Uh…”

“What is ‘uh’ supposed to mean?” You could hear the question mark forming above Monica’s head.

“No dinner, no movie, and he did put his hands on my boobs - plural.”

“Holy shit did you fuck him?!”

You gulped, and apparently that was all the confirmation Monica needed to chortle down the phone line at you.

“Go you! Holy shit, you move fast! I thought this time yesterday he was just a former student.” Monica teased you gently. “What changed?”

“Um, he left his hat in my classroom.”

“And?”

“And when I called him and he came over to get it, he kind of… kissed me?”

Monica squealed. “Yay! Holy crap, was it good? Is he a good kisser? I bet he’s a good kisser.”

Before you could answer, Monica’s nine-year-old son David bellowed in the background. “Mo-o-o-o-o-ommmmm!! Michael is touching me!”

“Shit, hang on…” Monica muffled the phone again. You heard her use her ‘drill sergeant’ voice, muffled through the line until she removed her hand. “-your brother, or I’ll sell you both to the circus!”

“We don’t have a circus!” yelled Michael, age 11. You laughed.

“We will if you don’t stop touching your brother!”

Monica sighed, “Where were we?”

“Frankie kissed me.”

“Oh yeah!” Her voice brightened considerably. “Was it good? Like in ‘Pretty In Pink’ - did he have ‘strong lips’?”

You laughed, “Yeah, actually, yes. He’s very talented in the kissing department.”

“And other departments, too, I bet. Where did he kiss you?”

You stammered, “Uh… on the mouth…”

Monica giggled. “No, silly, where in your apartment did he kiss you?”

“Oh! In the kitchen, by the pantry. I couldn’t reach the pasta on the top shelf and he, you know, reached up and got it for me. And then he kissed me.”

“I thought you said there was no dinner.”

“There wasn’t... I didn’t get around to making the pasta.”

“Ha!” Monica was back to gleeful. “And then what happened?”

“We talked. He felt bad about kissing me. Really awkward, but we talked about it and I assured him I wasn’t mad or anything. But I also told him I can’t have a long-term relationship with him.”

“What? Why not? He’s yummy,” Monica insisted. “And unless I’m totally missing something, I’m pretty sure he’s into you.”

“Yeah, no, I know. But Monica, he’s young. He’s about to ship off for basic training in a couple of weeks. I can’t expect him to want to maintain a new relationship long-distance. That’s…” you sighed. “That’s too much for him. And for me, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Monica sounded sad. “But then he fucked you anyway?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, remembering Frankie’s words on the couch. “He said he would take me for however long he could get me.”

“Oh, shit,” Monica’s voice was soft. “He’s really into you, huh?”

Your smile split into a grin. “Yeah, he is. But listen, don’t breathe a word of this to anybody, okay? I just don’t want it to be weird. I mean, it’s not weird. It’s actually weird how not-weird it is, but-”

“Who would I tell?” Monica laughed. “Everyone I socialize with is under 14 and they don’t care what their boring mom is doing. Not a word will leak from this end. Your secret is safe with me.”

A tiny girl’s voice piped up in the background, “What secret?”

You laughed and Monica groaned, “I gotta go. There’s no privacy here apparently.”

Mia, six years old and Monica’s youngest child, continued the quizzing technique that mimicked her mother’s style. “Mama, what secret? Is it a party? Are we going to McDonald’s?”

You giggled. “Tell Mia I’ll take them all to McDonald’s the next time I come over.”

Monica protested, “Absolutely not! I’ll let you tell them the next time you’re here. If I tell them now they’ll be pestering me about it non-stop.”

“Tell us what, Mama? What’s the secret?”

“We’re going to the beach, and if you’re good I’ll get you ice cream.”

“Yay!” You heard Mia squeal and run out of the room.

“Gotta go, but call me later!” Monica disconnected and you stood smiling at the phone before you put it back on the base. It rang again almost immediately.

You picked it up, expecting Monica. “Hey, what did you forget?”

“My hat, again.” Frankie’s deep voice answered with a laugh. “How did you know it was me?”

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Frankie was amused and a bit befuddled. How had she known he was calling?

He heard her laugh with surprise, and once again he was struck by how good he felt knowing that he was the cause of that sound. That whatever he’d said or done had struck her just right, and that she was laughing because of him, because he had made her happy.

“Frankie, hi! No, I just hung up with Monica, I thought she was calling me back.” Her voice went softer, and Frankie felt a little tingle in his belly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Frankie infused his words with a warm smile. “Really good, actually. I had a pretty hot date last night.”

“Oh, did you?” she said playfully. “Anyone I know?”

“No, but she was fine,” Frankie teased. “A gorgeous, intelligent, fascinating woman. I thought she was way out of my league but she actually gave me a shot.”

She gasped theatrically. “Really? And then what happened?”

“I went over to her place, put the moves on her, gave her the full Frankie Morales treatment. In the end, she couldn’t keep her hands off me. I’d love to see her again soon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she’s a real firecracker. If I’m not careful she’s going to completely blow my mind, and then I’ll be no good for helicopter camp.”

She giggled, “Did you just call your Army training ‘helicopter camp’?”

“Yeah, it’s like summer camp, only we don’t make crafts, and hopefully there’s less crying and fewer helicopter crashes.”

She howled with laughter, and Frankie felt his face split into a wide grin. If this was what he got from her with just a few stupid jokes, he would do it for the rest of his life.

She gasped as she settled back down, and Frankie thrilled when she bubbled at him, “You’re too funny! Stop!”

Frankie smiled, “Anyway, I’m hoping my girl won’t miss me too much. Wouldn’t want her to be sad after getting a taste of me. I’m very sweet apparently.”

“That you are,” she giggled again, “My sweet boy,” and it made Frankie feel positively gooey inside. He hoped he wasn’t about to kill her good mood with his next bit of news.

“But listen, I have a problem,” he broached.

“Oh yeah?” She sounded flirty, like she was expecting more innuendo.

“Yeah, unfortunately. My mom left early for work with her car, and then my dad’s truck wouldn’t start, so he decided to borrow mine. I woke up to a note taped to my box of breakfast cereal. So unless you want to come pick me up, I’m kind of stuck here until they get home, sorry.”

“Oh.” She sounded flat. “Do you want me to come get you? Is that…” she searched for a word, “Is that safe? Wouldn’t your parents see my car when I drop you back off tonight?”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” Frankie sighed.

“Is it the same address from when you were in school?” she asked. “I pulled your phone number from an old contact sheet when I called about your hat. I know there’s no city bus out that way.”

“Yeah,” Frankie grimaced. “Same old house.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Sorry you can’t get yourself here.”

Frankie opted for hopeful, “Do you want to just wait until tonight? They’ll both be home around 6:00, then I can head over.”

“Yeah, I guess that’ll be okay. We’ll just make do and work with what we have, right?”

“Right.” Frankie pouted. “This sucks. I wanted to see you so bad this morning.”

“Me, too,” she murmured into the phone. The sound of it made Frankie ache.

Her voice brightened. “But hey, when you do get here tonight, I’ll make you that pasta we never got around to making yesterday. Deal?”

“Deal.” Frankie grinned and lowered his voice to a husky growl, “Should I bring dessert, or will you be serving the same sweet thing I ate last night?”

She burst out in a throaty chuckle - a warm, pretty sound that made Frankie’s stomach flip over. He let the waves of it wash over him, reveling in the fact that she was once again laughing for him.

Her laugh bubbled down into a musical sigh, and he could hear her smile through her next words, “Oh, Frankie… What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” he murmured.

She hummed thoughtfully, “Anything?”

“Anything. I’ve got a little less than three weeks left,” Frankie inhaled deeply and hoped that she would know he meant every word, “...but I’m all yours for the duration. Surprise me.”

“Oh, now there’s an idea.” She sounded brighter. “That I can definitely do for you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Frankie. “I’ll see you around 6:30?”

“Yeah, sweet boy. I’ll see you here at my place, 6:30.”

“See you then,” Frankie murmured a goodbye and hung up the phone.

Shit, he thought as he stretched his arms behind his head. Now what?

Frankie toyed with the idea of hitting the shower and rubbing one out, but he decided that he wasn’t particularly horny, so he could wait. Scratch that - he wanted to wait. She had felt amazing last night, so warm and snug around his cock. Even through the barrier of the condom she was the best thing Frankie had ever felt. The next time he came, he wanted it to be with her wrapped around him. And he didn’t want to risk that he wouldn’t be able to come again a second time, even with hours in between. He decided to save himself just for her, for tonight.

After a bowl of cereal and a few phone calls, Frankie lined up plans with his old high school buddy Mark to play video games and shoot some hoops in the park. By 10:30 they were shit-talking on the blacktop and sweating up a storm in the summer heat.

“Oh fuck you,” Mark called as Frankie sunk a basket. “You gotta let me have one, man.”

“Nope, you want a shot, you gotta come and take it,” Frankie shot back.

“That’s what your mom said to me last night,” Mark bragged.

Frankie bounced the ball over to Mark with a grin, “Take your shot, douchebag.”

Mark’s throw hit the center of the basket and raised his fists in a victory gesture. “Boo-yah! That’s how it’s done!”

Frankie grabbed the ball as it rolled back and popped it at Mark’s chest. “At least you play basketball better than you fuck.”

“Oh, what would you know?” Mark grinned as he dribbled the ball lazily, “You haven’t seen a pussy since you came out of one.”

“For your information, I had a wild first date last night.” He waited for Mark to line up at the basket. Just as Mark was about to shoot, Frankie added, “And for once it wasn’t your mom.” Mark fumbled and missed, and Frankie laughed.

“Bullshit,” said Mark as he grabbed the ball and shot it back to Frankie. “What poor, demented girl did you trick into having sex with you?”

“A woman, not a girl.” Frankie grinned. “An older woman.” He took a shot and hit the basket.

Mark gaped at him. “An older woman? So like, what, twenty-five? Twenty-six? It wasn’t Darren’s older sister, was it? He’ll shit a brick.”

Frankie shook his head and laughed. “Definitely not Darren’s sister, and she’s a woman, a very sophisticated, sexy older woman.”

“Well, who is she?” Mark aimed and his shot hit the rim before dribbling back to him.

“Can’t say, won’t say. My lips are sealed.” Frankie smiled, “But trust me, it’s good. She’s… amazing. I’m definitely buying her flowers the next time I see her.”

“Jesus Christ, dude. One date and you’re already pussy-whipped?” Mark shook his head as Frankie lined up his next throw.

Frankie’s shot hit the rim and teetered for a moment before falling in. “You call it ‘pussy-whipped,’ I call it ‘romance,’” Frankie grinned. “We’ll see which one of us has a better summer. Trust me, she knows what she’s doing in bed. She’s better than all of my other girlfriends combined.”

Mark made a motion like he was jerking off. “What other girlfriends? Lefty and Righty?”

Frankie rolled his eyes and popped the ball at Mark. “You’re up, dingus. Let’s finish and go home before I melt out here.”

By 11:30 they were back at Frankie’s house chugging Gatorade and calling for a pizza. Frankie decided to hop into a quick shower while Mark connected his Nintendo 64 console to the living room TV. He emerged from his bedroom, curls damp, and dressed in sweatpants and T-shirt just in time to hear Mark holler, “Hey dude, do you hook this up to AUX or Channel 3?”

“Channel 3, same as always.”

“Bitchin’, I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart. I owe you a trouncing from the last time we played during Spring Break.”

Frankie laughed. “Nuh-uh, never gonna happen. I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass again. I’ll even do it as Princess Peach just to piss you off.”

“Oh fuck you,” Mark grinned. “It’s on.”

Frankie and Mark got through three rounds, ribbing each other non-stop, before they were interrupted by the doorbell and a light knock.

“Pizz-UH!” Mark bellowed.

Frankie laughed and got up from the couch. He grabbed some cash from his wallet to cover the pizza and the tip.

When he opened the door his jaw dropped.

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You smiled at Frankie and peeped over the rim of your sunglasses.

“Hi, Frankie. I’m here for your math tutoring,” you winked.

Frankie’s wide eyes swept your frame, clad in your date-night dress from the grocery store. You watched his eyes trace from the bodice that flattered your bust just the way you liked, to the drape of the fabric over your hips, to the flirty hem and back up. You had gone all-out, even donning the same first-date jewelry and makeup as Saturday night, hoping he would enjoy the surprise.

You took off your sunglasses and dropped your voice to a honeyed, sultry drawl, “We’re going to have to “study” awfully hard today, Frankie. Are you ready for your hands-on training?”

Frankie gulped hard, and you realized that his expression wasn’t surprise mixed with joy, but astonishment and something that looked an awful lot like fear.

“Oh fuck,” Frankie winced, and your stomach trembled just a bit.

You heard the sound of some video game music coming from the living room, and your brain caught up with the realization that there was an extra car parked out front, taking up the space behind Frankie’s dad’s truck in the driveway. You had parked three houses down and around the corner, out of paranoia that someone would see your car and somehow instantly know that you and Frankie were involved. But you hadn’t really looked at the extra vehicle when you walked across the lawn, it had barely registered. And now it seemed like Frankie wasn’t quite as ‘home alone’ as you thought.

Just then a high, falsetto voice called from within the house, “Oh, loverboy! What’s taking you so long?”

Frankie’s face blanched white, and you desperately hoped that you were misreading the situation. But given the terror on his face and the fact that someone else was in the house, there was an instant surge of nausea at the back of your throat. Your limbs felt heavy, and all the air seemed to have been sucked out of your lungs.

You looked at Frankie, suddenly unsure of yourself and your brilliant idea to come over and surprise him. Your brows knit together and you hated how small your voice sounded when you finally unstuck your tongue.

“F-frankie?” You blinked rapidly to clear a few tears that threatened to well up. “Um, what’s going on?”

Frankie clenched his jaw and gave you a tight smile, “Um, that’s Mark. He’s fucking around.”

He called out over his shoulder, “Shut the fuck up, man.”

A male voice rang back, “Is it the pizza?”

You exhaled a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Frankie looked at you sheepishly.

“I thought you- pizza- I mean,” he shook his head. “I thought you were the pizza guy.”

You heard the slam of a car door from the street and Frankie looked over your shoulder, relieved. “There’s the pizza.”

A heavy thud of footsteps sounded from inside, and a young man appeared in the front entryway, giving a cheery yell, “Pizza! Finally!”

He stopped when he saw you, a look of recognition and confusion coloring his features. “Hey! What’re you doing here, Miss-”

“Pizza’s here!” Frankie announced loudly, startling you.

“Oh, hi Mark,” you waved lamely at your other former student. “Long time, no see. How’s your mom doing? She still working at the hospital?”

“She’s good, yeah… Uh,” he glanced at Frankie and then back at you, “What’s going on?”

You fumbled, “Um, I-”

“Tutoring,” Frankie interrupted.

Mark’s quizzical frown dissolved into disbelief. “Tutoring? Man, we graduated four years ago. Why the fuck-”

“Got your pizza here,” a deep voice from behind made you jump, and you quickly moved to the side of the front door, blessedly out of Mark’s line of sight - and questions.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe slowly and bring your heart rate back to normal as Frankie paid for the pizza. When the delivery man left, you looked at Frankie and laughed weakly.

“You’re busy, I should go.”

Frankie shook his head, holding the pizza box in one hand and grabbing yours with his other.

He leaned his face close to yours, “Don’t you dare.”

Frankie led you inside, where Mark still stood in the front entryway.

“Here,” Frankie handed the pizza to Mark. “Why don’t you take that home?”

“Take it home? You’re not gonna eat any-”

Frankie interrupted him. “I’m sorry, dude. I totally forgot I had tutoring today.” He turned to you. “Do you want to go sit in the dining room and I’ll grab my books?”

“Yes! Great idea.” You smiled, “Good to see you again, Mark.”

Mark looked at Frankie with skepticism. “Are you serious? What kind of tutoring could you possibly need?”

“Advanced trigonometry and physics for the flight training exam I have to take next month.”

Frankie clapped Mark on the shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll help you pack up your Nintendo and you can head out. I’m really sorry I gotta bail on you.”

You bit your lip to suppress a smile and walked down the central hallway, past the kitchen, to the dining room at the back of the house. You felt giddy and a little weak from the roller-coaster of the past five minutes: from riding the high of excitement about surprising Frankie to the sickening dip of thinking he had another woman with him, to the sideways whip of seeing Mark and worrying that he would suspect that you and Frankie were up to something.

You sat down at the table and listened to their deep voices rumbling from the living room. A few moments later the front door opened and slammed shut, and you felt instantly relieved.

Frankie appeared in the doorway of the dining room, one broad shoulder propped against the side of the jamb, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with wide eyes and a gentle smirk.

You felt a giggle of a laugh bubbling up, and when Frankie’s smirk dissolved into a chuckle, you lost it.

You both laughed until you cried.

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Frankie watched her laugh, letting the sick swirl of adrenaline from the near-miss with Mark ebb away. He drank in the sight of her sitting at his dining room table, eyes crinkling with mirth and shoulders shaking as her laughter filled the room. She swiped a tear away from under one eye, and Frankie thought she had never looked so pretty.

She had worn the same dress from the grocery store last Saturday night, and Frankie said a silent prayer thanking whichever prick had given her such a bad first date that she ended up in the produce section that night.

Frankie grinned at her from the doorway, and when the laughter settled, he teased her a bit. “So, math tutoring, huh?”

Her eyebrows flicked up and she shrugged with a soft smile, “You said surprise you.” She bit her lip. “Are you mad?”

Frankie shook his head and walked over to her. He leaned down and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. He took his time, pressing hard against her mouth with his own, and nuzzling his nose against hers as he bit off kisses until she whimpered with desire.

“Do I seem angry to you?” he murmured.

“No, but I was worried that-”

Frankie stopped her mouth with another kiss. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

She smiled and gazed up at him. “So, a good surprise then?”

Frankie smiled. “Great surprise, actually. Were you trying to do the whole ‘math tutoring seduction fantasy’ thing for me?”

She looked a bit embarrassed, “Yeah, kind of cheesy, huh?”

“Very, but I love it.” Frankie grinned seductively, “I actually do have one skill I learned recently that I need you to evaluate, tell me how my progress is coming along.”

She raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

“Oh I can’t tell you,” said Frankie as he kneeled next to her chair. “I have to show you.”

She started to turn toward him and he put his hand on her thigh to stop her. “Stay right there,” he commanded. “Will you keep your legs under the table for me?”

She nodded her assent.

Frankie winked, “And for this demonstration you’ll need to put your hands flat on the tabletop.”

She frowned skeptically at him, but complied, “Okay.”

Frankie ducked his head to crawl under the table and sat back on his heels, centering himself between her knees. He ran his fingers lightly up the backs of her calves, and her legs trembled. He smiled softly. Seeing her affected by him was so addicting, he wanted more of it.

He flexed his fingers to brush against the little dimple behind each knee, and she giggled and shivered. Frankie skimmed his hand up, pulling the fabric of the dress higher to pool over her thighs.

She brought one hand down to pull her dress up and Frankie caught her fingers with his own. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand and heard her exhale a shaky breath.

“Put your hand back up, please?” He murmured. “I got you.”

She let go and her hand disappeared, back on top of the table. Frankie pushed the hem of her dress higher and higher, until he could see the lace of her panties covering her mound. He ran his palms over the tops of her thighs and back down, then gently hooked his fingers behind her knees and pulled her legs wide apart. He placed a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of one thigh.

He heard her inhale sharply, followed by a softly voiced, “Oh,” full of wonder.

Frankie ran his fingers up the outsides of her thighs, reveling in the feel of her soft skin under his touch. When he reached the waistband of her underwear he tugged gently down, and she shifted to hover just off the chair, allowing him to slide them down off her hips. Frankie pulled her panties down her legs at a glacial pace, delighting in the tremble of her legs and the way that goosebumps appeared as the lace and his fingertips skimmed along.

Finally, her panties were off and Frankie could see all of her. He hooked his fingers around the back of her knees again, “Scoot towards me. Lean back,” he told her.

She scooted forward on the chair until she was almost at the edge, and as her back settled against the chair her legs fell open wider. Frankie felt himself getting hard in his sweatpants as more of her gorgeous pussy came into view. He wanted to tease her and make her legs tremble more, bring her to the height of anticipation and arousal.

He started low, teasing her with gentle strokes of his fingers around her ankles and slowly up the backs of her calves. Frankie saw her hips roll and he heard her hum with anticipation. He placed a soft, warm kiss to the inside of one knee, and she shivered for him again.

Frankie grinned and dragged his fingers higher, skimming the outsides of her knees with a grazing touch. He kissed the inside of her other thigh, reveling in the way that her legs shifted open just another inch. He felt his cock pulse at the sight of her glistening lips, and the way that her warm, unique scent enveloped him as she got more aroused.

He ran both hands up the outsides of her thighs to the junction of her hips and then dragged them slowly back down, flexing his fingers so that his nails just skimmed along. Above the table, she moaned for him, and Frankie felt an overwhelming sense of gratification at the realization that he could do all of this for her, make her tense and relax by turns, make her as turned-on as she made him.

He shifted forward and laid his tongue to the inside of her knee, letting the heat of it linger in the wake of the goosebumps that had risen. He wrapped his lips around the tip of his tongue and kissed her softly. He did the same to the inside of her other knee, and she tensed, her legs threatening to close as she moaned again.

Frankie kept his hands moving, back up the tops of her thighs this time, tracing a path to the junction of her hips once again. He paused there to press his fingertips in just a bit, watching her jump at the ticklish sensation before he released his fingers and skimmed them back down over her knees.

When he made his third pass up her legs, Frankie chose the route along her inner thighs. He pressed his fingers more firmly than he had on the other two passes, and went even slower. He heard her sigh raggedly, and then her hands came down. One gripped the seat of the chair and the other grasped at the fabric of her skirt.

Frankie froze, and he saw the moment she realized and let go, untwisting her fingers from the rumpled fabric of her dress and lifting them back up to rest on the tabletop. He grinned to himself and rewarded her with another hot, wet kiss to her inner thigh. He decided to tease her one final bit before he dove in, and he skimmed his lips higher and higher up her thigh in the wake of his fingers.

She shivered and her legs trembled as his fingers reached her outer lips. Frankie ghosted his fingers up and down her pussy, and he was rewarded with another deep moan and a sigh. Even better was the sight of her practically leaking onto the vinyl seat of the dining room chair. Frankie’s erection protested against the confines of his sweatpants. He stifled a groan as he leaned forward and his sensitive tip rubbed against the fabric.

Frankie stuck his tongue out and ran it lightly over her lips, up her seam to her clit. She made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Frankie felt flush with pride. He still couldn’t believe she was his, that she was here with him, and that he could make her make those noises. Frankie thought back to one former girlfriend who had always told him that he was a great kisser; he was amused to realize that he should have been using his talents all this time to simply make out with a girl’s pussy instead of treating oral like it was a separate skill, like it was something different that he needed to learn anew.

He dove in eagerly, using his fingers to pull her open gently as he wrapped his lips around the hard bud of her clit. She cried out and slammed one hand on the tabletop as he licked and probed her most intimate places with his tongue, reveling in the way her wetness ran down his chin. He wrapped his fingers around her hips and pressed his face harder against her core as she began to tremble and thrash. She moaned and bucked under his lips, and Frankie used her movements to his advantage, following her with his mouth and keeping his iron grip on her hips.

He licked down and stuck his tongue inside of her as far as it would go, and released one hand from her hip so that he could press and manipulate her clit with his thumb. He heard her gasp as her legs tried to close, and he used his other hand to hold one knee open.

She tensed up, sitting up a little straighter on the chair before she fell apart in his mouth, clenching around his tongue and crying out a nonsensical string of, “Fuck… Frankie, oh god… oh fuck!”

Frankie withdrew his tongue and licked her slowly up and down as she climaxed. He pressed one finger inside to feel the last of her throbbing pulses as she came down. He kissed her thigh again as he rubbed her walls slowly, pressing her clit with his thumb gently. When her hand came down to pat his wrist, a signal to let go, he withdrew.

He wiped his mouth with a cupped hand and emerged from under the table to find her limp, slumped back in the chair with a gorgeous, soft smile on her face. She met his eyes and sighed, shaking her head in wonderment.

“Frankie- you-” she gulped. “That was amazing.”

He grinned at her. “Getting better?”

She laughed, “Yeah, your skills are definitely improving.”

Frankie smiled and helped pull her up to stand in front of him, wrapping her in an embrace and kissing her deeply. She tangled her tongue with his and hummed with satisfaction.

Frankie broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, suffused with warmth and happiness that she was his, even for just a few weeks.

֎ ֎ ֎

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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Your Assigned FBI Agent is a Secret Freak, Part 3

Co-written by @katareyoudrilling and @just-here-for-the-moment… we don’t know what happened here. Kat came up with a question and we just started bouncing ideas off each other - and Part 1 was the very fun and unhinged result. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Word count: 3500

Outline: (Part 3) What if you decide to have sex with Marcus Pike?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY no minors: rough sex; impact play; nipple clamps; Dom!Marcus Pike; protected P/V sex; a shameless fangirl letter to @whataperfectwasteoftime

Previously, on Part 2: “No, Marcus. I can’t wear these for you right now because I have to take my clothes off first.”

JHFTM: Marcus’s eyes go wide and he turns tomato red. You giggle and step forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus huffs and rolls his eyes, a sigh of relief more than irritation at your antics.

“Good, because I was doing the worst job ever hiding how much I want you.” Marcus kisses you. His lips press against yours almost politely, soft as can be, but his hands have come to grip your hips and pull you to meet his front. While Marcus’s kiss starts off soft and tentative, there’s something more urgent behind it, something that you know he’s keeping in check.

You swipe your tongue across his lower lip and Marcus suddenly changes his angle of attack, opening his mouth fully against yours and swallowing your kiss. He pivots you both and smashes you up against the wall next to the doorway, using his hips to keep you pinned to the wall while his hands come off your waist to lift the hem of your blouse. You acquiesce and let him pull it up and off your head and Marcus swallows hard when he sees your bra, notices the way your nipples are pebbled against the lace. Even though his hips (and now his erection) are holding you up against the wall, Marcus still asks politely: “Can I touch you?”

You nod vigorously, ready to let this man take you apart.

Katareyoudrilling: He starts at your waist, lightly brushing his fingertips up to your ribs as he brings his mouth back to yours. His gentle touches and teasing nips at your lips light your skin on fire. He traces the bottom edge of your bra, following the curve of the cup up the sides of your breasts. Your nipples ache for his touch, every nerve vibrating, but he doesn't give you what you want. He swallows your needy whimpers as his fingers skim the top edge of the lace cup, but don’t dip under. You arch against him, craving friction.

He chuckles against your mouth. “So impatient.”

Marcus continues his relentless torture as he slides his hands back down your sides and moves to kiss down your neck, dragging his lips down your sensitive skin.

“Is this ok?” he asks as he works the waistband of your skirt over your hips and lets it drop to the ground. The juxtaposition of how sweetly he checks in with you, with the barely restrained fire you see in his dark eyes, has you squirming.

“Yes, sir,” you pant.

Marcus groans into your neck and digs his fingertips into your hips. Warmth blooms in your chest. He liked that.

“Should I call you ‘sir’, sir?” you ask sweetly.

“Fuck yes.” He recaptures your mouth with a bruising kiss and slides his hands down the curve of your ass, pulling you roughly into him.

He breaks the kiss and plants wet, open-mouth kisses down your sternum and stomach, still avoiding your aching nipples, as he drags your panties down your legs. He looks up at you from his knees, his eyes black and feral with want. “Can I?”

You moan and nod.

“Say it,” he commands with a playful smirk.

“Yes, sir, please,” you beg, positively dizzy with arousal.

Marcus licks his lips as he looks hungrily at your pussy. He bites his bottom lip and you clench around nothing. He skims his hands down your legs and circles one ankle with his fingers. He lifts your foot off the ground and hooks it over his shoulder, opening you to him.

Your hands scrape against the wall, searching for something to steady yourself. Marcus notices your struggle, captures your hand, and places it on his head, “I’ve got you,” he rasps and then he dives in like a man starved.

Your knees buckle with the first swipe of his tongue through your folds. Marcus’s strong hands grasp handfuls of your thighs holding you steady against the wall. He laps eagerly at your entrance, while his nose nudges your clit.

Marcus groans against you as you tighten your grip on his hair. He circles his tongue around your clit and you feel the pressure building low in your belly. You roll your hips into his mouth, fucking his face, chasing the perfect friction of his tongue.

He urges you on with his hands, pulling you into him, driving you higher and higher with his gorgeous mouth. The force of your orgasm surprises you. You cry out and slump against the wall as your body pulses with waves of pleasure. Marcus holds you through it, forehead pressed against your abdomen, until you relax into his waiting arms.

JHFTH: “How was that?” asks Marcus.

You scoff, huffing out a breath at the ridiculous question. As if he didn’t know? As if he didn’t just hear you moaning and feel you trembling?

“Are you kidding?” you croak. You look down to see his brown eyes twinkling up at you. “That was- that was amazing, Marcus. Just amazing…”

“Really,” he hums. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, then. Because you’re going to need to give me two more just like it.”

You shake your head. “No, not possible. Please.”

“Please, what?” He winks at you and stands up, crowding you against the wall again.

You gulp, whispering, “Please, sir. Maybe one more later, but I don’t think I can do two.”

Marcus hums, a non-committal noise as he considers. “Okay, one more. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He grasps your chin gently between his strong fingers and presses his mouth to yours. You’re dizzy with want, with the way that you can taste yourself on him, with how much he’s matched you so far when you’ve only known each other 24 hours… but then he had the advantage there, didn’t he? By having a 24-hour head start on knowing you.

You smile and grasp his belt loops, pulling him closer as he kisses and kisses you.

“Can we move this to the bed, sir?” You’re ready for him, for whatever he wants to give you, for the experience of seeing what the “Boy Scout” can do with the flogger and the blindfold… and maybe the handcuffs, too.

Marcus nods, “Yeah.”

You turn and remove your bra as you walk over to the bed, and then you sit and face him. You realize that Marcus is still fully dressed, and the vulnerability of being completely naked while he’s still clothed is exquisite. His deep brown eyes skim your body, taking in your smile and your expanse of bare skin and your curves. You lay back against the pillows and reach up to the headboard.

“Would you like to cuff me, sir? Maybe demonstrate your skills with the flogger?”

Marcus nearly groans at that, and you feel absolutely wicked that you’ve managed to snag a man who is this handsome, smart, and also into the exact same kind of sex that you are.

Marcus goes to the dresser and removes the cuffs and the flogger, coming back to the bed and placing both implements on the bedspread next to you.

“What’s your safe word, sweetheart?”

“It’s ‘harder,’ sir.” You laugh, and Marcus rolls his eyes.

“Only joking. How about “koi”?”

Marcus frowns, and you tilt your head toward the doorway. “You’ve got that bright koi painting hanging up. I liked it.”

Marcus smiles, “Koi it is. And we’ve established that you can call me ‘sir,’ but I need to know what to call you.” He trails his fingers up your hip, sending tingles of electricity through your body as he continues up to your breast, circling it, still not touching your pert nipples.

Marcus seems to enjoy making you squirm, and you gasp a few times before your brain kicks in, and the first thing you think of from your favorite porn video spills from your lips: “Little doll?”

Marcus’s eyes go wide as he looks down at you from where he’s standing next to the bed, and you know he knows. He admitted to surveilling you, he knows your search history, he’s got to know that he looks enough like Martin Price that they could be brothers…. Right? Or is it just that you’ve finally said something so dirty or shocking that you’ve found Marcus’s limit?

Marcus reaches over and picks up the nipple clamps. “‘Little doll’ it is, then.”

He gazes down at you like you’re a precious piece of art. You’re dying for him to begin, writhing with anticipation over what he’ll do next.

Katareyoudrilling:

Marcus sits down beside you, weighing the nipple clamps in his hands. “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for these, my little doll.”

You groan in frustration and Marcus chuckles. Your nipples are achingly hard from his teasing.

“Because,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I want to taste them first.”

You gasp in surprise and your frustration vanishes immediately. Marcus shifts down your body and licks a stripe up the side of your breast before pulling one hard nipple into his mouth. You cry out and arch up off the bed. All the time he spent tormenting you has made you incredibly sensitive. Every flick and tug sends a jolt of arousal to your center. He moves to the other nipple far too quickly.

He hums against your skin, clearly enjoying himself, then releases your breast with a soft pop. He blows lightly across both wet nipples and your skin pebbles. He winks at you with a naughty gleam in his eye and attaches the clamps.

The pinch is exquisite. You let out a low moan. “Are you going to cuff me now, sir?” you ask, breathlessly.

“Maybe later,” he smiles as he drags a finger down between your breasts, catching on the pretty chain, tugging gently. “Turn over. I want you on all fours.” He picks up the flogger and taps in against his palm.

Your eyes widen in surprise before you eagerly do as you were told. The chain drags against the bed, tugging downward deliciously on your already heavy breasts. Marcus runs a finger down your spine and you shiver.

“Do you remember your safe word, little doll?”

“Yes, sir,” you pant.

The first stinging swat catches you off guard. You jolt, causing the nipple clamp chain to sway and pull. The combination of sensations is overwhelming in the best way. Marcus swats you again and your arms shake.

He leans down close to your ear, “You look beautiful like this. Trembling for me.” He ghosts his lips over your shoulder as he swats you again.

JHFTM: You moan as the falls of the leather flogger crack against your skin for the third time. Shit, the Boy Scout isn’t fucking around, is he? You heave a great, shuddering breath in and brace for another impact… but it doesn’t come. Instead, the leather tassels touch your buttock with barely a whisper.

Marcus drags the flogger up the curve of your ass to your lower back at a snail’s pace, and your entire body breaks out in a shiver. The sensation runs down your arms, and you sway, dragging the chains of the clamps again. An involuntary moan rips from your throat.

“How’s my little doll doing, hmm?” Marcus’s voice is just this side of condescension, gently teasing.

Your voice is strangled when you reply, “Good.”

Marcus pauses the flogger mid-back, and his next words are practically ice: “‘Good’ what?”

“Good, sir!” You gasp it out, and Marcus restarts the languorous trail, up the back of one shoulder and across the skin on the back of your neck. Your nipples feel tender, and somehow impossibly harder than they were even a moment ago.

“That’s my girl,” Marcus’s voice is low and velvety again, and you go warm all over at his praise. You deeply crave his approval. Shit. When did you get so invested in Marcus’s opinion of you?

He drags the flogger at that same slow pace down your other shoulder blade and then back to your hip. You’re practically drooling from both ends, and your brain is fuzzed with arousal. When the next crack! comes, you’re so blissed out you barely cry out, merely hissing as you breathe back in.

Marcus puts the flogger down and caresses your buttocks with both of his large, warm hands, soothing the tender flesh. “I think you’re ready for me now. Why don’t you roll over and I’ll cuff you to the headboard, since you asked so sweetly.”

You move faster than you ever have in your life, flipping yourself face up and obediently holding your wrists up near the headboard. The cold chains of the clamps hit your torso and make you shiver just a little.

Marcus chuckles a genuinely surprised laugh. “Wow, you’re really eager, huh?”

He kneels on the bed next to you and massages each wrist before clamping the handcuffs on. Even here, he’s gentle, leaving plenty of room in each cuff for comfort. You ache at your core and rub your thighs uselessly together, trying to quell the sudden rush of arousal that you feel at Marcus’s tender care.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Marcus sits on the bed next to you. “So, little doll, tell me,” he drags his warm chocolate eyes from your face to your breasts, down to your hips and back up again. “When was the last time someone took care of you?”

You’re so entranced by his gaze that it takes you a moment to answer. “A really long time,” you whisper.

Marcus frowns at that, mild confusion and disappointment coloring his face before he replies, murmuring, “That’s a damn shame. A priceless work of art should be treasured, taken care of… loved.”

He leans down and caresses your jaw as he kisses you, and it’s soft and chaste and somehow far more intimate than anything he’s done to you yet. You sigh with satisfaction and melt into Marcus’s hold on you.

Whatever you imagined when you saw the toys in his dresser, Marcus has completely surprised you. He’s a bleeding heart romantic who can talk dirty and wield a flogger better than any “hard” dom you’ve ever met. He’s a study in contrasts and you want to spend the rest of your life studying him. You shake your head at yourself: you’ve only known Marcus for 24 hours and you’ve already decided you never want to leave his bed.

Marcus pulls back from the kiss and smiles at you, and he’s practically glowing. “Thank you for trusting me to take care of you tonight, little doll.”

Tears spring to your eyes, and Marcus frowns. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head and sniff. You feel so good, so treasured by him, and it’s all so overwhelming at this moment.

“Nothing bad, I just-” you quaver, then clear your throat and try again. “I’ve never had a dom thank me before. You’re just so… Marcus, I…” you trail off, feeling utterly useless at putting your words together.

The frown on his face is replaced by a tender smile, and Marcus leans over you, somehow knowing exactly what you need. “Why don’t you try telling me again after we’ve cleared that pretty little head out?”

He cups one breast and rubs his thumb over the tender, trapped nipple where it emerges from the clamp. You arch your back and hiss and Marcus rubs harder. You keen a high breathy moan into the air as Marcus leans down and engulfs your entire nipple - clamp and all - into his hot, wet mouth. He cups your breast with one hand while he snakes his other arm under your arched back and holds you tight against him. Marcus’s tongue soothes and tortures you by turns, and before long you’re a quivering, writhing mess in his arms.

Marcus switches his mouth to your other nipple and runs his hand down to your pussy. He pulls you apart with two strong fingers and rubs your outer lips. Up and down, barely grazing your clit with each pass until you’re wailing and thrashing uselessly in his iron grip. It’s all too much, the sensations of his mouth and his fingers and the warmth of his body bleeding through his button-down shirt where he’s holding you against him. You’re in ecstasy, and you think you might come just from this alone.

Marcus swings one strong leg over your knee and pins your leg open, and the act of him physically taking over your body, taking control of you so masterfully sends you over the edge. You stiffen as your orgasm washes over you, and then your hips are bucking and thrusting in vain as you seek his fingers to help you through the rest of your tremors. Marcus takes mercy on you and curves his two thick fingers down and into you, rubbing firmly against your clit as he plunges them inside. You moan in relief, at the way that you feel instantly better, having something to clench around as you come down.

Marcus kisses your temple tenderly as you start to relax, reminding yourself how to breathe again, letting your heartbeat slow and return to normal. He rubs your clit with his thumb, featherlight touches intended to soothe as your pussy drools around his big fingers. You can feel a damp spot on the cover underneath you, but you’re too blissed out to be embarrassed.

You shudder and look up at him, “Oh, my god. Thank you, sir. That was amazing.”

Marcus regards you tenderly, placing another kiss to your forehead. “Feeling better, my little doll?”

“Yes, sir.” You smile up at him and wink. “Would you like to fuck me now, sir?”

Marcus grins. “Yeah, but not while you’re in the handcuffs - not for our first time, at least. I’d like to be more gentle, um, make love to you… if that’s okay?”

Your heart aches at that. At sweet tender Marcus, while he literally has you in handcuffs and your juices are messing up his bedspread, asking you if he can make love to you. You nod, emphatically. “Yes, yes, that would be amazing.”

Marcus smiles and unlocks the handcuffs, then tenderly removes the clamps and soothes each of your nipples with his wet tongue again. He grabs a condom from the dresser and hands it to you to hold while he strips.

When his shirt comes off, you hum at the way that his broad, golden shoulders catch the light from the lamp. He smiles shyly as he opens his pants and pulls them down, along with his boxers. You love seeing every inch of him, but Marcus stands awkwardly for just a moment, as if he’s afraid you’ll be disappointed in what you see. You lick your lips and curl your finger at him, beckoning him to come to bed.

“Come here, sir,” you wink, and you hand him the foil packet.

“Yes, ma’am.” Marcus rolls the condom down his impressive length before he kneels to lay between your legs, and then he makes love to you.

Katareyoudrilling: Marcus had asked you to come three times, something you had never done before in one evening, but under his skilled hands you had done it. He coaxed your third orgasm from you while he stared deep into your eyes, stroking deeply inside you. His own release followed closely after with a shudder and a curse.

After, he kissed you gently and whispered praise in your ear as you lay limply on the bed. In your blissed out haze, you barely registered that he had left before he returned with a warm wet cloth and gently cleaned you up. You fluttered your eyes open to see Marcus tossing the washcloth away, before he picked up a small bundle sitting next to you on the bed.

He hushed your whine of protest when he pressed the make-shift ice pack to your nipples. He wouldn’t let you lift a finger to help, telling you all the ways he wanted to take care of you, all the ways you were so beautiful like this.

With his gentle hands and even gentler voice, he soothed all your sore, stinging places. He kissed every place the flogger had landed before smoothing lotion on your skin. Then he gathered you in his arms and held you close to his chest, continuing to speak soft words of adoration into your hair.

You had never been cared for like this after sex before, especially not after rough sex. Marcus just might be the king of aftercare. You could never accept less after this.

Wrapped in Marcus’s arms, on his soft bed, in his art-filled apartment, you ponder how you got here. You hadn’t even met him 24 hours ago. This didn’t feel like a one-night stand, but your expertly cleared brain starts filling up with doubts.

“Stay.”

With one word, Marcus’s deep voice wipes them all away.

“Ok,” you answer with a smile and snuggle deeper into his broad chest. “I want to find out what else you have in that drawer.”

Marcus chuckles. The low rumble vibrates pleasantly into your body. “How did I get so lucky to have your file cross my desk?”

You tip your face up and press a gentle kiss to his plush lips. “How did I get so lucky to have my assigned FBI agent be a secret freak?”

***

#marcus pike x you #your assigned fbi agent is a secret freak

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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Your Assigned FBI Agent is a Secret Freak, Part 2

Series Masterlist

Word count: 2700

Outline: (Part 2) What if Marcus Pike decides to approach you at the restaurant? (No physical or racial description of Reader character)

Warnings: mentions of Marcus overseeing you masturbate; references to your BDSM pornography videos; mentions of sex toys; a shameless fangirl letter to @whataperfectwasteoftime

JHFTM: Your stomach flips over as the man approaches your bar stool. He’s tall and handsome with dark hair, dark eyes, and he looks… oddly familiar? Oh shit. He looks really similar to that porn actor you like: Martin Price... like, eerily similar. It’s not him, is it? No, the eyes are different, softer and they crinkle differently, and they’re a darker shade of brown. And this guy is broader through the shoulders than the actor, and he’s got a dimple… and that’s all you have time to process before the handsome man is standing right in front of your barstool, smiling at you with definite interest.

“Hi,” he starts, and oh God his voice, it hits your ears the way that rum and cream and dark brown sugar hit your tongue when you make your favorite dessert topping. And you’re so lost in those dark brown eyes and the dimple that your jaw hangs open, and you blink, and finally, finally your voice kicks in with a breathy, “Hi.”

He gestures at the empty bar in front of you. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Katareyoudrilling: “I was, but I don’t think he’s going to show.”

“His loss. What kind of idiot would stand you up?”

“My brother, actually.”

Marcus looks uncomfortable for a moment and rubs his neck before looking back at you. His eyes are so soft and sincere. “I should tell you,” he starts, “I’m not just over here because you’re a beautiful woman and I’d like to get to know you. I’m actually an FBI agent and I’m here because of your brother”

You’re stunned. What would the FBI want with Dieter?

Marcus explains the case, your brother isn’t the ultimate target, they really want who he’s working for, and asks if you’re willing to help. How could you say no? Look at him! Also, when you really think about it, you’ve been suspicious that Dieter has been involved with some shady people. If this will get him away from them, it would be worth it.

You agree to meet him at his office the next day to share what you know.

[The Next Day…]

Marcus closes his notebook. “Thank you for all of that. I think it will be very helpful.” He has been completely professional. You hadn’t imagined him calling you beautiful last night, had you? Just as your thoughts begin to spiral, wondering if it was all an act to get information, Marcus clears his throat and you look up at him.

His face has changed from serious, distant FBI agent back to the man who approached you in the bar. His gaze is so intense, it makes you shiver.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asks, his deep voice hopeful.

“Yes,” you agree without hesitation.

JHFTM: A warm smile spreads across Marcus’s face at your answer. God, he’s really unfairly handsome, isn’t he? You tell the little butterflies in your gut to shut up, just chill, it’s only dinner.

Because despite the fact that Marcus is ridiculously handsome and brilliant - he’s clearly a total Boy Scout, squeaky clean and NOT interested in the same kind of sex you enjoy. Any superficial physical similarities he has to your favorite BDSM porn actor are just that - surface level. But part of you wonders if maybe you can start that conversation with him, get him to swing that way in bed… shit. Why are you thinking about going to bed with this man already? It’s been too long since you had a good fuck, that’s all. And you’ve been steeping yourself in fics for months, both reading and writing them. Maybe you should stop feeding yourself fantasies that you can’t have.

You arrange to meet Marcus at a local Italian bistro that evening, and there go those butterflies again.

[A few hours later…]

Dinner is pleasant, and you have a hard time remembering the last time you had a date this enjoyable. Marcus is surprisingly funny, and full of stories from his job. He also tells you he’s a terrible liar, which you find odd in an FBI agent. But then you suppose real law enforcement work is not the same as what’s on screen, like your favorite show on Netflix with the smoking hot DEA Agent or that spy movie with the sassy cowboy spy who’s good with a lasso and a whip… and then you spend the next several minutes struggling to get the idea of Marcus using a whip out of your head.

Marcus confesses that he shouldn’t conceal the full extent of his surveillance: that the agency had to pull your search history, that he ran surveillance on you in person, that he realized you were watching porn and about to masturbate and he left, and that read your fics (Oh god, you think). He reveals his Tumblr handle and you recognize it immediately as the brand-new account that had gone through your entire masterlist and ‘liked’ almost everything in the span of about three hours last night. You giggle at that.

“So you’re ‘Art Freak With A Gun’? Did you really read everything I’ve posted?”

Marcus’s cheeks go pink, and the bashfulness only makes him even more attractive. “Yeah, is that okay? I especially liked the one where the FBI Agent meets the marathon runner and they get together.”

You reach over your dessert and grab his arm playfully. “Of course it’s okay! Normally I would have reported this level of blog stalking to Tumblr by now, but since it’s you…” You wink at him, and you swear that Marcus’s face glows.

After coffee and the check, which he insists you don’t pay, Marcus invites you back to his place for a drink…

Katareyoudrilling: Marcus opens the door to his apartment and motions for you to walk in ahead of him.

“I can’t take back that I know more about you than I should… and I wouldn’t want to, because it’s how we met, but I want to even the score.”

You look at him questioningly. You’re still wrapping your mind around the fact that he was watching you. That he saw your internet search history. Your heartbeat picks up at that thought. It’s not a side of yourself you show most people in your real life.

Marcus continues, “I want you to snoop around my apartment. Nothing is off limits.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ll go make us some tea in the kitchen. Take your time.”

You take a long look around Marcus’s apartment. He has a masculine style - dark woods and moody lighting. A worn and comfy looking leather couch takes up the wall on one side of the room. Across from it is a large TV surrounded by built-in shelves.

What makes his apartment noticeably different from the other bachelor pads you’ve encountered is the art. Above his couch, where you would normally expect to find a modern print with blocky colors and harsh angles, there’s a brooding landscape. If you had to guess, you’d say it was from the 1800’s, but you’re not an expert. Marcus clearly is.

On his coffee table, a thick art book lays open to works of the Italian Renaissance masters. You wander over to the shelves beside the TV and drag your fingers across books and objects from every time period - medieval weaponry, South American iconography, French impressionism, Native American pottery. It seems his interest in art isn’t only for his job.

You continue your exploration down his hallway, marveling at the breadth of his artistic interests. A brightly colored fish swims next to a collection of American colonial stamps. You come to a closed door. It must be his bedroom. He said nothing was off limits. You open the door and enter.

This room is much the same as the rest of his apartment. He’s very tidy, nothing is out of place, such a Boy Scout. You run your fingers over the plush bedspread and cool sheets of his bed as you look around. One side of the room has two doors. You can see his ensuite bathroom through one. You figure his closet must be the other. Along the opposite wall runs a low dresser.

If there’s anything that’s going to even the score between you, it’s probably in there.

You make your way over and tap your fingers nervously on the smooth wood top. This feels so wrong, but he said he wanted you to. Nothing is off limits.

You steel your courage with a deep breath and slide open the first drawer. You look down and see stacks of neatly folded pillowcases and bed sheets. Well that was anticlimactic.

You move to the next drawer and slide it open. Charging cables and batteries. No wonder he said nothing was off limits, he has nothing to hide! you huff to yourself.

There is one drawer left. You pull it open expecting to find more mundane household items. What you see instead makes you blink in confusion. Neatly arranged on a tray are condoms, lube, and massage oil. Ok, so you’ve found his sex drawer. Still vanilla. You carefully lift the tray out to find another layer below it. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. In front of you lie handcuffs, a blindfold, a flogger, and nipple clamps.

JHFTM: Almost involuntarily, you reach out and trace your index finger over the assembled toys, as if you’re running your finger over the spines on a library shelf, looking for something to peruse.

The handcuffs are cold, heavy steel - a match to the ones on his FBI belt, you’re sure. You smirk to yourself at how “Marcus” that seems because of the safety backup: the keys will match and he’ll always have extras on hand. The blindfold is a plain one in soft black satin. The flogger is also black, and nearly utilitarian, definitely made for function and not for show. It’s got a short handle with very short falls, and your pussy nearly drools at the mental image of Marcus wielding it against your backside.

But the nipple clamps? Those are the odd man out… they’re tipped with black silicone for comfort, but the metal is rose gold, connected by a double chain. And hanging from the bottom of each clamp is a set of three faceted black glass spheres, alternating with sparkling rhinestone spacer beads. They’re delicate, and far more feminine than you would have expected… Did a former lover of his leave them behind?

“See anything you like?” Marcus’s soft voice startles you from the doorway, and you jump. A frisson of fear runs up your spine and your nipples harden when the chill hits your shoulders and runs down your arms. When you turn, you see that Marcus has shed his tie and suit jacket from dinner and rolled up the sleeves of his baby-blue shirt. Your mouth waters at the sight of his muscular forearms, the way they’re crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorjamb.

If he were anyone else… if he weren’t an FBI agent… if he weren’t such a Boy Scout.. if he had snuck up behind you while you explored the dresser… you would be poised to run right now. But Marcus is simply standing inside the doorway, propped against one side of the jamb so that he’s not blocking the exit, and he’s not coming any closer. He’s simply giving you room, space, time… letting you make your own decision about how the next part of this conversation is going to go.

You settle your nerves and look at his face closely. Marcus’s expression seems to wobble between smooth seduction and that adorable shyness you love. You decide that you want to see more of that, watch his eyes go wide, make his ears go pink again. You pick up the nipple clamps. “Well, actually… You want to tell me about these?”

Marcus’s face goes hot, that beautiful flush racing up his neck, and you take a step closer. The nipple clamps dangle from your outstretched finger, the polished rose gold hardware and the sparkling beads catching the glow from the lamp on his dresser. You swing the chain just slightly as you approach, watching Marcus swallow - hard. Your eyes trace the dip and bob of his gorgeous Adam’s apple, framed by the open collar of his shirt. You long to press your lips to it, trace the line of his clavicle, skim the planes of his chest.

“These don’t exactly match the rest of your gear, Agent Pike,” you tease. “They’re quite a bit more decorative and delicate than the other implements that you have on hand. What’s the story here?”

“They’re, um-” Marcus clears his throat, and his eyes are fixed on the swing and the sway of the chains. “I bought them to use with a special someone, but we never- she didn’t, um… We broke up before we could get to that point.”

You smile softly. You’re suddenly pleased that they aren’t previously used. You wouldn’t have been opposed to it, since they’re only nipple clamps and easy enough to clean. But the fact that Marcus bought them, on purpose, and that you could have the opportunity to be the first and only woman he sees in them? That’s quite the thrill.

“Hmmm…” you smile at him. Marcus swallows again and flicks his eyes back to yours as you take another step closer. “So they’re brand-new?”

Marcus nods, “Yeah.”

You step close enough to see the vein throbbing in his neck, the way that his eyes shine with anticipation and just a hint of embarrassment. He had told you to pry, to even the score. But this was more intimate than you expected.

“And what were you hoping for, exactly? When you bought them, that is.”

“I, uh… I was hoping that, um- that a beautiful woman would agree to wear them for me. Well, not for me, but, um… with me.”

You close the distance between you and Marcus, stopping just an arm’s length away. Then you suspend the clamps between both hands and hold the contraption up to your front, the same way you might hold a shirt against yourself in a store and gauge the look. You look down at yourself, then up to Marcus with a wink.

“And what do you think of them on me, Marcus? Do you think these would look good on me?”

Marcus’s eyes are riveted to your chest, and his voice is a dry, husky bark when he responds. “Yeah, yes-”

You’re close enough now that you see his pupils are dilated, and a tiny sheen of perspiration beads his forehead. Marcus clears his throat and tries again. “Yes, those would, um… Look very good, uh… on you.”

“You think so?” Your voice is all sweet innocence and light, playful and teasing. Poor Marcus looks strangled, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, like he’s experiencing torture of the highest order.

You hum a satisfied noise to yourself, feeling like the cat about to pounce on the canary. You should put Marcus out of his misery, stop the tease and just let him breathe again. But first there’s one more thing you want to hear from him. And even though you know (or can guess anyway) you want to hear it from his lips… his plush, beautiful lips.

You drop your hands and the spell breaks. Marcus runs a hand down over his face and takes a deep, shuddering breath in.

“Well, before I consider doing that, I need to know something else. Something that might be your deepest secret.”

“What’s that?” Marcus swallows hard, looks just a little scared.

“What did you think when you saw my internet searches? Were you intrigued or excited? I’m guessing from the tray full of items that you have here, you weren’t scandalized or disgusted.”

“No,” Marcus shakes his head vehemently. “Definitely not disgusted. I was, uh, interested, and excited. I don’t meet many women who have-” he tilts his head side to side, looking for the right word. “...similar interests.”

“Well thank you for being honest with me, Marcus. But I don’t think I can wear these for you right now.” You turn and toss the nipple clamps onto the slate gray bedspread.

Marcus’s face falls, and then you see his polite, professional façade rise up to cover his disappointment. “Oh, uh… okay. Thank you for telling me. Do you want me to- can I drive you home, or call you a cab?”

“No, Marcus.” You go in for the kill: “I can’t wear these for you right now because I have to take my clothes off first.”

#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #unhinged fun co-written with a beloved mutual #your assigned fbi agent is a secret freak

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

Text

Your Assigned FBI Agent is a Secret Freak

Co-written by @katareyoudrilling and @just-here-for-the-moment... we don't know what happened here. Kat came up with a question and we just started bouncing ideas off each other - and this was the very fun and unhinged result. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Word count: 1100

Outline: What if Marcus Pike sees your search history?

Warnings: Marcus overseeing you masturbate; references to BDSM pornography videos; a shameless fangirl letter to @whataperfectwasteoftime

(Only description of Reader is "wide eyes and full lips" otherwise no physical or racial descriptors)

JHFTM: Marcus sees a report. You’re under peripheral surveillance because you’ve accepted bank transfers from a known suspect (turns out it’s your brother, who unbeknownst to you is an art thief, and when he wires you money that he owes you, you get flagged by the FBI).

And when Marcus gets a report of your electronic activities (bank transactions, list of phone calls, web search history… *hold up) He sees the various benign and wild things you’ve been searching for - a bunch of random stuff: venomous spiders of South America; love poetry of Pablo Neruda; Japanese fountain pens; how much does a bag with $800,000 US weigh if the money was all in $20s and $100s?; US Army special forces recruiting; helicopter pilot training; BDSM collars… “Who is this chick?”

Katareyoudrilling: He recognizes some of those BDSM sites… he has visited those. His pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight. He shifts in his chair. He’s a professional for for fuck’s sake. Then he flips to your photo. You’re the picture of innocence. Wide eyes, full lips. But there’s something about your smile… bright intelligence with a hint of a smirk. He has a feeling you aren’t quite who you let on to be. So, he decides in-person surveillance is required.

Later that night, he’s sitting outside your apartment in an FBI car. He can see you in the window, typing away at your computer. The only sounds coming over his audio feed are the clicks of your fingers on the keys. You must live alone. He is able to see your internet activity live on the laptop beside him. You’re searching for BDSM sites again. Your searches are making him uncomfortably hard. He glances up at your window and notices you biting your bottom lip. He quickly looks away before he does something incredibly stupid. Then he notices a new site scroll across his screen…. Tumblr.

JHFTM: He watches you open a saved post in Tumblr, edit a short story… you move through the document too quickly for him to do much more than scan it as it moves across his laptop screen, but he catches flashes of a story about a woman in the Colombian jungle, trying to save a handsome DEA agent named Javier Peña from a venomous spider bite. Marcus watches as the screen scrolls by, and after Javier comes back to consciousness, he shows his gratitude by tying the woman up and spanking her until she comes.

Marcus is intrigued: he’s never really given much thought to online erotic stories, but he supposes it’s a harmless hobby. He screenshots your Tumblr username and makes a note to check out your whole profile later. You flick off your laptop and turn out the lights. Marcus thinks you’re in bed for the night. Just as he’s about to take off, the live surveillance feed of your internet use on his laptop fires up again. It’s one of the BDSM websites from before, and this time over his audio feed he can hear a certain, familiar… buzzing? Marcus looks back through your window to see you sitting in bed with your laptop open in the dark, and he realizes what’s going on. Marcus looks down at his steering wheel. He shouldn’t watch, he shouldn’t listen. He should close his laptop and drive away. But the audio from your laptop comes in over his earpiece, and almost without his permission, his head turns toward the laptop sitting open on his passenger seat.

The video shows an apartment entryway, a woman kneeling on the wood floor. She’s wearing a see-through negligee and a collar around her neck. A tall man in a suit enters. The woman smiles, “Hello, sir.”

The man cups her jaw and runs his thumb over her lower lip. “Hello, my love.”

The scene cuts to a bedroom, where the woman is on her knees. The man has shed his suit jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He’s asking the woman if she’s going to be his “good little doll” or if he needs to spank her harder. The edges of Marcus’s vision have gone red, and he almost doesn’t see the paddle in the man’s hand until it hits the woman’s rump with a THWACK!

Marcus looks back through your window, the sounds of your breathy pants and the buzzing of your vibrator grow louder through his earpiece, overtaking the pounding of his heart. Your face is tilted back, lips open in bliss. He knows he should NOT be watching you masturbate, so he yanks out his earpiece and puts the car in gear. He goes home to review the surveillance feed and your file.

He visits the BDSM sites you had viewed. He feels incredibly horny, and he takes care of himself and then feels incredibly guilty. Then he remembers to check out your Tumblr profile, and he makes a profile of his own, choosing “Art Freak With A Gun”. He sets his profile picture to the statue of David, sculpted in marble. He starts reading your writing, and he’s surprised to find that it’s HOT. He’s never been into erotica before, but damn. And he realizes that your weird research history is just because you’re writing fiction and erotica. Marcus gets sad when he realizes that you’re not a suspect for his case any longer, and he’ll have to take you off surveillance.

Katareyoudrilling: He knows the case is over and he needs to close it, but it can wait one more day, right? He keeps tabs on your internet activity during the day and notices you make a reservation at a restaurant for that evening and send an email to your brother with the info. Now he has a reason to keep the case open. He knows it’s against protocol, but would it be the worst thing if he ran surveillance on you again tonight? He just hasn’t met many women with your… tastes. He can’t pass up this chance.

Marcus arrives at the restaurant and chooses a table in a dark corner. He watches you enter, alone, and take a seat at the bar. He can’t see what you’re scrolling through on your phone, but he can’t help but wonder if you might be reading smut…out in public. The thought has him painfully turned on.

He notices your frequent glances towards the door. He checks his watch. Your brother should have arrived by now. You tap your fingers on the bar top, contemplating your next move. Are you going to leave? Are you going to stay for a drink on your own? You glance around the crowded restaurant and your eyes lock with his.

He can’t stop the flirtatious smile that spreads slowly across his face. You match his smile with your own. What the hell?

#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #unhinged fun co-written with a beloved mutual

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

Text

Night Fever: Prologue

Word Count: 1000

Rating: Mature, 18+ only (there will be sex and Narcos-style violence in later chapters)

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical descriptors/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: None for this chapter

---

Night Fever Series Masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

---

March, 1978

Javier Peña wasn’t unhappy, exactly, just restless.

He felt like he had missed the boat on something big, a chance to get out of his hometown and really see the world, to do something important. But he had flunked out of his third semester of college back in Kingsville (too many girls and beers, not enough focus and willpower) and now he was here… which was nowhere, but at least it wasn’t Laredo. In Laredo everyone knew him and his family, and there were far too many people who were eager to butt in, inquire about his failed plans, or to try to pair him off with someone.

Antes, TX was smaller than home, but full of strangers so at least it felt a little bigger. Two days after dropping out, Javier started the engine of his yellow 1971 Pontiac Grand Prix and began a long, meandering road trip that led him from Kingsville to Corpus Christi to San Antonio, and then he just kept going. He wasn’t sure if he would leave the state or not, but after passing through Fredericksburg and then San Angelo, he ended up in a bar in Abilene.

After five beers and a game of darts with a guy around his age named Steve Murphy, Javier had a job offer at Steve's dad's sheet metal factory in Antes. The town wasn’t big, and it wasn’t flashy, but it was on the opposite side of the state from everything that Javier hoped he could leave behind. So Antes it was.

Javier had fallen into a routine over the past four months, broken only by a Christmas trip home to see his dad. He worked a hard forty at the sheet metal factory all week, and then logged another fifteen drinking after work with Steve.

Friday and Saturday nights were the most dull in Antes, save for the occasional hour-long drive into Abilene for some excitement. But after a few too many bar fights and one particularly nasty rollover that totaled Steve’s baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle, Javier decided to stay put in Antes and save up some money until he could figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life.

Something to break the monotony was necessary, but he was hoping it wouldn’t lead to another broken wrist anytime soon.

- - -

“No, like this. Arms out, and then twirl me toward you.”

Your best friend Connie rolled her eyes and sighed for the millionth time that afternoon. “I’m gettin’ tired of helping you practice. Can I please go home?”

“No, just one more. Please? I’ll buy you that Donny Osmond album that you wanted. Pleeease?” You pushed your lower lip out a little and made puppy-dog eyes at her.

“C’mon, Connie. You love the way he sings ‘Fly Into the Wind’. And I’ll ask Aunt Linda to send you a signed picture from California.”

Connie grinned and gave in. “Okay, just one more, then I gotta scoot.”

Connie took her place again, arm extended to twirl you in and then back out. She was four inches shorter than you and blonde, but given the total lack of tall, handsome, Tony Manero-lookalikes in your tiny Texas burg, she was an acceptable substitute.

“One, two, three and back out.” You finished your twirl and bowed to Connie. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pulled you in for a fierce hug. “You’re welcome. Sorry I’m not John Travolta, hon.”

You laughed. Connie pulled away from the hug and wagged her finger up at you. “Remember, that photo of Donny Osmond better be signed.”

You crossed your heart and nodded solemnly. “I’ll write to Aunt Linda this evening, promise.”

Connie smiled and waggled her fingers at you as she opened your bedroom door to leave. You heard her say goodbye to your mama as you flopped onto your bed, staring up at the posters on your walls, some of which you felt you were outgrowing.

Erik Estrada and Larry Wilcox from “CHiPs” vied for wall space with Shaun Cassidy and Davy Jones, along with pictures of John Travolta with his gorgeous wavy hair from “Welcome Back, Kotter”. But the crowning jewel of your collection was a full-size poster of John Travolta as Tony Manero from “Saturday Night Fever” that Aunt Linda had sent you last week, all the way from Los Angeles.

The white suit, the light up dance floor, the smoldering look on his face as he struck that pose. It made you feel hopeful, like one day you might be special enough to catch the attention of a handsome man like that, go off and have adventures and see the world.

Tucked carefully in with two record needles and three new albums was her letter:

Dear Bug,

I miss you! I know you loved Saturday Night Fever when we saw it down in Austin over Christmas break (3 times). Hope this poster sets your heart a-flutter, but don’t get to staring so long that you forget to do your chores. Remember if you’re extra-extra-extra-good I might be able to talk your mama and daddy into letting you come see me this summer.

L.A. is so fun! Last week I was waiting for an audition and Julie London walked right through the lobby! Took everything I had not to jump up and squeal at her and start singing Cry Me A River. She’s just as stunning in person as you would think, only I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

Listen, Ladybug, don’t tell your mama but I had to leave my apartment because Bobby and I broke up, so when you come out you’ll stay with me at my new boarding house. She’d probably think it’s a flophouse, but it’s like a girls dormitory and we have fun all weekend. Just a lotta hootin and hollerin like a big sleepover.

Enjoy the albums, and take good care not to scratch em - I’ll show you some new dance moves next time I see you.

XOXO

Hugs & Kisses, L

- - -

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just-here-for-the-moment · 4 years ago

Note

I got Javier Peña and size kink. I can’t wait… also… can we somehow tie this into the universe of my Frankie request from before… 🤪

OMG girl, I don’t know how to work this into the Frankie fic, but only because I feel like if you had this good of a time with Javier, why would you have ever left him?? LOL… Forgive me for failing on that front, but I do hope you enjoy this little drabble/headcanon about Javier Peña’s size kink!

Update: Oh, hey, there's a Part 2 now!

Word Count: 1280

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (petite cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature and vulgar language; a smattering of cop/suspect roleplay; some dom/sub elements; SIZE KINK; one instance of Javier restraining your hands with his hands; one instance of a ripped dress; vaginal fingering; mentions of blow jobs and throat fucking; mention of P/V sex; Javier has a FILTHY mouth; this is pretty much just Javier talking dirty about his huge penis and how tiny you are (sorry/not sorry)

“You like that?” Javier hisses into your ear from behind as he presses you up against the wall of his hallway, one massive hand gripping your hip through your thin summer dress. “You feel that huge cock in my jeans? That’s all for you, baby.”

He grinds once more against your ass so that there’s no mistaking what you do to him, and it punches the air out of your lungs. You feel like you’re drowning with desire.

“Put your little hands up on the wall for me, sweetheart. Can’t have you trying to get away right after I got you just where I want you.” He emphasizes his command with a hot lick to the curve of your ear, and you feel your knees start to give out.

Javier’s fingers dig harder into your hip as he brings his free hand down to grab your wrist. You let him pull your hand up above your head, palm flat against the wall, and you bring your other hand up to join it.

Javier wraps his fingers around both of your wrists, pinning you to the wall as he grinds his hips against you one more time. You rest your forehead against the smooth, cool painted surface, grateful for the contrast against your heated brow.

Before you can collect yourself, Javier bends his knee and pushes it up between your legs, shoving it hard to one side. “Legs apart, open up for me. This is going to be a very thorough pat-down, honey.”

You suck in a massive gasp of air and revel in the feeling of Javier taking control. You love this game, and you trust the man to play it well and to play it fairly with you. He always gives you what you want and he’s never once come close to hurting you. But that’s the fun part, isn’t it? The hint of danger? The possibility that he could, at any time, just pick you up and have his way with you?

You love the fact that Javier has so much bulk and strength outmeasuring you. He’s more than a head taller, a good forty or fifty pounds heavier, and lots of it is ropy muscle honed from years of a physical job. Just the fact that he could very well pin you down for hours without breaking a sweat… it makes you moan.

“You hot for me already, baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.” His hand leaves your hip and you feel him skim it up to your breast, cupping it and squeezing before roaming to the other one.

Javier’s fingers drift back to the center of your sternum. He fumbles with the small buttons there for a moment before hooking his fingers into the openings between them and dragging the fabric hard to one side. You gasp and bite your lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but close. You hear the tiny pearl buttons clatter to the floor, but all he’s managed to do is pop off two or three.

“Keep your hands right there for me.” Javier growls into your ear. “Don't. You. Move.” And then he releases his grip on your wrists.

Even though you can guess what’s about to happen, you still go reeling when he actually does it. Javier hooks both hands into the opening he’s created at the bodice of your dress, and there’s the briefest moment of hesitation before you feel the pull of the fabric, the sound of more buttons hitting the floor, the cool air hitting your cleavage. You feel faint with desire, fighting the urge to slump down to the floor, let go of the wall, the only thing holding you in place.

You clench your jaw and try to remember how to breathe as Javier brings both of his hands up to cup your breasts through the lace of your bra. He bends his head down to nuzzle the back of your neck and you nearly faint right there.

Just when you think you can’t possibly take any more, Javier drops one hand down. You feel his fingers trail up the front of your thigh. He skims his fingertips up and under the hem of your dress until he reaches the edge of your panties.

In the blink of an eye his fingers dip between your leg and the lacy fabric, swiping up through your folds, straight to the source of your heat and your slick. He brings his face down to rest alongside your cheek, breathing hot and hard over your skin. You fight the urge to grind down against his hand, knowing that if you do he’ll make you wait even longer for the rest of your pleasure.

“I like your tiny, tight little pussy,” Javier whispers against your cheek. You roll your forehead to the side and let his hot words fan across your lips. The hand on your breast moves down to encircle your ribcage, pulling you tight against him to feel his erection again. “I love feeling you squeeze me… the way my fingers look so big when they’re inside of you.”

Javier’s fingers are sure and quick. Two of them tucked deep inside of you feel almost like four of your own. They are thick, one of your favorite things about him, along with the way his wide chest cages you against the wall where you stand, the way his strong arms encircle you when you have your head tucked against his front.

“Are you going to come like this? I’m not finished with you yet, but I’ll let you come on my fingers first if you promise to be good later.”

The words choke out from you in a whisper. “... if I’m good?”

Javier digs harder inside of you, reaching for the spot he knows makes you quiver, and he brings his broad thumb into play, pressing and circling your clit. You whine and bite your lip again, and this time there’s the metallic sting of blood against your tongue.

“If you let me put my dick in your mouth, slip it between those plump little lips of yours, suck all of it down for me... I’ll let you come. I’ll make you come.” You moan, a low, keening sound full of need and want, and Javier knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

“If you’re good, if you can fit all of me this time, I might even let you come twice.”

“Yes!” Your voice is foreign to your own ears, high and ragged. “Yes, Javi, I want you. I want you to stick your huge dick down my throat. Please.”

“And then? After you’re done taking me down your throat, I’m going to fuck you hard. Watch my massive cock disappear into that tight little cunt of yours. You want that?”

“Yesss,” you hiss, and your head is completely filled with the feeling of Javier stretching you open, the way that he fills you up... the way that he fucked you last week when you straddled him and he grabbed your hips and bounced you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing.

“Oh god, Javi, I’m close.” His thumb rubs your clit twice more and he flexes his fingers inside of you, sending you over the edge. You keep your hands on the wall and promise yourself that you’ll be good for him, knowing that he’ll be good to you in return.

“That’s my girl.” Javier chews your earlobe and you finally slump, letting him turn you and pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you to his bedroom to finish the job.

---

Javier Peña character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair

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