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javierpinme · 1 year

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Oh my I am speechless and I can’t WAIT until you write the next installment.

Your Marcus is such a sweetie and oof at the same time with the “how else am I going to feel how tight you are?”

Relaxation Techniques | Part 1

Pairing: Physical Therapist!Marcus Pike x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: T (series will eventually be E)

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: light language, poor self-talk. This is a doctor’s visit, so mentions of medical questions involving physical and mental health, mentions of pelvic exam. A little bit of flirting.

Summary: When you tell your OB/GYN about some concerns you have about your pelvic floor muscles, she refers you to Dr. Marcus Pike, a physical therapist who specializes in pelvic floor dysfunctions.

A/N: Here he is, I told you he was coming

One of your least favorite things about going to the doctor is the paperwork. Every practice has its own website, with a patient portal where you have to create an account to log in and fill out forms— medical history, family medical history, allergies, medication list, HIPAA statement— and every time without fail, you’re given the exact same forms in person at your first appointment.

It drives you nuts. Why bother going digital if it still has to be done on paper?

You are inordinately pleased when the new physical therapy practice your OB/GYN referred you to doesn’t send you any emails or texts to remind you to fill out their intake forms online.

On the imaginary score board in your head, this place already has one tally mark in the pro column.

You don’t know what you expected the office to look like, but you didn’t imagine the walls to be painted in soft blues, almost like ocean waves, or for there to be a chic turquoise leather couch with shaggy, overstuffed throw pillows laid carefully at each end. You could never have imagined the bright cyan armchairs with two eyeball buttons sewn against their backs, and you certainly couldn’t have imagined what looks suspiciously like female genitalia paintings in glitter frames on the walls.

Considering the doctor specializes in pelvic floor dysfunction, you guess you shouldn’t be surprised. Besides, they’re very tasteful.

You decide that despite the silly décor— or maybe because of it— the office is designed to put you at ease; and you suppose that if it weren’t for the pamphlets advertising various lubes and dilators, grief support groups, and stress management techniques, you’d be very relaxed.

You can’t help but be a little tense. The doctor is a man, which you hadn’t discovered until you’d called to make the appointment, and you were so startled by the information— and by the extremely peppy receptionist on the other end of the line—you’d gone along and scheduled your consultation when she’d started listing out available dates.

So here you are, a clipboard balancing on your knees as you painstakingly go through the intake forms, which are much more detailed than you’re used to filling out, including several questions about pregnancy and childbirth, sexual concerns, and mental health questions such as do you have a history of PTSD?

Your pen hovers over the little checkbox next to yes, but you end up marking the no box instead.

If you did, you’d never been diagnosed.

You pause at the line that asks for a brief summary about why you’re there, tapping the end of the pen lightly against the page.

It was a mix of things, none of which seemed terribly significant when you list them out; it was the long-term effects, and the duration you had endured them, that you were worried about.

You decide to go with “tight pelvic floor muscles.” It’s easier to explain in person than on paper, though the thought of telling this to a male doctor has your anxiety spiking.

You wish you’d remembered to stuff your squeezy shark, Bruce, into your bag before leaving the house, then you’d be able to take your stress out on him rather than obnoxiously tapping the pen on the clipboard like you were at a drum audition.

At least there’s no one else in the waiting room.

“OH SHI-zz,” you startle at the receptionist’s outburst, and she smacks herself so hard in the forehead you hear her mutter a little owie before she pipes up again, “I totally forgot to ask, would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee? We even have that frou-frou carbonated stuff if you want something fancy.” She waggles her fingers on the word fancy.

The girl is downright precious, her elbows braced on the reception counter as she looks at you eagerly, vibrating with the energy of an overexcited chihuahua. Her shoulder length hair is dyed a screaming magenta that clashes horribly with her neon green cardigan, her long purple acrylic nails have bats in top hats painted on them, and her gold septum ring is adorned with a little snake.

Before you can answer her, the door to the back opens and a tall man in a crisp white button down and ironed khakis steps out, greeting his receptionist with a small wave and a “hey, Melanie,” and you think he must be another patient, but then he’s stopping in front of you and oh, no he’s the doctor?

He’s easily the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, all golden skin, wavy brown hair, and deep, dark eyes you’re already getting lost in.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Pike,” he says with an easy smile, extending a hand to you as you get up to greet him. His hand is huge, dwarfing your fingers in his firm grip.

He releases you and claps you lightly on the shoulder, jerking his head towards the door he just came out of. “Come on back.”

As you pass through the doorway, your eyes catch on the unique light switch cover…in the shape of a vulva. You snort a laugh and the tension in your shoulders eases the tiniest bit.

Dr. Pike walks you down the hall, past a few rooms with various exercise equipment and what looks like a meditation room, before stopping and gesturing into a brightly lit office.

He starts to close the door behind you but pauses and asks, “Would you be more comfortable with the door open or closed?”

The question is so sincere and considerate, you feel emotion well in your chest and the beginnings of tears pricking at your eyeline.

Oh, wow. Really? Can you not keep it together for 5 minutes?

You hope your voice doesn’t come out too strained when you reply, “I’m ok with it closed.”

You give him what you think is a convincing smile and he takes a moment to study you, starting from your shoes all the way up to the top of your head. From most men this would feel predatory, invasive even— but when he does it, it’s entirely clinical, an assessment from a professional.

He purses his lips in thought before nodding to himself and pulling the door mostly closed, leaving about a half foot of space. He bends down and flicks on a little machine that fills the room with white noise.

When he stands back to his full height, he smiles gently and motions to the padded table for you to sit down.

“I can take that from you, if you’re finished,” he inclines his head towards your clipboard as he lowers himself onto a stool across from you, leaning back against the counter lining the wall.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I’m all done,” you trip over your words as you hand it to him, your internal scolding increasing in volume at your awkwardness.

Ridiculous.

Dr. Pike scans the forms, and you take the opportunity to look around the room. There’s a chair in the far corner against the wall, next to a poster of deep breathing exercises and a few other charts you can’t quite see.

A black file cabinet that comes up to your chest is pushed into the corner, with a small stereo placed on top— the kind that takes CDs, you note with a small smile when you spy the small stack of discs placed haphazardly beside it.

Above the counter are cabinets decorated with flower stickers, and the surface of the counter is strewn with various medical supplies, as well as a crumpled bit of fabric that looks like it might be Dr. Pike’s discarded tie.

Cute.

You squint under the harsh fluorescent lights that all doctors’ offices and schools seem to be required by law to have. The big window on the far wall let’s in enough light that it’s not really necessary for them to be on, and just as the thought crosses your mind, the overhead lights switch off.

“Sorry, force of habit to turn these on in the mornings. I can’t stand them either, always give me a headache,” he says with a sympathetic grimace.

“Me too,” you murmur, and there’s that feeling again, a nearly overwhelming surge of emotion creeping up your throat and making it hard to swallow.

You’re not used to people noticing when you’re uncomfortable.

He gives you a reassuring smile and sets the clipboard aside on the counter before leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. The change in position makes his shirt strain against his broad shoulders, and you need to take a second to remember how to breathe as you watch the muscles tense and shift beneath the thin fabric.

“So…tight pelvic floor. Could you tell me a little bit more about that?” He asks with a tilt of his head, his soft brown eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes you look down at your hands.

“I know it sounds silly, I-I don’t have a formal diagnosis or anything— “

“That’s ok,” he cuts you off gently before you can work yourself up. “Right now I have you down as having a pelvic floor dysfunction. Nice and broad category. We can figure out the specifics together as we go.”

The smile he gives you is so warm and comforting, you feel your shoulders start to lower from where they’d risen to your ears in unconscious defense.

“Here, give me your hand for a second,” he reaches out his hand slowly like an offering to a suspicious cat to sniff, and you don’t think twice about laying your palm against his.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, smoothing the pads of his fingers up and down your palm a few times before settling at the webbing between your thumb and forefinger and pressing down firmly.

“There’s a point here, called the Union Valley point, that can sometimes help to relieve anxiety— “

“That never works for me,” you blurt out, and he blinks at you owlishly before recovering that easy smile.

You mentally berate yourself, he’s a doctor for fuck’s sake, he probably knows a trick to make it work better than you do!

“No problem, it doesn’t work for everyone. Thank you for telling me.”

He lets go of your hand and swivels his stool away from you to open one of the cabinets above the counter, pulling a bright floral box down from a shelf.

He rifles through it for a moment, stirring its contents furiously in his search, before he pulls out what he was looking for with a little “found it!” and a triumphant smile.

He’s so damn cute it’s hard not to grin right back at him.

“How do you feel about lavender?” he asks earnestly, holding the little bag aloft.

“It’s one of my favorite scents,” you say around a laugh, “why?”

He passes you the bundle and the smile eases off his face into something more serious.

“Health concerns are nerve-wracking by themselves, and seeing a new doctor can just add to the stress. I noticed you’re a little tense…and fidgety, “he chuckles, and you duck your head in embarrassment, “hey, it’s ok! That’s why I have this little box of goodies here.” He taps the side of the ostentatious box affectionately.

“Just in case someone comes in extra nervous,” he shoots you a wink and you’re caught between feeling utterly flustered and bowled over with emotion again. You can’t decide. All you know is you want more than anything to pull up your hood and cinch the strings tight so you can hide from his playful ribbing and soulful, understanding eyes.

You look down at the little lavender sachet where it’s squeezed in your fist and unclench your hand, choking out a laugh and smooshing the contents to fluff them back up. It’s a cute bag, with lavender flowers stitched into the cloth.

“You’re supposed to sniff it.”

You look up at him to see he’s smiling sadly at you, concern etched into his features, and you’re about to say something totally inelegant like huh? when he follows up with, “that’s how aromatherapy works.”

You blink at him for a few seconds, absorbing his lame joke before bursting out laughing.

He laughs with you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and you think you can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

When your laughter peters out and you appear to no longer be in danger of tears, he picks up your folder and flips through the pages purposefully.

“Right. So let me tell you how I’d like to proceed. It looks like insurance will cover you for 30 visits— probably more than we’ll need, but I’ll reassess after I do your exam.”

You nod along with his words, not totally hearing him and caught on the word exam, but he plows on.

“We’re gonna take this slow: I’m going to show you how to do some stretches and deep breathing that will help you relax. You’re going to do them at home a few times a day between appointments, and we’ll reevaluate in a few weeks. Does that sound ok to you?”

He’s pinning you with those gorgeous eyes and you’re getting lost in them again and oh, shit he asked you a question didn’t he.

“Y-yeah that sounds good to me,” you stutter, heat blooming in your chest and setting your heart off on a race.

“Great! Then how about you undress from the waist down so I can see what I’m working with?”

“…you want me to what?” you squeak, your voice several octaves higher than usual.

He gives you an amused smirk and repeats himself more slowly, “take off your bottoms for me, so I can do your pelvic exam.”

The heat in your chest is spreading up the back of your neck and you manage to answer in a somehow even shriller tone than before, “and my underwear?”

He tilts his head at you— not unlike a golden retriever, you think— as his smirk spreads into a grin that’s just a touch wicked.

“How else am I going to feel how tight you are?”

You’re sure your mouth is hanging open unattractively as he reaches for a box of gloves and fishes one out, struggling to fit it over his…distractingly large hand.

He pauses as the rubber stretches over his knuckles, “do you have a latex allergy? I have nylon gloves I can use instead.”

You shake your head dumbly and stand on jelly legs. “Nope. Nope, no, I’m—I don’t uh- no allergy to that.” My god, you have never been less eloquent in your life.

“Ok, good. Now,” He pulls a clean white sheet from a basket of linens on the counter and hands it to you. “When you’re done, lie down on the table and cover your bottom half with this,” he crouches at the end of the table and unhooks a metal contraption on either side that juts up with a place to prop up your feet “and put your heels in the stirrups. I’m going to go in the hall while you disrobe, so just give me a holler when you’re ready.”

Dr. Pike pauses at the door and mutters what you think is ah, shit under his breath, holding his now-gloved hands up in a gesture of surrender. When he sees you watching him, his cheeks are definitely rosier than they were a few minutes ago.

“Right, so— yeah…I’ll be just…out here,” he says as he scoots the door open with his shoulder, and maneuvers it shut with his elbows.

You hear a muffled oh, goddammit from the other side of the door and can’t help but laugh, having momentarily forgotten that you’re about to be half-naked with the sweetest man you have ever met… who’s about to put his fingers inside you.

#fic rec #pt!marcus #pedro pascal #frankie morales #triple frontier

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javierpinme · 1 year

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The person I reblogged this from deserves all the good things.

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javierpinme · 1 year

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I’ve noticed some new faces have followed me recently and realized I have never introduced myself! So hello and welcome to my bullet point system.

My name is Lauren and I’m 31 years old

My username is javier-pin-me (like against the door, floor, bed, etc) and not javier-p-in-me

I write romance within the Pedro Pascal fandom whether it’s fluff, smut, etc. My reader inserts are always someone that I wish I had the guts to be. And also wish to have a Pedro boy.

My favorite drink is a shirley temple but if you put some vodka in there you’ll be my best friend

I came into the fandom back in 2021 so a lot later than most. Mando was my first fanfiction read and it’s been an uphill slope ever since (for the most part)

I’m bisexual and came out around June last year 🏳️‍🌈

I’m diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety and depression—who’s counting at this point. I’m also a recovering people pleaser.

I’m a huge Star Wars fan but not the toxic kind. Trust me, that’s important.

I have two cats! I have a senior gal and she’s my lil neurotic tabby. I also have an eight month old kitten and he’s my menace voidling. They’re names are Summer and Anubis.

I play Fortnite during my spare time when I’m not writing. Am I good? Debatable.

I don’t bite! I love getting questions or having someone tell me about themselves or getting fic recs. Let’s have fun!

#about me #pedro pascal fandom #javierpinme

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javierpinme · 1 year

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Omg your comment had me BLUSHING PLS

Thank you so much for your lovely comment and reading this silly lil fic of mine. ❤️😭

Lush

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors this is not the fic for you)

Warnings: accidentally sending a friend request to your hot neighbor but oh no it’s from your sex toy app, taking some liberties with the sex toy OKAY, you don’t have to tell me how bluetooth works I’m ignoring it for the purpose of the fic, squirting, voyeurism, unprotected sex (this is fictional wrap it up irl), pussy drunk Morales, oral (f receiving), fingering, infidelity (but not our babies they could never)

Summary: You buy a sex toy and accidentally send a request to your hot neighbor to join in.

A/N: Don’t blame me. Blame @daddydindjarin. Just kidding. Don’t blame her. Give her kisses because I was inspired for the first time in a while. Also kisses to @lowlights for being my beta on this because I was so scared of this being shite. And if it is—you shut your whore mouth. Respectfully. Kidding, we’re all whores here. Also, this is loosely based on the Lush 3 toy by Lovense!

Masterlist:

The pads of your fingers slide roughly on the cardboard of your thankfully discreet package. What should have brought a shiver down your spine and warmth in your core brings you conflicting feelings instead.

It was meant to spice up your relationship when your partner got the call of their dream promotion. You supported the move completely and tried to make it work to the best of your ability.However, your partner had other plans and jumped on the first opportunity to cheat on you.

So here you are, single and with a sex toy that serves as a reminder of your failed relationship.

You sigh with a resignation that you’re going to be alone forever while opening your apartment door, until you’re brought back to the present with a little girl’s giggle.

Not just any giggle—his daughter’s giggle.

With his juxtaposition of hard and soft edges and even softer—though a little sad sometimes- chocolate brown eyes.

You hear your name echo down the hall and the pitter patter of shoes hitting the ancient carpet. You hold the package a little closer to your chest and smile at the little girl running towards you. Your knees pop when you bend down to her level.

“Well, hello to you honey bee.”

She beams with her matching dimple to her father’s at the nickname you gave her a while ago. In the way honeybees bring life to the flowers, she brings the same to everyone around her.

“We’re baking cookies.” She explains with a jump in her step.

“Oh yeah?” You smile and your heart jumps when you look up to Frankie walking from further down the hall towards you.

“Yeah, but we have to do it before your mom gets here so we have to get started.”

He opens his door and she takes no time bursting through, elated to eat sugary treats.

You’re frozen at your doorway taking in the sheen of sweat that pools from his neck down into his t-shirt. No doubt from running circles around his daughter at the park.

He lingers now that you’re both alone and waves at you with a lopsided smile, but you’re too focused on the fact that he is sucking on a hard candy, your eyes too honed in on the way his tongue pokes into his cheeks when he switches sides.

Before you get the chance to ask him out or humiliatingly go onto your knees and show him just how good you can suc-

His apartment door is already closing, with him on the other side.

You’re in trouble.

One batch of chocolate chip cookies later and way too many wet wipes on his daughter’s—well everywhere, Frankie considers turning in for the night. He plops on his couch until the game setup he bought for the guy’s night tomorrow stares at him.

They take turns hosting, sticking together after coming back from Columbia and providing support when needed. It was better than dabbling into anything illegal, especially with his drug history.

He rubs his thighs and gets up with a groan. Every bone in his body cracks, reminding him he’s not as young anymore. Sounding and looking more like his father everyday.

The mirror staring back at him with all his greys that are more pronounced since coming back. He wonders if you’d like that.

One hour later, in part because of his refusal to look at directions, he has the PlayStation and surround sound system set up. He grabs the wireless headphones and his phone to check if they’re paired when he sees a notification pop up on his phone.

LazyDaisy32 has sent you a request to connect.

He has no idea what that is so he Googles it. A quick scan of the search results makes the blood rush from his head and straight to his cock.

You stare at the package that is currently sitting on your kitchen counter and finally decide to open it.

At least there’s a solo setting and you can fantasize about your cute neighbor.

You play around with the app and adjust any levels to your preference, arousal pooling in your underwear in anticipation of later. You tap on the long distance tab, but don’t focus too long until you toss it on the couch. Dinner first, then exploring your new toy.

Completely oblivious to a certain username that you sent a request to join when tossing it.

Waiting for Frankie to accept your request.

He knows exactly what this is, pulling it from the deepest part of his memory when his ex-wife and he were still together. They thought something like this would help rekindle their romance, but no amount of toys could fix their broken marriage.

He stares wide-eyed at the request, unable to bring himself to do anything.

It couldn’t be?

Right?

He knows it isn’t 86 year old Mrs. Munchez next door because he just helped her son move her stuff into his house.

Which leaves only one person. His cock twitches to life with the barrage of images that flash through his mind. You spread out on your bed, his photographic memory aiding him when he helped set up that very bed when you first moved in.

The daisy sheets.

The toy circling around your clit in slow motions to allow the slick to flow from your entrance, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth to keep yourself quiet.

He wouldn’t let you.

His cock is already fully hard by the time he starts imagining all your moans and pleas to touch you already.

He throws his phone on his bed and resigns himself to a cold shower that doesn’t work, ultimately taking himself in hand and stroking himself to relieve the tension that’s built up.

He breathes heavily, finally giving into his fantasies about his cute neighbor, and the back of his head hits the tile when ropes of come disappear into the bottom of the tub.

He quickly cleans himself up and gets ready for bed, leaving the request in the inbox when he falls asleep.

He does a really good job of ignoring the pending alerts the first few times, but time and time again it shows up and it’s killing him at this point.

It’s made even harder when he sees you. Whether he’s helping you carry your groceries to your place or waving at him from your balcony. He over analyzes every interaction now because of that damn app, studying every downturn of your lips or the wrinkle between your brows when you come home from work at the same time.

Did you really mean to send it to him? Or did you realize your mistake and choose not to face the elephant in the room? The idea that you're ignoring it to save face makes him feel worse than you acknowledging it ever could.

Asking you out would be thrown out the window at this point and dodging every future interaction makes his stomach twist in knots just thinking about it.

He almost loses resolve one morning when you close your eyes to let the sun’s rays warm your face, his cock springing to life again of the vision of you on your back, eyes closed and enjoying how he’s making you feel.

He’d make you feel good, he thinks.

Never one to take pleasure without giving. At least one thing his ex-wife couldn’t complain about. He wants to make you feel as good as you deserve. He aches with the need.

It’s then that his fantasies break him down and he accepts the request. He throws his phone on his counter thinking that somehow he could forget what he just did.

On the contrary, it made it so much worse.

He couldn’t resist the temptation any longer one night when he saw the reminder pop up again.

He sits on the couch, thighs spread wide staring at the blue light, and watching the toy work its magic. He could see every wave of pleasure that went through you, what level you were on at that exact moment even through the thin walls.

Just one touch and he could make you feel so good.

You huff at your inability to get off and toss your phone on the bed. You were overthinking it, but you desperately wanted to feel that release.

You want to forget about the day and only focus on your pleasure, but what usually makes you come isn’t working. And you’re about to call it a night until there’s a steady pulse thrumming through you, slowly working its way up in intensity.

You grasp the sheets in your hands and your thighs start to open wide of their own accord, chasing the pleasure that is starting to shoot through you with every needy thrust. Your arousal begins to pool onto the sheets below you, your cunt clenching around the toy and you finally feel the rumble of an orgasm starting to build.

You should stop this. You don’t know who this anonymous person is, but your thighs start to burn at the possibility of it being Frankie.

You’re hurtling towards the edge of what might be the best orgasm you’ve had in years when the toy goes down in intensity, a steady thrumming replacing it.

“Fuck-wait.” You whine to no one.

You slam your fists on your sheets, your tits bouncing from the heaving of your chest as your clit throbs from the denial of your orgasm.

The toy vibrates against your bud but low enough that you’re kept on the precipice without any reprieve.

Frankie, whoever it is, is a tease.

You’re brought to the edge only for it to dip down a gentle hum again and again, your sheets surely ruined from how wet you are, skin glistening with sweat and god—you should have laid down a towel.

It’s embarrassing how quick he—they bring you back to that point where your toes start to curl, your cunt fluttering with every vibration and pressure on your g-spot to bring you to bliss.

“Please, please please.” You keen.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, the force of it almost making the toy slip out of you as white hot pleasure forms behind your eyes, crying through the waves of pleasure coursing through your veins until your voice gives out.

It starts to hinge right on overstimulation and you breathe a sigh of relief when it slows down from a purr to nothing.

You’re reminded of your lack of towel when you move to get off the bed, the cool moisture making you cringe. You’re definitely going to have to wash your sheets.

Your thighs shake as you gather up your sheets to put in the wash, daydreaming about that neighbor of yours as you pour the laundry detergent into the machine.

The sun billows through his curtains and he turns onto his other side to fall back asleep, too tired from staying up late to hopefully have accomplished in making you come and then taking himself in hand when he denied himself as much as he could. Guilt pouring in tenfold at overstepping boundaries afterwards.

He finally relents and leaves the warmth of his bed in lieu of making a hot cup of coffee to combat the cool air.

The spring air delicately kisses his face when he pulls his slide door open with his cup of joe when he sees you already out on yours, your attention being directed towards him when you hear the pull of the door. He freezes for a second, but your smile instantly relaxes him.

“Good morning!” You grin.

There’s a glow to you this morning, any tension you were carrying the day before is gone and his chest puffs in pride at the realization that he may have had a role in that.

Fuck, he’s hooked.

“Mornin’. You look like you slept well.” He tests the waters.

You beam at him like you’re both in on some secret and he gets flustered that you might have discovered that it was him, but relief washes over him when you don’t look angry.

“Slept like a baby.”

"Oh yeah?" He darkly chuckles, his arousal pulling him to the railing of his balcony to be closer and preens when you mirror his steps.

"Yeah, woke up pleasantly sore actually." You breathily answer.

"Workout or something like that?"

"Something like that." He gapes at the wink thrown at him before you walk inside your apartment, but there's no way he's imagining the extra sway in your hips.

Guilt gets the best of him and he ignores it for a little bit much to your dismay, not that he would know.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. How good you felt and how good you slept after cleaning yourself in the shower. It was the best sleep you’ve had in a long time actually, but the only thing that was missing was Frankie.

You shake your head to clear that train of thought, but he was the one you thought of late at night. Not even for a sexual reason—okay yes that too. But just being surrounded by him, his soft belly shaping against your body like it was made for you.

You didn’t mind your secret toy admirer and after a process of elimination you’re almost sure it’s Frankie. The longest control range is 30 feet and you live in a quiet elderly building. You're confident they don't have the app or even know how to use bluetooth.

Just not sure enough to put it out in the universe and be wrong.

A week later you both walk towards your respective apartments and you look exhausted. A bottle of wine in hand and some Thai takeout miraculously balanced in your other hand, he decides right there and then if that toy comes up he’s going to make you boneless.

One glass of wine later—or two. You’re feeling more relaxed, the tension from work rinsing off with your shower.

You throw a t-shirt on to get ready for bed and glance at your nightstand drawer.

It couldn’t hurt right?

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

You shiver and pull the toy out, excitement and arousal shooting up your spine in anticipation.

You hop on your bed and throw your t-shirt off, rolling your nipples between your index fingers and thumbs until they peak at attention. You shimmy a pillow under your hips and insert the toy, working yourself up slowly.

It doesn’t take long for the toy to change up its rhythm and your soft moan billows through the otherwise silent room.

Relief floods through you at not having to think after such a long day of making decisions and you get to just enjoy the moment. Your body sinks into your plush sheets, a purr crawling its way up your throat and the pads of your fingers slide up your bare thighs, tracing the steps of how Frankie would touch you.

You’re deep into your fantasy of him and reality starts to blur, moans spilling out where you would normally try to stay quiet. You gasp when the toy hits just right and your inner walls flutter around it.

“Oh go-Frankie.”

He tosses his phone on his coffee table like a kid caught red-handed in the cookie jar and throws his hands up until he realizes you’re not in his living room. He hears his name again through the thin walls and he jumps to action, almost forgetting to grab his phone from the table in the scuffle.

Either something is really wrong or you found out it was him and he’s really in for it now, but when you call his name again outside of your apartment door—he has to be sure.

You forgot to lock your front door, but with how your day went it wasn’t on your list of priorities. Before you get the chance to take in that your door opened it slams just as quickly.

The layout of both your apartments are the same so he gets a front and center view of you all spread out and your core glistening in the golden hour light that he just freezes. You look surprised but the prettiest moan comes out making him realize he hadn’t turned off the toy from the app during the rush to your apartment.

He reaches into his back pocket to pull up the app, turning it off right when you were on the crescendo of a bone-tingling orgasm only for it to be ripped from you.

You whine and grasp the sheets between your fingers while your clit throbs from its robbed attention. You squeeze your thighs on instinct and Frankie interprets that as his cue to leave in his embarrassment, but you say his name with such reverence that he stays planted in front of your bedroom waiting with bated breath what your next move is.

He’s surprised when you smile with all softness behind it and he can’t help but match it, no matter how flustered he feels.

“So it was you.”

Heat floods from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and he’s about to go on his knees to apologize until he notices the tinge of playfulness in your voice and the way you arch your brow at him.

You don’t let him hang onto his humiliation for too long, giving him some reprieve by curling your finger and motioning him to your room when he embarrassingly nods.

“Well that’s a relief. I’m supposed to help Rodger down the hall with his computer and 70 is just a little too old for me.” You chuckle.

“Rodger wishes.” He huffs and you snort at his retort as every pusle thrumming through your cunt collides with every step Frankie takes on the hardwood.

“No, really. Have you seen you?” He exasperates.

“Why don’t you tell me?” You grab his hand to pull him on top of you and he sits on the bed watching you with awe.

“How ‘bout I show you? If you’ll let me? Then we can talk about all of this because I’ve been trying to find the guts to ask you out since you moved in.” He strokes your thighs in mindless circles and a shiver goes through you.

It was on the tip of your tongue that he basically skipped all of that when he helped get you off, but you nod.

“I love the enthusiasm, but I’m gonna need to hear you say it.” He teases with a kiss on your calf, looking at you with all the mirth behind it.

“Yes plea-fuck me Frankie.” Your cunt clamps around the toy as he walks towards you, his once beautiful brown eyes now blown out with lust as he hovers at the foot of your bed.

He shushes your pleas and towers over you, taking his time to admire your features now that he has permission to. He doesn’t crash his lips against yours like you expected he would much to your chagrin.

His nose bumps yours and you chase his lips when he pulls away from you with a smirk. He darkly chuckles as he peppers your face with kisses everywhere except where you crave him.

“I’ve been imagining every pretty noise you’d make for me so forgive me for wanting to take my time with you.” He explains with a lower octave than you’ve heard come out of those plush lips.

You lock your leg around his lower waist and pull him down to you, all restraint thrown out the window and kiss him. Holding onto him like the ground below you was going to implode if you let go. He groans when your bare core rubs against his bulge, your wetness already seeping through the fabric.

You involuntarily gasp when he bumps the head of his cock against your clit and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy and leaking down your inner thighs.

He pulls away from your swollen lips and smirks before he trails open mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, licking the salt of your sweat on the way to your core.

The hairs of his moustache tickle against your breast when he laps at your nipple, suckling around the peak until it stands at attention, releasing it with a pop when it is thoroughly wet from his saliva. He gives equal attention to your other breast with his mouth, groaning when his calloused thumb and forefinger roll your spit-saturated nipple between his fingers.

Once you’re all perked and glistening for him, he makes his way down to where you’re aching for him, peppering kisses and licking the beads of sweat that form.

He bruisingly grips your thighs and tugs you lower on the bed so he can kneel comfortably on the carpet. You breathily whimper when he nips your inner thigh, lapping the sting away with his tongue. He presses his face against your mound and inhales deeply like a worshiper to an altar.

He opens your legs wider and the heel of your feet dig into his back to encourage him to make a move and he could never deny you.

He kitten licks your clit until more arousal pools from your entrance, swirling his tongue around your bud when your thighs twitch around his face.

“N-n-not gonna last long, Frankie.” You moan.

His eyes meet yours from above your mound and you don’t have to see his mouth to know he has a shit-eating grin when he wraps his mouth around your throbbing clit and sucks hard.

Your inner walls clamp around nothing until he fills it with one, then two fingers, curling them in a come hither motion until you embarrassingly fall apart quickly underneath him and his lips part as your face pinches in pleasure because of him.

Your chest heaves as your orgasm fades to a rhythmic pulsing and when Frankie kisses up to your eye-level you’re about to apologize because oh my god, it’s all over his chin-

“That was so much better than what I imagined, baby. Good girl. Fuck, you soaked me.”

He slams a bruising kiss against your lips and you open wide for him to push your come into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You toy with the hem of his shirt and he takes the hint, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in your room.

He hastily unbuckles his belt and you swat at his hands to take off his pants and boxers, the whisper of his zipper unfastening and your collective heavy pants filling the room.

Holy shit.

How are you going to fit that inside you?

His cocks spring out of his boxers, the head beading with pre-come and twitching the longer you gape at it.

“If you’re not ready-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you, locking your legs around his waist. He takes his damn time thrusting his cock between your folds until it’s soaked in your arousal and come.

“Ready?” He presses a chaste kiss on your lips when you nod and bites your shoulder as he breaches your entrance inch by inch.

You both groan at how tight you feel around him and he thrusts in short bursts until he’s buried to the hilt to not hurt you. Gone is the rush of the moment, soft touches and praises of how long the two of you have waited for this filling it.

“Frankie?” You eventually tap your foot on his ass when he doesn’t move, a muffled grunt releases from on your neck as he breathes you in.

“Move, baby.”

He lifts his head up to look into your eyes and devastatingly smirks. “Yes, ma’am.”

His first thrust devastates you, a sob ripping out of your throat when he continues to hone in on that spot that makes your walls clamp around him.

You whimper and bury your fingers into his unruly curls, the tinge of pain from you gripping on his strands prompting him to thrust at a bruising pace. He kisses your lips and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before he brings his hand between your bodies to circle around your clit.

“Please come, ‘m not gonna last.”

The slow circles on your bud has your cunt seizing around him with stars forming behind your eyes as your thighs tremble with the intensity of his hips. It edges on overstimulation, but you want him to feel as good as he made you feel.

“Inside, Frankie. Makin’ me feel so good baby.” You coo and slide the pads of your fingers up and down his back.

He whimpers into your ear as you pinch his earlobe between your teeth, releasing a breathy moan as his balls pull up and ropes of his cum spill inside of you, leaking onto the mattress below you.

You gently thrust up into him to prolong his climax until he begins to soften inside of you, the two of you whispering praises to each other.

You wince from the emptiness as he pulls out of you, a kiss being delivered to your forehead in apology, and you admire his barely there ass as he walks to your bathroom. You hear water running as you stretch your muscles, feeling sated and pleasantly sore.

Frankie emerges from the bathroom with a damp washcloth that he uses to clean up the mess, kissing your ankle when you hiss from the overstimulation as he gently rubs through your folds.

He tosses the washcloth on your nightstand and laughter fills the silent room when he plops next to you, pulling you in closer and tangling your legs together. He strokes the back of his fingers on your cheekbone and nudges his nose against yours, pressing light kisses on your cheeks.

“I’d really like to do this again sometime. Maybe some dinner first.”

“What makes you think I’m going to let you leave this bed now that I know how good I have it?” You smirk and coax him back in by wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck.

Like hell you are going to leave this spot.

#comment reblog

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javierpinme · 1 year

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requested by @myownworstenemyyy

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javierpinme · 1 year

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The Mandalorian Incorrect quotes.

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javierpinme · 1 year

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youve heard of missionary position. now get ready for MERCENARY position

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javierpinme · 1 year

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Your specialty as a fic writer is reader characters that are SO fun and flirty and playful. Their dynamics with our favorite boys are always top notch, top tier, stunning, brilliant, and so much fun to read and daydream about.

Your wonderful writing matches your wonderful self and I don't know HOW you get away with all that. You've stolen my heart and that shouldn't be allowed </3

Sincerely,

The slut whose heart you hold (it's @haylzcyon)

YOU ADORABLE SLUT YOU (hehehehehe)

My reader inserts mean just as much to me as my Pedro boys do. They’re what I wish I had the guts to be! I’m so glad it comes through in my writing nzksknjdkek. 😍

Well, you’ve stolen mine so that’s my karma I guess. ❤️❤️❤️

ILY

Anonymously tell me what my specialty as a fanfiction writer is

#javierpinme asks #the sweetest haylz

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javierpinme · 1 year

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PSA for New Users/Blank Blogs/Ageless Blogs

If you keep getting blocked from content creator blogs there are three major reasons and ways to fix them.

🚩🚩🚩This is a Huge RED flag!🚩🚩🚩

1. Update your avatar. Anything besides the default picture.

2. Update your blog title and description. Add your age, age range, Minor, or 18+ to the blog title/description. "Untitled" is a red flag that you are a bot. Something as simple as "Here for the fanfic!" will do it.

3. Reblog or post something to let us know you aren't just a bot. You can reblog the potato of luck or make a post that just says "Human. Please don't block me!"

Please respect others' boundaries. If a blog says they are 18+, don't follow them if you are a minor. If a blog posts things you aren't interested in, unfollow or block them.

Most of all, be kind. Kindness costs nothing and means everything.

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javierpinme · 1 year

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anonymously tell me what my specialty as a fanfiction writer is

#🔪#just kidding #ily all and goodnight

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javierpinme · 1 year

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pedro pascal as ezra - prospect (2018).

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javierpinme · 1 year

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Ahhhh I’m so glad you loved it! I also love a good one and there might be a wip that’s a neighbor!Frankie but you didn’t hear it from me

Thank you for reading and reblogging love! 💕