miscficsineedtoread

[miscficsineedtoread]

BEST GIRL | Javier Peña x DEA!reader

Request: Congrats on 1k! <3 If I may request a Javier pena x reader, where he insists on taking her home to insure she's safe? Thank you, if this doesn't speak to you, feel free to skip!

description: Javi offers to walk you home when you get stood up on a date.

Word count: 1.4k

trigger warnings: hickeys, mention of a gun, walking home alone, jealousy?

main masterlist

Author’s note: As much as I love doing these singular prompts I keep getting attached to the characters I'm writing and wanting to write fully fledged fits which I don't have time to do. Love the x dea!Reader trope as we all know.

It had all started two weeks ago when you bustled into the office with a hickey on your neck. He’d had a subtle crush on you for the past few months, though he had tried to put it down to lust, but inside Peña knew he was screwed. You were a beautiful woman, smart and witty, amazing at catching narcos. You were possibly the best in the department, at least that’s what it said according to the leaderboard you kept of the number of arrests made this month. 

You were in the lead with fifteen, Javi running in close second with thirteen and Steve falling behind at nine. Though in his defence, Carrillo had been grilling him with paperwork to fill out so he didn’t have as much of a chance in the field as the two of you did. But it was clear that when you walked into the office, hair messed and a small purple splotch on your collarbone that your winning total was not the source of your delight. 

Sitting at your desk and shoving your handbag under your chair, you moved to make a start on your own paperwork. You felt two sets of eyes burning into your skull, your face flicking up to the offending agents with pride. 

“Oh, good morning gentlemen,” Came your smug voice, as if they had been an afterthought in your charm this morning. 

“Morning,” Steve murmured, sitting upright in his chair to get a look at your desk, “Where’s your coffee?”

You were a creature of habit, and after working closely for nearly a year with the two men in your unit, they grew to understand that every single morning you brought the same coffee flask, in the same handbag, which you brought to your lips with the same shade of lipstick almost immediately upon entering the building. But today was different, off. Your peachy pink lipstick was nowhere to be seen, a deeper red painted on in its place. And the beverage was missing too.

Javi’s eyes perked up at the distinction in your demeanour, your face going hot at the fact they had known you just that bit too well for you to get away with your little secret. 

“Just didn’t fancy it this morning,” You responded, trying to bury your nose into your work. Steve’s pen clattered to his desk in shock. That was certainty new. A job like this meant you had to stuff yourself full to the brim with caffeine if you were to make it through the day. 

“No, no,” Javi said suspiciously, “You look different. You only wear red lipstick when we’re going out,” Your eyes shot to his at the remark. An odd warmth spread in your chest when you realised he took notice of your little habits and you hid a scarlet smile at his words. 

“Yeah, and your coffee cup is gone because you couldn’t make it the way you like it this morning. Maybe you weren’t home?” Steve finished, raising his eyebrows in an accusation.

You puffed a breath, leaning back in your chair at their interrogation, “Save the questions for the criminals, boys,” They simply stared at you, waiting for an answer. You knew you weren’t wriggling out of this one. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t home last night. I’ve started seeing someone,” You confessed.

“Yeah, we gathered. That hickey on your neck says it all,” Javi teased, though inside he was bitter at the fact he had missed his chance with you. “So when can we meet him?”

Obviously not because Javi wanted to size the guy up or anything. Obviously. 

—

Not even three days later, Javi had practically forced you to arrange a double (triple) date with your recent interest. 

All you had told them was that his name was Mateo and that he was just so dreamy. He worked at the coffee shop you stopped off on the way home from work (again, getting your fill of caffeine for your guaranteed share of paperwork waiting for you at home). He had been the one to make the move on you, take you out for drinks, kiss you first on his old sofa in the dead of night. 

So as the five of you sat in the bar, two drinks down, it made no sense in anyone’s eyes why you were sitting alone. 

Steve of course had brought Connie, Javi had brought some girl he owed a second date, Eliza you think her name was. Then there was you. 

Mateo was supposed to be here an hour ago, you thought as you wrung your hands in nerves. The conversation flowed nicely as it always did between the three of you. Connie was by far the nicest woman you had ever known, and boy did she give Steve a run for his money with her drink tolerance. And Eliza was nice. She was quiet though, too interested in kissing Javi’s earlobe as he blushed and tried distracting her with something else whether it be shots or a less physical form of affection to keep her away.

She was nice, they all were. But god did you feel like an idiot. 

You chugged the remnants of your beer, still glancing at the door in case he made an appearance despite being diabolically late. When there was still no sight of him for a moment, you sighed and stood up from the table. “I’m gonna head home, it’s getting late-”

“You’re leaving?” Connie said, her blue eyes turning sad as she grabbed your wrist kindly, “He still might show up, please don’t go,”

“It’s getting late, I think I’m just going to go home. I have a huge report due for Carrillo by Monday anyway-” You brushed off politely, hating the look of pity everyone sent your way. You were obviously lying, anyone could see you were simply trying to save face over the fact your date had stood you up.

“Y/n, please just wait up, one of us will walk you home,” Steve tried to interject, but you were too fast, already slipping your coat on and stepping away from the table. 

“No, it’s fine really. I’m a big girl, I have my badge and gun on me anyway,” You promised, a meek smile clearly masking the embarrassment you felt. 

You turned on your heel to head out the door, giving the quartet a small nod goodnight as you left. God, this was pathetic. A woman of your grown age getting stood up on a date still, as if you were a stupid teen chasing an even more childish boy. You willed yourself not to cry out of sheer embarrassment, though your eyes stung with hatred and unshed tears anyway. 

That is until you heard your name being called behind you. 

“Wait!” You spun around to see Javi speeding to catch up with you, his date left at the table with a new cocktail in her hand and a slightly sour looking face. “Let me take you home,”

“Javier, you’re on a date. I can walk home alone, I’m fine. I don’t need everyone fawning over me-” You started but was cut off when he overtook you and held the door open for you to leave. “Javi!”

“Steve and Connie are taking Eliza home. Come on,” He held his hand out to you leaving no room for an argument. The warmth you felt in the office returned when you saw the way he looked at you, a mixture of pity, pleading and concern in those doe, brown eyes. All for you. “I can’t leave my best girl to walk home alone, can I?”

Because you knew he would do anything for you. The same way he would for Steve, or anyone else in the department. But something about the way he held his hand out, kind and inviting, as if he needed to take you home just as badly as you needed a shoulder to cry on, made your heart flutter like Mateo and his dreamy pick up lines never had. 

You took his hand gently, and he began walking the two of you through the cold Medellin night air, pulling you close with a sigh, “Jackass doesn’t know what he’s missing,”

[miscficsineedtoread]

Worth the Wait - Series Masterlist

Javier Peña x F!Reader (Diosa) - ONGOING SERIES

Summary:  A year ago, you and Steve Murphy became Javier Peña’s new partners.  In that time, you and Javi have playfully flirted, but he forced himself to leave it at that, not wanting to risk the friendship you two have…he ended up falling in love with you anyway.  

**Updated 7/4/2024** -all future updates will be on ao3 only-

*moodboard by the amazingly talented @wildemaven​

Part 1 

Part 2 

Part 3 

Part 4  

Part 5

Part 6  

Part 7  

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

(More to come)

[miscficsineedtoread]

Burn It Down - One Shot

Javier Peña x Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: Javier's POV, Angst, Established Secret Relationship, Infidelity, Drunk Driving (DON'T DO THAT!), Leg Grinding, Dirty Talk, Orgasm, Possessive Javier, Angst With A Happy Ending

A/N: Story inspiration from "The Ideal Husband" by Father John Misty. This was originally a scene I had in mind when I started writing Just Dumb Enough to Try (can you tell I was listening to a lot of FJM??), but it didn't work with those characters or their relationship.

I revisited it and fleshed it out and changed some stuff, and, voilà!

[ Masterlist ] [ Taglist ] [ AO3 ]

He should leave. 

Just turn the car around and go back home. 

But the pragmatic part of his brain is riding in the backseat. Whiskey has the wheel now. 

The digital clock on the dash reads 7:00 AM. He shakes his head in disbelief when he realizes it's been just 24 hours since he woke up in your bed and everything was fine. 

What he wouldn't give to go back in time and be there again. Heat of your body clinging to him. Buried under your white bedsheet. Watching your fingertips dance across his torso. 

Sometimes he closes his eyes and tries to trace the path your touch takes. Other times he watches inquisitively. Always trying to decode the invisible messages you draw onto his skin in these quiet moments. When he asks you what you're writing, the answer is always the same. 

"It's a secret," you teased, amusement at his curiosity drawing your gaze to his. Humor crinkled the delicate skin at the corners of your eyes. 

You and your goddamn secrets. 

If he could go back in time to 7:00 AM yesterday, this could have all been avoided. He'd tell himself to get the fuck out as soon as you suggested breakfast. Before he could have a chance to wander around your kitchen and study the artifacts of your life with the man who lives there. He wouldn't have seen the calendar on the wall. 

"I have to go. Shit to do on the ranch," he could have lied. He could have gotten dressed and gone home. 

He wouldn’t have spent the whole day drinking himself into a stupor, trying to get rid of your voice in his head. Trying to make your bright smile, your infectious laugh, disappear from his memory. Trying to erase the penciled-in note on your calendar. 

This all could have all been avoided. 

Despite all the things that could have been, though, he's here. Turning down your street. Coming to a stop and shifting the gear into park. Watching the closed curtains for any sign of movement. 

He pries open the center console and pulls out a shiny aluminum flask, then slouches down in the driver's seat and starts to empty its contents into his belly, one pull at a time. Taking a drink every time the deep ache of yearning tightens around his heart. 

No, see, despite all the things that could have been, you're in this house and he's out here. You're in there, probably still tucked into the bed and sleeping soundly, and you can never unhear the things he said to you. 

Yesterday will never happen again. No do-overs in this life, unfortunately, regardless of how many times Javi has wished there would be. Yesterday will always be the day you were greasing a frying pan, and he snuck up behind you, circling his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You reached back and blindly ran your fingers through his hair as you melted against him. 

He mumbled against your skin, "Wish we could do this every day."

Now that he thinks about it, maybe those words were the catalyst, not the calendar. His admission of wanting anything more. Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. 

Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship. 

The way your body reacted to his confession told him that you know this, too. 

It was subtle, the way you tensed ever-so-slightly, pulse jumping against his lips. It was so slight, he thought he might have imagined it. But now, looking back, he has decided it was another one of your secrets. Always trying to hide pieces of yourself away, as if you want it to be impossible for any single person to see all of you at one time. 

It's been occurring to him, more and more lately, that he desperately wants to be the person you'll hand all your broken pieces to. He wants to splay you out on his dining room table like a 1000-piece puzzle that's halfway completed. 

Fuck, more than anything on this Earth, he wants to hover above you, studying each intricate, jigsawed fraction of you until he's memorized them all. Then maybe, you can both figure out how it all fits together. Then maybe, he can see all of you at one time. 

Then maybe, he can trust you with his own broken pieces. 

"I do, too, Javi," you whispered. 

Your voice wasn't hopeful. Instead, it was thick with sorrow that settled heavy in his chest like pneumonia. His hands fell away from your sides and he stepped back, giving you space to cook. You started to crack eggs into a stainless steel bowl while he casually studied the kitchen. The metallic ting-crack of eggshells giving way to the lip of the bowl was background music to his exploration. 

When he closes his eyes and recounts these events, that ting-crack echoes loudly. 

He examined the shelf of cookbooks, wondering if any of them were hand-me-downs from your mom or grandma. As he continued to stroll, he saw trinkets and contemplated their significance, too. Filed them away as potential pieces of the puzzle. Always looking for clues. 

And then he found one. 

His eyes fell on a bird calendar hanging from the wall next to your corded home phone. November 1998 was represented by the kingfisher. Its teal and rust feathers contrast and compliment each other in a striking way that he found himself admiring. Then he noticed a penciled-in note for this coming Tuesday, handwriting unmistakably yours: Wedding Cake Testing 6:00. 

You were whisking the eggs together, head down, and didn't see his face when he shattered. It was obvious to him at that moment that the two of you were just playing house for the weekend. He was just filling in as Daddy while your fiancé was away on a business trip. The unspoken truth, glaring right in the eyes. 

And it ruined him. 

Of all the complicated emotions fighting over control of his brain, rage was the victor. The edges of his vision tinged red and hot. He clenched his teeth together and leaned back against the countertop, watching you with indignation as you cluelessly went about making breakfast. 

"Do you really or are you just saying that so I'll keep fucking you?" he heard the rage say. 

You were about to pour the eggs into the pan, but lowered the bowl and turned around to face him, chuckling with confusion, "Wh- what?"

He knows now that there was no way for you to see this coming. You couldn't have foreseen the blinding rage that overrode him. But your confusion fueled the flame anyway. 

All he could think is: It's all a goddamn act.   An illusion. You and your fucking secrets. This other life you lead when he’s not there. 

It burned hot in his veins. 

He didn’t take the evidence into account. The way you look at him like he's the only person who exists. The few broken pieces you allow him to see. Your claims to misery, a whispered confession the night before: "I feel trapped when I'm with him, and when I'm with you I'm free."

Because there you were, standing in a kitchen that your fiancé owns, scrambling eggs that your fiancé bought, drowning in your fiancé's t-shirt, wearing that fucking diamond ring on your left hand, and Javier was certain you had no intention of leaving. 

You opened your mouth, but just blinked frantically, rendered silent by this part of him you had never seen before. 

He pushed off the countertop and started pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You agreed that you wish we could do this every day,” losing control of himself, he crowded you against the kitchen counter, pressing his nose into your cheek, craning your head to the side, “If that’s true, why haven’t you left him? Hmm? Why him and not me, cariño?” 

You gave no response. Just short, panicked puffs of air against his cheek. 

"What does he have that I don’t? Is it because you don’t want to be seen with someone like me?”  

“Someone like you? I- I don’t-” 

“Don't play dumb, you know what I mean," he sneered, palms pressing down on either side of your waist, cornering you there like his prey, "What is it, baby? What does he have that I don't? Hmm?" 

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. A soft gasp expanded your lungs when he husked, “Does he pay attention to you like I do?"

"No," you whimpered and shook your head. 

He shifted his hips and wedged a knee between your legs, "Does he touch you like I do?"

When you shook your head this time, his teeth caught your earlobe and a little moan escaped your throat. The warmth of your sex found his thigh and you arched into the contact. He pulled back enough to meet your eyes, all confusion and blown-out pupils as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

"Does he fuck you like I do? Hmm, baby?" his heart was thudding loud in his chest, searching your eyes for the truth. 

You bit down on your bottom lip and held back a moan, shaking your head as you began rubbing yourself against his leg. 

“I didn’t fucking think so," he growled, grabbed your face and captured your lips in his. The kiss was possessive and heated. 

Simultaneously, he wanted to destroy you and make you whole. He wanted his touch to haunt your body long after you married this fucking prick. He wanted to spoil your appetite for other men so completely that the thought of anyone else touching you would bring on bouts of nausea. 

He wanted to fucking ruin you. 

Breaking the kiss, he placed his hands on your rolling hips and pressed you down harder. Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the friction. When your gaze snapped back to his, your face was flushed, soft moans falling from your lips as you humped his leg. 

You weren't wearing any underwear and he could feel the heat of your cunt through the thick denim of his jeans. When he looked down at the place your bodies met, the dampened fabric as proved that you fucking loved this. 

"I wish he'd walk in and see you just like this," he growled, digging his fingers into your hips, making you gasp. 

You grabbed onto the sides of his shirt and used him as leverage, gaining more momentum.

"See you rubbing that sweet pussy all over my leg," he purred, meeting your hot gaze with his own as he uttered the words, "See that you're mine." 

Your mouth gaped open and you started to whimper frantically. Grinding down against his thigh. He could tell you were close. Your eyelids started to flutter. 

"You sit here and placate me, tell me that you want this, and then what? You continue to plan your sham fucking wedding while you fuck me on the side?" he asked through gritted teeth. 

You whimpered and shook your head frantically in denial, "No, baby, that's not true."

"Such a fucking liar, cariño." 

His lips formed an O and he spurred your pace, rocking you back and forth so fast you started taking big, deep, swallows of air and released a choked sob. 

"That's ok, baby, you can use me. Use me to make yourself feel fucking good," he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, rocking you faster now, fueled by the moans slurring together from your throat, "Come on baby, I want you to cum all over my fucking leg. Show me how much you like being my little slut." 

"Oh my god-" you gasped, "Yes yes yes, I like it."

"Like being a little fucking slut, baby, hmm?"

You nodded, whimpering and gasping, rubbing your cunt all over his drenched, hot leg, reaching a fever pitch. And then your face twisted up with pleasure and you shuddered, "H-holy fuck-”   legs tightening around his as you twitched against him. 

His lips curled into a smile at your sexual satisfaction. He kissed your sweaty forehead, your cheek, your lips through panting breaths. You hummed and closed your eyes, releasing his shirt to link your hands behind his head. 

He wasn't done with you yet, though. 

The inflamed, red part of him was still throbbing. So fucking sure that he had you figured out. So convinced he didn't need to see all the broken pieces to know that you were just toying with him. 

“I can't keep playing boyfriend with you, hoping that one day you'll actually pull the trigger and leave him."

Your chest still heaving, you pulled back and narrowed your eyes in confusion. He stepped away and returned your stare with a piercing gaze. You averted your eyes and closed in on yourself, arms folding in front of your chest. He mistook it as a sign that he was on the right track. 

“Why, cariño? Why are you so fucking content to stay? So you can be miserable? But hey, at least it’s comfortable. Isn't that right? Hmm?"

When you turned to look up at him, meeting his gaze with disbelief and fury, he should have known that you were setting your phasers to kill. 

"Is that what you think, Javier?" you bit off, glaring as you searched his face, “That I want this? Do you think this is fucking fun for me?" 

It was his turn to be rendered silent and unmoving. He watched you carefully. 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do? I have fucking nothing ,” the last word was spoken through gritted teeth. The rage overrode you, too. 

The unspoken truth spoken. It was too much for either of you to handle. 

He cut you off with a lie, “That’s not true.”

“Well, what, are you gonna save me? Let me live with you? You won’t even let me come over when your dad is home,” you scoffed, then stared off into the distance and awaited a reply he couldn't give you. 

The weight of the truth started to settle on your shoulders. He could see them slump. Your face crumpled, folding under the pressure of sorrow that welled up in the corners of your eyes, “Can’t you see that I’m in love with you, Javi? Of course I want you.”

Desperately, you searched his face for a reaction. He couldn’t process this information. So sure that he had you pegged as something much more insidious, so committed to his rage, the question gave him emotional whiplash. 

You could see it then. The panic building in his chest, creeping into the features of his face, widening his eyes. He opened his mouth to form words but nothing came out. He just shook his head. Your confession met with complete and utter terror. 

Your nostrils flared. 

“Get out,” you spat, jabbing a finger against his chest, “Fucking hypocrite.” 

It’s been bubbling between the layers of his skin since. Your confession. Your anger. Your pain. 

Fucking hypocrite. 

You were right. He did as you asked. He left. 

Went home and hit the bottle. Thought long and hard about everything. The broken pieces he can see spread out before him. Waking up next to you. Your secret notes on his skin. How your body tensed up when he tipped his hand. The calendar. Your penciled in note. The rage it evoked. His accusations. Your confession of love. 

Can’t you see that I’m in love with you? 

Now he can. He put it all together. And now he can see it. Even clearer yet, he can see… that he’s in love with you, too. 

He drops the flask back in the center console and slams it shut. Gets out of the vehicle and lets his heavy feet carry him to your front door, where he rings the doorbell. Pounds his fist against the door. 

It swings open, and you’re wrapped up in a plush black robe, hair mussed from tossing and turning in your sleep, squinting puffy eyes at the intrusion. When you register that it’s Javier standing there, swaying unsteadily on your doorstep, you sigh and cross your arms, “What do you want?”

“I needta talk to you,” he slurs, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

Your eyes blink open wider and you study him, then ask, “Are you fucking drunk?” 

He neither confirms nor denies, just shrugs. Which is like a confirmation but at least he doesn’t have to say it out loud. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Javier, get in here,” you groan and turn around into the house. He follows and closes the door behind him, then tries to bend over to take his shoes off, but stumbles forward. 

“Come on,” you pull him upright and wrap an arm around his back, guiding him towards the bedroom, “You need to sleep.” 

“Nnnno- Gotta tell you-” he mumbles, but lets you continue to guide him down the hallway, into your bedroom, where he plops down onto the bed that’s still warm from your body heat. 

You untie his shoes and yank them off. They thud on the hardwood floor, one at a time. He hums once they’re off and tries to sit up to look at you, but you press your fingers against his chest and guide him back against the bed, “He’s not gonna be back 'til tomorrow, you can sleep it off here.” 

His eyes close and he feels the room start to spin and fade as you take his pants off, then start unbuttoning his shirt. While you methodically strip him down into comfort so he can sleep, he tries time and time again to touch you, to pull you into an embrace, to make it like it was at this time yesterday. But you swat him away, muttering to yourself in annoyance. Or maybe you’re asking him questions. He’s not sure anymore. 

He hears you ask, “Why did you even come here, Javi? Can’t believe you drove in this condition.” 

This triggers his memory. He recalls the purpose of this trip. 

“I love you too,” he blurts out. You freeze. His eyes blink open and meet yours. 

Your eyebrows are pressed together, lips parted in shock. He lets it sink in. When you respond, your eyes are brimming with tears and your voice is quivering, “Don’t fuck with me right now, Javier.” 

“Mmmnot fucking with you, cariño,” he swears. His hand finds yours, and this time you let him take it, but it’s limp in response. He rubs his thumb against your skin and doesn’t part his gaze, tries his hardest not to slur his words, “I’m tired of running. Don’t wanna hide. I’m in love with you.”

Big, fat tears start to roll hot down your cheeks. You sniffle and wipe them away, avert your gaze, “You’re just saying that because you’re shitfaced.” 

“Nope,” a drunk smile stretches across his face, “Figured it out. I- I wanna marry you, have babies with you, all that. I wan' everything with you.” 

Your gaze meets his, and he can tell you’re trying to determine whether or not this is the booze talking. And, in a way, it is. He probably wouldn’t have said that last part if whiskey hadn’t destroyed his brain-to-mouth filter. He pulls your hand to his lips and plants a kiss on the back of it, then presses it to his cheek and tells you, “I mean it, cariño.” 

“Javi,” you whimper, lips forming a pout as more tears fall, “Can we talk about this when you wake up?” 

“Do you love me?” he asks, searching your face, nuzzling against the heat of your hand. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, “I do love you. Now please get some sleep, drunky pants.” 

“I don’t even have pants on,” he scoffs playfully. 

“I know, baby, I took them off,” you snort, then pull your hand away and tuck him into bed. As soon as the warmth of the blankets surrounds him, he passes out. 

When he wakes, the clock on your bedside table reads 1:35 PM. There’s music playing from a stereo in your kitchen. His head starts to pound as he sits up and puts his clothes back on, then gets out of bed. He vaguely recalls the things he said to you before passing out. 

The floor creaks under his feet when he enters the kitchen, alerting you to his presence. He peers around the room. The bird calendar is still open to November 1998, kingfisher still puffing out its impressive plumage, Wedding Cake Testing 6:00 still penciled in for this Tuesday. 

It’s funny how some things remain static although everything around it has changed. 

“Hey,” you greet him, flashing a hesitant smile as you lean back against the counter and cross your arms. 

Your body language confuses him. Hadn’t he told you? Hadn’t he confessed his love? 

Suddenly, anxiety vibrates his bones and leaves him feeling insecure. He approaches you cautiously, “Hey.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

Your voice is warm and filled with concern. He takes another step towards you and shrugs, “Grateful that you didn’t murder me in my sleep.” 

A grin plays on your lips. He comes closer to you, beckoned by the hopefulness brightening your face. You meet his gaze as he brings his hands to your hips. He slides them around you and your crossed arms that quickly respond, wrapping around his back, pulling him closer. 

The heat of your body in his embrace pulls a content sigh from his chest and he melts into it. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales the scent of you, and he knows. 

“I meant it,” he mumbles against you, closing his eyes and squeezing you tight, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Your fingers dig into his skin, like you’re trying to prevent him from escaping. Like if you hook your barbs into him he can’t leave you here to rot in a lie. But he’s not running. Neither are you. 

“What are we gonna do?” you ask him. 

He knows that this won’t be simple. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. 

“Are you ready to leave him?” he loosens his grasp on you to meet your eyes. Searching for clues. For secrets that might be lingering in the background. 

Your gaze is unflinching as you nod. You’re studying him, too. Both so timid as you tiptoe out from behind the curtains and reveal more of yourselves.

His heart is pounding in his chest, fingers tingling, vulnerability peeling away at his layers until he’s just raw, exposed nerves. 

“Do you wanna come home with me?”

The question leaves a thick residue in his throat, and he swallows hard. 

“Right now? To live?” 

He nods, ignoring the knot of insecurity twisting in his stomach that tries to make him doubt you. 

It’s like the further you both step into the bright light of truth, the more puzzle pieces you each give and receive, and it starts to fall into place. He sees more than those little jigsawed fragments of you now. He starts to see the bigger picture. 

“Yes, Javi,” you nod, eyebrows pressing together as your face crumples into tears of relief. He cups your cheeks with his palms and meets your gaze with a smile that takes up his whole face, folding his eyes into crescent moons. 

You pull him into a kiss that ignites his soul, then melt against him. 

Illuminated by the hot, glowing flames of your lives burning down, he sees you, and he knows that you see him. And he knows the two of you will dance on the ashes and welcome new growth.

[miscficsineedtoread]

Anything For You

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Prompts -  “Shh. Stay here and don’t make a sound no matter what you hear. I’ll come back for you when it’s over.” & “You shoot anyone who walks through that door who isn’t me, you hear?”  

Javier knew it wasn’t a good idea to bring you along. He should have just waited for Steve, or better yet he should have kept his mouth shut and followed his lead himself. Instead he had been ordered to bring you along, he knew damn well it was to keep him in line, he was known to play fast and loose with the rules, it was the main reason you had been assigned to the case with him and Steve.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t like you, he did, he really did and wasn’t that part of the problem. You were the first person he’d met down here that made him want to give up his life of lonely nights and prostitutes, the first person he’d actually let in. Nothing had happened between the two of you much as Javier wished it would but he knew he liked you, he cared about you and wanted to do everything he could to keep you safe.

So having you walk into one of Escobar’s apparent abandoned safe houses wasn’t exactly filling him with joy. It set him on edge and he felt like he couldn’t focus properly, ever since you’d walked through the door he’d had one eye on the room and one eye on you. It made it damn near impossible to look for anything useful.

“Are you sure this place is abandoned?” You asked as you lifted up a newspaper and frowned down at it.

“My source seemed pretty sure.” He told you but frowned with you, trusting you and your senses more than any of his informants. “Why?”

“This is yesterday’s paper.” You said, holding it up to him so he could read the date on it. “Your source tell you exactly when they left?”

“He seemed to think they left in a hurry but no, no he didn’t say when.” Javier said and his frown deepened as he looked around the room.

Keep reading

[miscficsineedtoread]

If you’re still taking requests, could I please have "You look adorable when you smile" with the resident grump, Mr Javier Peña 💖

nonnie how did you know that javier peña is the way to my heart?

my head is stuck on the ranch these days, and this was a fun little prequel to what’s already been published 💕 hope you enjoy! (no angst or smut, just fluffy goodness!)

sleepover saturday

meet-cute

(word count 3k)

He’s had a long fucking day.

Scratch that, Javier is having a long fucking week. Month. Year. Lifetime, whatever. There aren’t enough cartons of cigarettes or enough litres of whiskey that could take the edge off how he’s feeling. And today? Oh, today the hours had just ticked by, five minutes feeling like thirty, his watch moving so slowly that he was convinced far too early on in the day that the battery was dead and needed replacing. But no, the hands kept ticking away at a glacial pace, taunting him.

So yes, as soon as he’d finished his day on the ranch, he’d gotten into his truck, still dressed in his work clothes, and took off for the nearest bar. Not like they’re few and far between in Laredo; he could have walked if he was feeling athletic, or even ridden a horse — most bars within reasonable distance of the ranch have a stable out back.

But he didn’t have the patience to fight one of the mares into a saddle, so into his truck he went, dust kicking up in the rearview as the ranch disappeared behind him.

Javier has been home a few weeks now. The ranch has been officially his for exactly seven days, and he is bone tired. There is dirt in places there shouldn’t be, he’s half-convinced he pulled a muscle in his back, and his head throbs something fierce with every step. The state of him doesn’t stop him from plunking himself on a barstool, ordering three fingers of whiskey and shoving his head in his hands.

He’s not sure he’s cut out for this.

Sure, he was raised for it. Chucho was always adamant that Javi pull his weight, and he did. Or, tried. There were certain things his father knew never to trust him with, turning him towards easier tasks, things Chucho could do with his eyes closed. Javi can remember being offended, at first, his teenage brain filled with hormones that whispered rage quickly — why wouldn’t his dad just trust him? — but then as time wore on, as his attentions were diverted, pulled in the direction of pretty girls and far-off countries, the idea of a badge in his hand and a gun on his hip, he cared less and less. 

Eventually, Chucho stopped asking him to do anything, and then Javier was off to college, to becoming an agent, running headlong into Colombia before he really realized what he was getting himself into.

And then somehow, here he was, back in Laredo, right where he started.

Not enough whiskey in the world. His whole body aches for a cigarette, but he swore to his folks he’d quit.

He’s halfway through his second drink when the door opens, the tinkling of bells above it signalling a new customer. Out of habit, he’d perched himself within sight of the exit, and his gaze lifts as you step through the door. High boots, short dress, hair piled high on your head. You’re beautiful, a grin on your lips that has him inhaling deeply, inflating his chest as you bee-line for the bar, a gaggle of other girls staggering into the bar behind you. Judging from the Bride-To-Be sash on one of your companions, Javi assumes it to be a bachelorette party, and he chuckles into his glass as you approach the bar, much more sure-footed than the rest of your friends.

Javier stays quiet as you rattle off an order to the bartender, an odd mix of cocktails and beers, finished with a tonic water with lemon. When the bartender turns away, you lean heavily onto the bar top, and Javier doesn’t miss the way you seem to deflate a little as you wait for your drinks. You start to glance around the bar, eyes flicking this way and that, until they land on Javi, who realizes he’s just been caught staring at you.

“Hi,” you say, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he mumbles back, lifting his glass for a sip. “Bachelorette?”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh, tossing your head back. “Would you believe this is our fourth bar of the night?”

“Looking at you,” Javi drawls, letting his eyes drop quickly before they flick back to your face. Your own narrow at him, “no. Looking at your friends over there,” he juts his chin towards the women in question, “definitely.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re upright, for starters.”

You scoff out another little laugh, mouthing your thanks to the bartender when he delivers the tonic and lemon first. You take a big gulp, breathing out a sigh as you wait for the rest of the drinks. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure they all get home to their husbands and boyfriends and fiancés.” Something in your tone makes him curious, and he can’t help his question.

“And who are you going home to?”

“My cat,” you say, laughing again, “and the attic bedroom of my aunt’s house.”

“Sounds cozy.”

You eye him sidelong, hand curled around your glass. “Are you from around here?”

“Born and bred,” he replies, noting the lift to your lips. “You?”

“Not exactly,” you return, taking another sip. Your face has fallen, brows pinched together as you stare down into the glass. “It’s a long story.”

“One requiring a much stronger drink than that?” Javier asks, and instantly regrets it at the way your lips turn down into a frown, the line in your forehead growing deeper. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, expression going artificially bright, “it’s all right. It’s just…been a long day.” You glance over your shoulder as your giggling group of friends. “A really long day.”

Javi lifts his glass towards yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

Your smile has returned as you tap your glass to his, and Javi sips slow, savouring the burn down his throat. “I’m Javier, by the way,” he says, and sticks his hand out. “Javier Peña.”

You give your own name in return, taking his hand. Soft, is his first thought, the warmth of your palm against his making him jolt. You’re still shaking when the bartender turns back with a tray full of your ordered drinks. Behind you, Javier can hear your cohorts screeching your name.

“I better take these over there,” you say, your voice turning sheepish, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He doesn’t miss the hesitation, and it makes his chest puff out a little. He just nods as you slide your own drink onto the tray, thanking the bartender and sliding another few bills across the bar as you try and lift the tray as carefully as possible. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” you say, and Javi just nods some more.

He watches you walk away, and wonders if the swing in your hips is deliberate. His mouth goes dry, and he sucks back more of his whiskey.

Another few hours pass, and Javier is decidedly sober, too worn out to order another drink and suddenly desperate for his bed. He thanks the bartender and closes his tab, waves goodnight, and heads for the door. He has to pass your table as he goes — he’s surprised you’re all still here; the bar is relatively dead — and with a stutter in his chest he realizes you are nowhere to be found. There are a few harmless catcalls thrown his way by your friends as he pushes open the door and heads for his truck.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” your voice calls, and he spins on his heel to see you leaned against the bricks, cigarette dangling between your fingers. “I think this is the only bar in Laredo that doesn’t let you smoke inside.”

He walks towards you, heart thumping with every step. “Possibly the only bar in the whole state.”

You give him one of those smiles again as he leans against the wall beside you. “Possibly.” You fish your pack from your purse, extend it towards him. “You want one?”

Javi eyes the pack, one filtered end poking out of the wrapper. “I shouldn’t,” he says after a beat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tryna quit.”

You laugh, taking a drag, tapping the ash and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you two. “Aren’t we all.”

“Promised my folks,” he tells you, staring down at his boots. “I’m taking over the family ranch for my dad and well…it’s a…”

“Long story?” you finish, dropping the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with your heel. “One requiring a strong drink?”

Despite himself, Javier smiles, broadly, the kind that tugs at his cheeks until they almost hurt. “Exactly.”

“Wow,” you murmur, and there’s something in your tone that makes his head lift, cheeks heating when he sees the way you’re almost scrutinizing him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head, pinching your lower lip between you fingers. “You just…you look adorable when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Before you can get another word out, your group bursts front the bar, your name slurred by multiple women, all of them beckoning you to follow. You sigh, pushing off the wall, and go to take a step before you pause, fishing a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist.

“Use this,” you say, scribbling on his palm, a string of numbers that make Javi’s heart crawl up his throat, “if the spirit moves you. Or if you feel like telling long stories over strong drinks.” You smile, and for a moment, Javi wonders if the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole. Or if he’s about to wake up in a cold sweat in his bed, that this is all just a dream. That you are just a dream. “Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight.”

Nope, not a dream.

+

He doesn’t call.

As soon as he gets home from the bar, he’s scribbling your phone number onto a scrap of paper, taping it to the cabinet beside the phone with your name, underlining the word CALL three times, so hard the ink bleeds through the paper. His head is spinning, admittedly tipsy from the whiskey, but more on you. He’s intrigued, he’s curious, he’s pulled in like a magnet facing north.

He wants to see you again.

It sparks something in his chest akin to forest fire, and damn it all, if that doesn’t scare him to death. Yes, there have been women since he came back from Colombia; he’s lonely, not celibate. But you…he can’t put his finger on it. Something about the way you laughed, the smile on your face, the way he wanted to spill his guts to you right there at the bar before you got pulled away, how he wanted to do it again outside when you were whisked away once more.

Monday morning, he taps the piece of paper bearing your number on his way out to start his day, making a mental note to call you once he’s done. He’d managed to talk himself in and out of it at least ten times over the weekend, but Monday felt right. A new week, fresh start.

Except, he’d been lazy Saturday and lazier Sunday, skipping more than half the daily chores, which leaves him playing catchup most of the morning, well into the afternoon, only starting Monday’s tasks as the sun starts to dip in the sky. By the time he hauls his ass through the door, it is late, the sky black and the clock on the stove reading quarter to twelve. 

He talks himself out of calling you then easily; it’s late, you are probably asleep. He doesn’t want to wake you.

By Wednesday, he’s caught up on his daily chores, and is through the door by six. A reasonable time to call. But a tiny voice in his head says NO, and he takes a long shower instead.

Thursday seems promising, but when he picks up the receiver, the damn thing starts ringing before he’s even had a chance to dial, and suddenly Steve Murphy’s voice is on the other end, barking at him. “Javi! We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

He fucking forgot.

“Uh, yeah!” Javi chirps, trying not to sound as caught off guard as he feels. “Yeah, yeah, what time you think you guys’ll be here?”

“Six okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, the word already feeling stiff on his tongue. “Yeah, six is great.”

“Good,” Steve replies. “Livvy’s excited to see her Uncle Javi.”

He forces a chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

Steve pauses, and then, “You fuckin’ forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy,” he throws back. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve starts cackling. “Goodnight, Peña.”

The next day, he cuts his day short, in honour of his guests. He’s gotta cook a damn meal, for chrissakes, which means a trip into town for groceries other than whiskey and that instant mac and cheese garbage he’s been living off of. It’s easy, and tastes surprisingly good with a glass of Jack Daniels.

He’s not quite sure what leads him to wander into the bakery. It’s on the main drag, a few blocks down from the grocery store, and he managed to park his truck a few shops down. Something about the bright red awning draws him closer, his curiosity getting the better of him, and when he sees the array of sugary goodness in the window, his stomach rumbles something fierce, and before he can think twice, he’s pulling the door open, bells tickling above.

Javier goes absolutely stock-still when he sees you behind the counter.

The inside is just as bright as the out, candy stripes on the walls, illuminated display cases filled with all sorts of treats. One of those old-fashioned cash registers, brassy and imposing. You’re busy with another customer, handing the older woman a box tied with a bright red bow. You’re laughing as she says something, thanking her as she hands you money, grinning when you hand her back the change.

“Have a good night, Mary,” you say as the woman takes her box and turns. “Tell Paul I said he has to share that cake!”

The bell above the door rings again as the woman leaves, and then you and Javi are the only two standing there. There’s no way you haven’t realized that he—

“You never called.” Your voice is clear, unwavering, and you spread your hands wide on the countertop before leaning down and pushing your chin into your hand, nailing him to the spot with your stare. Javi stares at his boots.

“I know,” he starts, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I was gonna, I just…” He pauses, inhales deeply and lifts his head. “I don’t have an excuse, I’m sorry.”

You balk slightly, brows raising as you straighten, stepping a little closer until there’s only the counter separating the two of you. “Wow, how honest of you.” The corner of your mouth quirks, but it’s not remotely close to the smiles you’d offered at the bar that night. Your shoulder lifts. “It’s okay, you know, if you didn’t want to call. I won’t get upset or something.”

“No,” he says far too quickly. “No, cariño, believe me, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and I have been meaning to. This is just…” He pulls at his collar, shoving his hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s hot in here. Or is it just him? “Would you have dinner with me?” he breathes out the question, the words a rush. “Saturday?”

You almost flinch, your eyes widening. Javi tenses, waits for the rejection he believes is coming. Why would you agree? He never called, even after meeting you in that bar had felt like the first good thing in a long time, and then he just shows up here, clearly where you work, out of the blue, bewildered as all hell, and asks—

“Yes.”

Javi can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face, and you give him one to match. His heart is racing. He steps closer to the counter. “I should have called.”

You nod, agreeing. “You really should have.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my aunt’s place,” you explain, toying with the string of your apron. “My cousin moved to Florida for school, and she really needed the help, so here I am.” You lift a finger, pointing it in the air. “And no, that’s not the long story requiring alcohol.”

Javier chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I look forward to hearing the actual story.”

“As you should,” you say, your expression turning almost triumphant. “You should bring a notebook; I might just quiz you after.”

He laughs again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

You lean forward on the counter, the space between you growing even smaller. “Play your cards right on Saturday, and I might just forgive you.” You glance around, eyes darting towards the door before your voice drops. “Though, there’s one thing I think we need to do before then.”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, you reach out, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to your level. You kiss him soft, lips meeting so gently Javi can feel himself melting into you already. Your mouth tastes like powdered sugar.

His cheeks are on fire when he pulls back, immediately licking the taste of you off his lips, half a mind to kiss you again. You’re beaming, thumb tucked between your teeth, and Javi almost stumbles back a step. “I should…” He rubs the back of his neck, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Okay,” you say, the word tinged with laugher. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, another little grin on your face. “Goodbye, Javier.”

“Bye.”

He’s halfway to his truck when he realizes he didn’t get a fucking dessert, or your address. He abandons the idea of the former as he clambers back into his truck and starts the engine; he’s sure Connie will bring something, perfect guest she is.

As for the latter, well, it’s a perfect excuse to call you.

[miscficsineedtoread]

Feelings are Fatal (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: omg whatttttt amhrosina writing a fic about someone not in a marvel show/movie???? whatttt???? the people who know me in person (& one of my fav mutuals) knew this was coming. what can I say? it’s pedro fucking pascal and i've been in love with him since GOT lol enjoy this angst fest!  

request: rosi i noticed that you added pedro pascal to your writing list so im requesting a fic with javi comforting dea reader after a family member/friend dies. soft javi, maybe reader is drinking and theres an established but secret relationship. feel free not to write it if you dont like it but i saw your authors note about pedro and figured i would ask

Summary: Javi comforts reader after she gets terrible news and is forced to confront the depth of his feelings for her. Steve confronts Javi about his secret relationship.

(Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, minor injuries, alcohol, Javi is a grump but is a soft!boy w reader, cursing, lots of cigarettes lol, feelings are hard for javi)

The second you heard the receiver click on the other end of the line, the bulky phone slipped from your hand and tumbled to the floor. The booming crack of the plastic smacking the tile, followed by the trinkle of the pieces cascading across the floor, were the only sounds you could hear in the bullpen. You tried to find something to focus on, eyes glazing over as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You scanned the area around you, skipping over Murphy’s concerned gaze and landing on Javi’s empty chair.  

Mierda. (Shit.) He was still chasing a lead in Cali, and he wasn’t supposed to be home until early tomorrow morning. It’s not like he would be able to do anything for you right now anyways, considering you were surrounded by people who would out your relationship in half a second if it meant their career might be boosted because of it, but his reassuring presence was something you sorely needed at the moment.  

Your chest tightened as you processed what your dad had just murmured through the phone. You had been sitting when you answered the phone, but at some point, you must’ve stood, because you were currently white knuckling the back of your chair.  

Murphy rolled his chair into your eyeline, waving his hands in the air. Everything around you sounded muffled, almost like you were under water, and you couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a few seconds. You ran through the tricks you knew off the top of your head to stave off a panic attack. You tried to take a deep breath, you counted the tiles on the floor, hell, you even tried to find five things you could see, but the rapidly rising pace of your heartbeat, and the shallow breaths you could barely manage told you your panic attack was in full swing already. 

A gentle presence on your wrist sent a shock through you so prevalent that you snapped to attention and the world suddenly got very loud. Murphy was standing in front of you with wide eyes, murmuring your name, while the lucky few agents that happened to be in the bullpen when your phone rang stood a few feet back, observing you with keen interest. You weren’t stupid enough to believe they cared about your wellbeing. Nosy fuckers.  

Your hands clenched into fists, shaking slightly. The indent of your nails pressing into your palm was a steady ache, one that you absolutely needed if you were going to walk out of the office without incident. And you knew that was where you needed to go. Away from here, away from the DEA’s bullshit bureaucracy, away from Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. You stumbled away from Murphy, turning on your heels when you reached the lip of the bottom stair. You would explain everything to everyone later, when you could think again. ‘If you still have a job later, pendeja (asshole/idiot),’ you thought miserably. 

You barely remember jumping into your front seat, nor starting the car, nor pulling out of the police headquarters lot. You had a vague awareness that you arrived home when you unlocked your front door, but you were stuck in autopilot, and couldn’t bear to think about why you were stuck in autopilot.  

You eyed the bottle of liquor Javi had left in your kitchen the last time he was here and sighed. Yes, you thought, that’s perfect. 

- 

Javi was driving like a maniac, and he didn’t give two shits about it. When Steve had called earlier, he hadn’t been able to give any details about their partner’s bizarre behavior, other than her hasty departure from DEA headquarters after a strange phone call. Steve was puzzled, but otherwise not too concerned about her. Javi, on the other hand, had carefully untangled himself from his business in Cali and hopped on the next available and inconspicuous flight home he could manage.  

He could feel in his gut that something was wrong, and he couldn’t leave his girl hanging, job or no job. He wasn’t any closer to capturing Escobar anyways and had already determined that his trip to Cali was a colossal waste of time and resources before Steve had called him.  

He’d been pulled away from DEA headquarters for long enough, and this was the perfect excuse for him to high tail it out of Cali and come home. He was tired, and he missed his conejita (bunny – term of endearment), and even though he’d never admit it, he missed Murphy’s early morning grumblings too.  

He peeled into the nearest parking spot he could find to the apartment building and hurdled himself out of the driver’s seat. When he entered the building, he eyed the door at the top of the stairs. Dark – either Murphy was still at the office, asleep, or sitting in his apartment in complete darkness. His apartment was also dark, but a soft glow emitted from under his conejita’s door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  

He considered using the key she had given him for emergencies. Did this count as an emergency? He sure thought so, but he didn’t want to startle her, so he knocked on the door with anxious trepidation. He waited, straining to listen through the door for any sign of life inside the apartment. There was nothing, and then there was the loud crash of something glass hitting the floor, and Javi was through the door before she could let out a yelp.  

She was on her hands and knees, hunched on the floor by her couch. Broken glass was all over the floor around her, though Javi couldn’t tell what she’d broken. He was more concerned for her palms and kneecaps, all of which were being pushed into the broken glass shards with little resistance on her end. He rushed to her side, lifting her off of the glass and into his arms.  

“Javi?” She slurred, raising her chin in a defiant gesture.  

“Cariño (honey), what happened?” He noted the way she slurred her words and the fact that her cheeks were tinted pink. “Have you been drinking?”  

“Have you been drinking, Agent Grumpy?” She pouted, trying to mimic the way Javi’s lips would poke out when he was upset about something.  

Clearly, she’d been drinking, but Javi couldn’t figure out what might’ve spurred this behavior. Out of him, Murphy, and her, she was the most levelheaded of the trio, and the least likely to drown her sorrows in a bottle of liquor. Dread coiled in his gut. Something awful must’ve gone down while he was gone, and he couldn’t help but feel like the idiot that couldn’t keep up. 

“Baby,” he murmured, carefully navigating through the millions of tiny glass shards all over her living room floor, “¿Que paso (what happened)?”  

“I dropped the bottle.” She breathed, clutching onto his shirt with her bloody hands. He didn’t care. He’d use a hundred of his shirts to stop her bleeding. He carefully set her down in a kitchen chair, untangling his limbs from hers. She seemed more alert now, more awake than when he’d busted through the door moments before. The cuts on her hands and knees were probably to blame for that, but Javi couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. First, he had to find a first aid kit.  

Every agent was trained in basic first aid, and if they felt like being kiss-asses, they could take classes to get certified in trauma response. Javi hadn’t felt like being a kiss-ass, but he knew he way around a first aid kit. As he poked around her kitchen and bathroom cabinets, he stuck his head in the hallway every few seconds, checking on her. She was waiting patiently at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but she’d adopted a look that could only be described as “far away”, and his concern was growing by the minute.  

Javi couldn’t figure it out. When they’d talked on the phone this morning, she was fine, chipper even. She was excited that he’d be home soon, and he had promised that he’d make up for the nights they’d lost while he was working in Cali. When her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she revealed that Murphy had just walked into the bullpen thirty minutes early, his breath had hitched in his throat as he almost let the words “I love you” slip from between his lips.  

Javi wasn’t inexperienced with women, but he was sure that she was the only woman in the world that could get him that tongue tied. When the receiver clicked, indicating that she'd hung up, Javi had spent entirely too long staring at the phone in his hands, listening to the dial tone drone on and on as he searched his brain for wherever the hell that had come from.  

But that couldn’t be what was bothering her. Steve had mentioned a phone call, but she’d hung up the phone with him before 8am, and she didn’t start acting weird until almost ten hours later. There had to be someone, something bothering her, and Javi’s chest ached with rage about it. The only person allowed to bother her was him, and he took that job very seriously. 

“Bebé (Baby),” he sighed, propping the medical kit open on the kitchen table, “Will you tell me what’s going on?” 

She swallowed thickly, sighing as he pulled up a chair in front of her. He gently lifted her hands to the light so he could see the cuts. They were shallow, but hands always bled a lot, so both of her palms were stained a deep crimson. She watched him as he began to remove pieces of glass from the cuts, and he waited patiently for her to explain herself. He’d wait for as long as she needed him to. 

- 

The stinging sensation hadn’t left your trembling hands, but you wanted to be tough in front of Javi, so you watched quietly as he wrapped your hands in thick gauze. He’d lit a cigarette two minutes ago, puffing smoke in the air at regular intervals as he worked. When he finally moved on to your knees, which had stopped bleeding ten minutes ago, you tried to figure out exactly what to say to him.  

It wasn’t every day that your significant other’s mom suddenly and inexplicably dies during an evening nap, leaving everyone, especially your significant other, baffled and choked by her loss. His mom had quietly passed away earlier the year before, and he was only gone for two days before returning to Colombia. He hadn’t broached the topic since then, and you weren’t as comfortable with him then as you were now. You could confidently say that you had no idea how this was going to go. 

You took a breath, and before you could talk yourself out of it, mumbled the same words your dad had spoken hours before, causing your world to crumble around you. 

“Mi mamá está muerta. (My mom is dead.)” 

Javi sucked in a breath, lifting his gaze towards yours with a pitiful expression. Tears welled in your eyes, and for the first time since you’d heard the horrible news, you allowed yourself to cry. Javi dropped the gauze on the table and wrapped his muscular arms around your neck, pulling you into his chest.  

“Oh, Cariño,” he cooed, kissing your hair as you sobbed into his shirt, “Lo siento, bebé. (I’m sorry, baby.)” 

His shirt was sure to be irreparably stained now that your blood and tears were soaked into it, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stroked your back, kissed your head, and held you close while you cried and cried into his chest. He’d never seen you so vulnerable before, and a rush of fear shot through you at the thought of him scaring away because of that, but every time you tried to push away from him, he’d tighten his hold on you and urge you to let it out. 

When you finally got a handle on your sobs, Javi pulled back, searching your expression for any further breakage. He’d weather it, this awful storm, for as long as you needed him to. You knew that, and even still, when he began to put the pieces of you back together again, your heart melted at the thought of him.  

Javier Peña was not the guy that women came crying to in the middle of the night. He was the guy you picked up for the one-night stand, the one you’d talk about for years afterwards, the one you’d think about as ‘the one that got away’ until you were too old to remember his name and where he came from. That was Javier Peña, and yet, he was in your kitchen, cleaning up your wounds, healing the part of you that was inexplicably broken. If only Murphy could see you guys now. 

“Cuando es el funeral? (When is the funeral?)” He asked, blotting at the scabs on your knees.  

“Next weekend.” You murmured, wincing as he taped gauze over a particularly deep cut. 

“When mi mamá died,” he started, and you stopped breathing, unwilling to be the one to fuck this conversation up before it even started, “I didn’t let myself mourn the way I should have. I tried to sweep it under the rug, ‘ya know?” 

You nodded, remembering the weeks after his return from Texas. He had thrown himself into his work, which made yours and Murphy’s lives a little easier for a while, though neither of you preferred it that way.  

“Let yourself mourn, Cariño. It’s my biggest regret.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant by that. You spoke before you could stop yourself. “You can still mourn her. There’s not a time limit on grief.”  

It sort of felt like the air was sucked out of the room. You’d never said something so bold to Javi, especially not about his personal life. You were five seconds away from blaming your brashness on the alcohol you’d consumed, even though you’d sobered up fairly quickly once he’d arrived, when he nodded. 

“That’s true, Cariño.” 

You blinked. You must really look like shit if Javi wasn’t actively building walls around himself. Sure, he’d opened up a little throughout the relationship, but he was still working on being vulnerable with you, and he had a lot of work left to do. You knew he was plagued by nightmares – you were too, and who, working this job, wouldn’t be? – but he wouldn’t talk about them with anyone. Instead, he’d pull you closer, kiss you harder, and make you forget why he’d woken in the first place. It was a coping mechanism that both of you recognized as ‘not actually coping’ but neither of you had the resources or the energy to work through that trauma. At least, not yet. 

He lit another cigarette, and you watched him breathe in the smoke deeply. He lifted it toward you, and you eagerly parted your lips, taking a much needed drag. Before Colombia, before Javi, you hadn’t touched a cigarette in your life. After being assigned to team Murphy-Peña, you felt like you had a perpetual cloud of smoke hovering over you at all times.  

Javi brushed his hands together and threw the remaining unused gauze back in the first aid kit. He gently pulled you from your seat, and the slight movement sent a sting through your legs. You were already regretting the alcohol and your hangover hadn’t even started yet. 

“Let’s sleep at my place tonight, Cariño. We’ll clean this up tomorrow.” 

You nodded, teary eyed again. You didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or next week, or any time in the future that didn’t include your mom. If Javi noticed your tears, he didn’t say anything about them, and you were grateful for his wherewithal. He always knew exactly how to handle you, and that was part of the reason you’d fallen in love with him.  

Love. You blanched. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. 

You shrugged the thought away as Javi lifted you bridal style in his arms. Javier Peña didn’t fall in love, and you certainly weren’t going to be the woman to challenge that. 

- 

Bonus Scene: Steve confronting Javi about his secret relationship with you. 

“Are you fucking stupid? You’ve got to be, to pull this bullshit.” 

Javi watched Steve pace across his living room. Again. He’d been walking a hole in the rug for half an hour, and Javi wasn’t sure Steve would be stopping his rant anytime soon.  

Technically, Javi deserved this. Everything Steve was saying was true. He was jeopardizing not only his career, but hers too. The integrity of the investigation against Escobar would be questioned if word got out that two of the three agents assigned to his case were fucking each other. Not to mention how quickly procedure would be thrown out the window if either of them were in danger. There’s a reason why those rules existed. 

But like most things, it wasn’t that simple. Javi hadn’t been able to offer an excuse for when Steve caught him carrying her into his apartment, taped to high hell with gauze and tipsy as all get out. He’d simply shrugged, unlocked the door, and carried her through the frame without a second glance. 

Now, Steve wasn’t stupid, but he chalked up that incident to her being overwhelmed with grief. What friend wouldn’t offer their couch up to their drunk, mourning partner when she needed it? What he didn’t know was how often she slept at Javi’s already. She even had a toothbrush in his bathroom and a stack of books piled on one of the nightstands in his bedroom.  

Steve’s suspicions might’ve grown a little the weekend that she went home to Oceanside for her mother’s funeral. Weekends meant little to the DEA agents working Escobar’s case – every day was another day they could possibly learn information that may or may not give them someone who might know something about Escobar, or not – but Javi was especially fidgety the two days she was off on leave. 

Steve finally demanded to know what the hell was bothering Javi when he caught him staring at her empty seat for the third time in an hour. Javi brushed it off, claiming he hadn’t been sleeping well, but Steve wasn’t so easily persuaded to look the other way again.  

The final straw, the one that prompted the yelling and the insults and the pacing, made Javi’s relationship with her so obvious that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could talk his way out of it. Steve, being the hero best buddy that he was, had heard an alarming thump from Javi’s apartment, and taken it upon himself to investigate. What he hadn’t been expecting to find was his two partners, tangled in each other’s limbs, going at it on the kitchen counter like rabbits.  

Hence, the yelling. 

“I mean, seriously Javi? You could fuck any woman in the world, and you chose the one woman that’s off limits!” 

“Listen, man. I-” 

Javi tried again to interrupt Steve’s rant, to explain himself and what he felt for her. Steve was missing the bigger picture. Javi wasn’t just fucking her, he loved her. He couldn’t figure out if that would make Steve more or less angry about it. 

“You what, man? You what?!” Steve threw his hands in the air, beckoning an excuse that might help him understand why his partners would be such idiots. 

Javi struggled to translate his feelings into words. He hadn’t even told her yet exactly how he felt and saying it now felt weirdly similar to a trial run. He searched his head for the right words to describe what she was to him. 

“I’ve been sleeping.” Javi rested his hands on his hips and sighed, eyes flickering across the ceiling as he realized how incredibly stupid that sounded outside of his brain. “I know I love her, because I can sleep after I’ve talked to her.” 

Steve studied Javi, searching for any signs of deception. He narrowed his eyes when he couldn’t find any. 

“What do you mean you ‘love’ her?” 

“I mean, I fucking love her, man. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Javi was growing restless, tugging at the neckline of his button-down shirt. Conversations like these always made him antsy, and he could feel the temperature in his cheeks rising. 

“You.” Steve cocked a grin, “Javier Peña. In love? I’m not buying it man.” 

“Well, I’m not going to try and convince you.” It was Javi’s turn to throw his hands in the air in distress. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 

“You actually care about her?” Steve’s expression morphed from disbelief to genuine shock. Javi wished he could take a picture to savor the moment. 

“Are you going to say anything to anyone?”  

Javi would normally never be so obvious about his fears, but he was thinking about her, back in her apartment, probably walking a hole into her rug as she waited for Steve and Javi to hash their shit out. The look on her face when Steve started yelling was enough to make Javi panic, and he was not above begging if it meant keeping her out of trouble. 

“Nah, man.” Steve shook his head, plopping down on Javi’s couch. Javi sagged with relief. “Just don’t make it so obvious. I was suspicious before I walked in on you two.” 

“Yeah, man.” Javi took another drag of his cigarette.  

“Have you told her?” 

“Told her what?” Javi couldn’t keep the bite from his tone. 

“That you love her.” 

Javi envied the ease that Steve managed when he talked about love. Before she’d been transferred to Colombia, Javi had never, in his life, been able to understand why anyone would choose to fall in love. He recognized the signs of it from the years of watching his parents interact, but he’d never experienced it before. When Steve talked about Connie, whether it was a complaint or not, there was always an underlying tone of love in his words. When she showed up, everything Javi had ever thought about love was scrambled, and it terrified him. 

“No.” He blew out a slow trail of smoke. 

Steve nodded slowly in understanding. If anyone in the world could comprehend Javi’s mindset right now, it was the guy he’d spent hours and hours with every day for years. 

“Maybe you should.” 

“Yeah, maybe I should.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[miscficsineedtoread]

premise: going to your works annual holiday party is the last thing you want to do. but javier has a way of easing the torture that comes from the social event. with his smile and with his tongue.

pairing: javier peña x (f)reader

word count: 1.2k+

warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv, f receiving oral, light degrading, spanking, biting, creampie, public-ish, dirty talk, this is the first time i’ve written for javi so that’s a warning all it’s own.

note: i want to wish a happiest of birthdays to my darling, my soul sister, my sister(wife), my soul mate @psychedelic-ink, you have brightened my life so much!! growing close to you has been the best part of my year and i can’t wait until you get to the states because i’m going to annoy the heck out of you with hugs! have a wonderful day bby <3

Holiday parties were about as fun as taking a trip to the dmv—to you at least. The loud overbearing Christmas harmonies, the drunken colleagues who always seemed to have way too many shots and shared more than you’d like to know about their lives outside of the office. Not to mention the obnoxious Santa Clause your boss insisted on having present, pulling people into his laps unwarranted.

Holiday parties at your office was an absolute nightmare.

But having Javier beside you wasn’t so bad. Made it less stressful to feel him at your side. His suit alone brings life into you where the party has failed—his arm wrapped around your hip, keeping you at his side, whispers in your ear of “you’re scowling again, corazón.” His tone sweet, teasing, as he pecks the skin below your ear.

If it weren’t for him you know you would have thrown your drink in Santa’s face hours ago.

You adored him for trying to lighten your mood. Him just being here made you feel lighter, more relaxed. And not just because he takes the lead in every conversation you try to avoid.

But only so many sweet words and convincing pecks, could help when you’ve heard the same Mariah Carey song for what feels like hours now.

That’s why when Javi pulls you into the bathroom, pushing your back to the wall, smirk devious and tempting: you don’t refuse. Don’t worry about your coworkers hearing you from the other side of the door. Not when he's giving you those bedroom eyes and his mouth is attached to your neck, sucking and biting the annoyance from tonight right out of you.

It doesn’t take long for him to have you bent over the sink. Your nails gripping the marble countertop as his hands roam up the backs of your thighs, to the start of your ass and over the round muscle. Pulling the bottom of your dress up until the cool air is nipping at your cheeks and the lace of your thong is the only clothed part of your lower half.

Javier crocheting down to sink his teeth into the skin of one of your cheeks. A hard palm squeezing the other before a stinging slap comes down on it, making you squeal. “Naughty girl,” he grins against your skin. Kissing his way to that part peaking between your pressed thighs, that part that is already wet and throbbing for him. “You should be out there mingling, being good, friendly.” His palm comes down on your ass again, making you press your hips higher in the air for him. The sting landing right on your center, lust burning straight through your insides. “Instead you’re in here about to be fucked.”

You whimper when he runs the flat of his tongue up your clothed pussy. His hands spread your cheeks and thighs just enough to give him the perfect angle to soak your panties more. To run the tip of his nose so close to your entrance you want to start begging. “My filthy girl.” He growls, hooking a finger into the material of your underwear to give himself access to your wetness.

Your moan echoing off of the walls when you feel his tongue run up your bare pussy. Sucking, licking, pushing a fingering into you. Your head back, legs shaking.

He eats you out like that for what feels like ages, centuries, until you’re a complete mess. Until you can hear the sounds of his fingers fucking you. The squelch of your arousal—of being so close to coming—likely to be heard over your moans. His tongue dives deep between your lips to find your clit, to wreck your body with even more trembles and fires of pleasure.

Your hand reaches back to keep him stationary there. To grip his hair. To grind your ass back against his tongue. To come—you’re so close, so so close. That burning in your belly about to absolve you of the foul mood you’ve been in all night. His tongue your salvation from going properly insane.

But just as that coil tightens, as that dam is about to burst: he stops.

Leaving you panting and whining against the marble of the sink.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror with a confused scowl. A look he returns with a simple smirk, arm wrapping around to splay the warmth of his palm against the column of your neck. Pulling your back to his chest, chin turned so your noses are brushing and you can almost taste yourself on his lips, as they brush against yours as he speaks.

“My cock is the only thing you’re coming on tonight, corazón.” His voice is filled with lust and gravel that has you mewling against his palm. Reaching out for his lips, which he is all too eager to oblige you with a passionate kiss. His tongue shares the taste of you on your tastebuds. Devouring your mouth like he did your cunt. “I think you’ve earned it tonight.”

Javier grins. Makes quick work of undoing his belt and freeing his cock to push inside of you hard, fast. Pulling the air from your lungs when he captures your mouth again, swallowing down your moan; loud, piercing, from being filled full so fast, so deliciously.

His pace makes your legs feel woozy. His hands keep you tight to his chest. Close enough to kiss, bite, and leave marks on your exposed skin when he wants to—needs to. Needs another taste of you, another touch of your trembling flesh against his tongue. Another breath moaned into his mouth. Another beg swallowed down.

You think you hear a knock at the door. Think you can hear someone's voice on the other side. But all you can feel is Javi.

All you can think about, breathe about, is him. How he’s fucking you, how good and absolutley filthy—and wrong—it is to have him take you like this. To have your entire office hear you beg him to let you come, beg him to fuck you harder; and to hear Javi’s grunts at the shell of your ear of how good he’s going to fill you up. How you’re going to walk around with him inside of you for the rest of the night.

“Every time you move you’ll feel me.” His teeth bite at your jaw, “they’ll all know. Know how filthy you are. How good you take my cock.”

“Javi,” you whimper. “Please.”

And it’s not pity he takes on you, it’s understanding, it’s a fucking gift to feel his palm move from your neck and press his fingers to your clit. Rubbing tight circles with the same rhythm of his hips; one, two, four times and you’re coming. His name echoing off the walls as you clench around him. His teeth digging into your shoulder blade as he follows right behind you; as you milk his cock.

He doesn’t let you move either. Keeps you pressed to him until you’ve come down, breath no longer heavy, eyes lidded in that after sex haze. You can feel his heart finally settle down against your back, just as you’re sure he can feel yours against his palm as he drags it back up your body.

“Pretty sure this’ll be your last year getting an invite to any parties.” He jokes, presses a kiss on the bite mark he’s left on your shoulder. A soft laugh shaking your chest,

“My hero,” you praise, smiling at him through the mirror.

[miscficsineedtoread]

The Beginning. {Javier Peña x F! Reader.}

Summary: You’d follow him anywhere. And so you did.

Warnings: Some angst, some concerns for the future, leaving a job without any plans, p in v sex, male and female masturbation and some soft!Javi. Please tell me if i forgot anything.

Word count: 1798.

Authors note: The plan is to follow up with their start in Laredo if people want it. Enjoy!

His fingers interlaced yours as you gently rested your head on his shoulder, he was quiet, but quiet in a way you had never seen him before. It was the kind of quiet that only comes when years of burden are thrown off of one’s shoulders, and the only weight that brushes the surface is one of gentle hands softly working out the knots that had formed over countless restless nights.

It was over. And after years of being held hostage by a battle that was continuing to rage on, he was finally free. Free to look back on the good he had done, instead of tormenting himself by focusing on the bad. Finally free to make a home after spending years trapped in a house and finally free to give the parts of himself to you that he feared you would find too ugly or too damaged to love.

But the moment you followed him into that office, and handed over your badge and gun without a second's hesitation he knew he had nothing to fear, you walked out of that building with your heads held higher than ever and your hand resting gently in his.

Javier peered out the plane window, the streets of Colombia feeling further and further away as the seconds dragged into minutes. Less than twenty minutes until the runway would be thousands of feet beneath you both and the roaring sound of the plane's engines would be an unofficial soundtrack to the new life awaiting you both.

“Are you sure your dad doesn’t mind?” you ask quietly as you nuzzle your face against his neck, “He hasn’t even met me and I’m going to be staying in his home.”

“He can’t wait to meet you,” Javi replies before placing a quick kiss on your scalp, “He’s going to adore you. Just try to sleep, baby.”

You don’t argue, you simply try to get as comfortable as you possibly can against the warm sticky leather seat and take a large inhale, flooding your senses with his warm welcoming scent.

‘Home,’ you think silently to yourself, maybe right now you don’t technically have a place made of bricks and mortar with a legal document declaring it as your own; but you have him and that’s all that matters at this very moment.

The reassuring squeeze of his hand as the flight attendants finish their safety demonstrations and the captain informs everyone on the aircraft that their seatbelts must be fastened squashes some of the anxiety burning in your tummy.

Sleep comes easily once you’re in the air, his shoulder making a comfortable headrest as he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, peppering the occasional kiss as you succumb to your slumber.

You’re gifted vivid memories and flashbacks of their previous night as Colombia becomes a distant blur beneath you both.

[THE EVENING BEFORE]

He gripped your thigh the entire drive back to your apartment building, refusing to let go for a single second. It was almost like he feared you’d float away or drift away from his reach if he dared to.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleaded as the car approached your building as if you’d ever consider spending the night alone after silently confessing that you’d follow him anywhere.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, your stomach twisting at the desperation that dripped off each word he muttered to you. It was hard to not plead with him to tell you what you could do to quench the anxiety that was clearly consuming him, but you couldn’t find the words. So you rested your hand on top of his hand that was squeezing your thigh, returning the favour by squeezing three times.

He parked his Jeep in its usual spot, immediately jumping out from the drivers side and rounding the car to open your door. His hand found yours straight away as he helped you out and led you up the steps towards the door.

“Do you need to get anything from yours?” he asked as he unlocked the door and you simply shook your head. He hummed in response before pulling you towards his apartment.

The second you were inside he finally felt comfortable enough to let your hand go, but not before bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on it. He poured a large glass of whiskey for himself and poured an equally large glass of wine for you before walking over and pressing his lips to yours.

“They won’t take long cancelling our visas,” he said with a shrug followed by a gulp of his drink.

“It probably would be wise to leave before that happens,” you mumbled back before gulping down your wine, “I don’t think it’s wise to wait around until it happens.”

You watched as he rolled his jaw, his teeth biting down into his lip as if to stop himself from speaking.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you admitted with a twist of your lips, “But I do know that I'm not ready to say goodbye to you, Javier.”

Two words fell from his lips before he was crashing towards you, his lips possessively covered yours as his tongue pushed its way inside your mouth. His hand pressed against the back of your head as he continued kissing you and his other hand rested on the small of your back. ‘Then don’t.’

You smiled against his mouth as your fingers searched for the buttons on his shirt, as usual he’d left the top few unfastened… something you were grateful for as it meant getting him undressed quicker.

He tugged at your shirt before pulling you towards his bedroom and you took the hint and immediately pulled it off. By the time you’d got to the end of hall, you’d both left a line of discarded garments and were only wearing your underwear.

“Get on the bed,” he growled against your lips and you happily obeyed.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d found yourself in his bed over the past six months or so. The first time it had happened you both promised yourselves that it was a one off and would never happen again. And then that very same evening he had fucked you so hard into the mattress that you were boneless for the rest of the night.

You never discussed stopping again. Instead you gave into all of the urges and the tension and the yearning. Being snuggled up against his warm chest every night simply became routine. The only thing that hadn’t happened was a much needed discussion about what you are to each other. Both of you secretly terrified that it was just a fling of convenience so you both refused to bring it up.

“Take off your panties and spread your legs for me,” he ordered as he watched you from the doorframe, his boxers pooled at the bottom of his feet as he languidly stroked on his cock.

You lifted your hips and rolled your panties down your legs kicking them off the edge of the bed before opening your legs. Arousal had spread throughout your folds and down your legs, your pussy glistening in the streaks of light creeping in through the crack in the curtains.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he slowly made his way towards you, “So fucking pretty.” His hand slowly glided up and down his cock as he kneeled between your legs, “Rub that pretty little clit for me, baby.”

Obeying his command your fingertips circled your bud of pleasure as you kept your focus on his hand. The sight of him stroking his cock was one you could never tire of, the soft grunts he let spill from his mouth as he squeezed his hand up and down himself were enough to make you cum alone.

You quickened the pace on your clit as he moved forward, gently nudging your hand away as he dragged the tip of his cock through your folds. Bringing it back up to tap in on your clit a few times before lining himself up to your entrance and sliding in. He pushed himself in slowly, taking a few seconds to let you adjust to the heft of him and once he’d filled you to the hilt he pressed a kiss on your lips and started rocking his hips.

Every roll of his hips was in perfect rhythm, his cock dragging against that spot inside of you without fail every time. Reducing you to a whimpering mess beneath him, keening at every drop of praise he lathered in you as he effortlessly pulled your first orgasm from you. Grunting in delight as you flooded his cock with your cum. “So perfect for me,” he mumbled as his thumb found your clit, drawing perfect circles as he continued to thrust in and out of your heat.

“Let’s make that pretty pussy cum again,” he gritted out as his pace fastens and every punch of his hips threatens to knock the wind out of you.

“Javier,” you chanted over and over as your hands grabbed at the sheets beneath you. His never ending stream of praises filled your ears as you clenched down hard around him as the stimulation on your clit became too much and not enough all at once. You came with a scream of his name.

Half a dozen thrusts later and Javier followed suit, pulling out and coating your swollen clit with thick warm ropes of his seed.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he watched the soft rise and fall of your chest as your came down from your high. He allowed himself a few minutes to take in the sight of you, sated, coated with a thin sheen of sweat and dripping with both of your arousal.

By the time he pulled himself away to get a damp cloth to clean you up with you were snuggled up against his pillow and dreaming peacefully.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

You woke with a jump, the flight attending announcing your imminent arrival sending a shock throughout you.

Javier’s hand tightened around yours as he chuckled at how adorable you looked with an expression of shock and annoyance splashed across your face at being disturbed from your peaceful sleep.

“I slept the whole flight?” you asked as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

“Pretty much,” he said back before pressing a kiss to your scalp, “Clearly needed it.”

You hummed gently in agreement before gently taking the tumbler of whiskey from his hand and taking a small sip.

“Ready for a new start?” you asked as you handed him back the cup.

“Yeah,” he said back with a slight twist of his lips, “I’m always ready for anything with you by my side.”

[miscficsineedtoread]

why don’t you || Javier Peña x f!reader**

summary: it’s hot af and you’re wearing a sundress. that’s all Javier can say about that day.

word count: 2k

warnings: exhibitionism (kind of), riding, Javi can’t stop talking, male masturbation. 

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @hunterschafer​ 

By all means, Javier Peña responded to visuals.

Whether with his job or personal life, he responded best to what he could see. Palpable evidence, as he liked to call it. Anything that he could see, he could believe in it.

But he couldn’t believe this. It was true that Cali was hot today but damn, he did not expect this.

Keep reading

[miscficsineedtoread]

I want you to give in

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: what happens after you find Javier at your doorstep?

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, vaginal fingering, pussy drunk Javi, Javi cums in his pants -yeah 3:)- unprotected p in v, praise kink, creampie, cum eating), mentions of alchocol comsumption, tipsy Javier, cursing, fluff and Javi being the softie he really is

word count: 3.5k

A/N: also this fic was based on edit from @cany0nangel (it doesn’t let me copy the link to it) on TikTok so check it out!

Off all the people you expected to see at your doorstep on Saturday night, it for sure was not Javier fucking Peña. He waers his usual leather jacket paired with the tightest jeans you’ve ever seen - his ass always looked good in those. A few droplets of sweat rolls down his torso - of course, a few buttons on his pink shirt unbuttoned.

Keep reading

[miscficsineedtoread]

hi love! Can I use the prompt

“Visiting them at work, either with lunch, or just to spend the afternoon with them as they try to get things done. Whether they actually get things done, or thing devolve into flirting/romantic gestures is up to you.”

With Javier Peña?? I truly believe a women showing him love/affection would make him throw up lmao but still I crave it. thank you ❤️❤️

#mmvalentinesevent

lunch break.

javi peña x f!reader

an: i hope you don’t mind i changed it a smudge, thought this would be more him, and his counterpart. season one/two ish. i’ve been loose with details.

You don’t even need to let the door slam, his eyes find yours as soon as you're standing in the doorway.

The realisation dawning, spreading, making creases appear in his brow before they smooth out, eyes softening and filling with apologies. Ones that make the air—in the loud, busy room he works in—all the more thick and heavy.

His jawline is more prominent, jutting out. You've committed it to memory with both your fingers and mouth. The feel of it is still able to conjure on your lips—if you need them to.

Instead, you watch his eyes. How the beginning of an apology begins to form as they sweep over your frame. Not that you'll accept it.

Hastily lifting the brown bag, you move closer to his desk. You're quick to notice the new deeper shade of the circles under his eyes. How they're worse under the sepia lighting—even more so as he leans back, arms stretching behind his skull as he rolls his lips.

All you're focused on is how his top two buttons are undone. The thinnest spread of sweat blotting over his skin, making your mind summon memories that'll make you weak, when you want to make him pay.

“I… fuck. I was meant to meet you for lunch?”

Your brows rise playfully, walking closer to his desk, dumping the bag down on the edge as you shift your denim jacket from your shoulders. “You were meant to meet me for lunch.”

With one hand, you wheel Murphy’s free chair to his desk, plonking yourself down next to him. Letting the thin fabric of your sundress settle above your thighs—landing higher on your skin than it did when you’d been standing.

Perfect.

“I’m so—“

“Save it, Peña. I ordered for you, which don't thank me—I added everything you hate to it.”

He pulls your chair closer to him, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, cariño.”

You almost crack.

His name for you, the one which rolls from his lips like honey, the one he's scorched over and over again against your rib cage, lips and thighs.

“The only reason I’m here is because I want to embarrass you as much as you embarrassed me by standing me up?”

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, he follows it by sliding his thumb in the same pattern. Dark eyes studying, traipsing over your face—desperately trying not to let them descend to your bare collarbone.

“How badly am I going to pay for this?”

You smirk, pulling out one of the trays from the bag, shrugging lightly as you place one in front of him. Cautiously avoiding his files, papers and lit cigarette.

You feel it then, his palm on your leg. Heavy, tight—warm. It takes everything not to inhale. To let your skin go several degrees higher from the implications, from the knowledge of what it can do.

Nothing was innocent with Javi Peña. But then, he didn’t come round at all hours of the night because you were innocent either. It hadn't begun between you to begin with because you were irreproachable.

Smirking silently to yourself, you allow his fingers to dance up your thigh. Having already put a plan in motion.

It's why you don't demand his eyes back to you when they move back on the papers in front of him. You don't argue when he mutters that you’ll have all his attention in a minute. You already know you will when he realises.

Instead, you pop open your tray, silently watching the smoke from his cigarette swirl up into the lights, blending with the cloud that's likely been forming since the sun rose.

And you wait.

“Where’s Murphy?”

“Fuck if I know.”

You bite the corners of your cheek, watching him flip a page over, his hand rising a little more north on your leg.

It’s torture, waiting. Needing him to rise up, feel the crease of your thigh. To run his index finger over the place where cotton or lace should be—finding nothing but bare, beautiful skin.

You almost forget how to breathe as you wait.

The underwear you’d slid off in the car, sitting dormant in your jacket pocket. Knowing there’s nothing greater in this world than food, sex, wine and torturing him; than making him wait, and watching a man who is rarely ever told no, to be patient.

You bite into your food, spices exploding as you fight a groan. Not wanting to give yourself away—to showcase that you’re up to something as he draws patterns on your skin.

You just want him a little higher, wanting him to brush over the empty expanse where he’d only last night slid your underwear down with his teeth.

It’s tense. Almost unsure how you can swallow from the way your pulse thundered in your throat. It’s making you sweat. Your skin prickling with adrenaline, eyes fixated on his side profile—his handsome, fucking face.

For a second, you hold your breath as his fingers fan over your skin. You’re rendered useless when he pauses, head lifting half an inch, dark eyes staring at you from the corners.

“Cariño…”

You lick the sauce from your finger, dropping the remainder of your food into the tray, blanking your face as you hum.

“Did you… Did you forget something?”

Frowning, you lick your lips as you tilt your head, meeting his gaze. Skin warming under it—thighs desperate to push together under his burning gaze.

“Don't think so? I mean, there’s more sauce in the bag—“

He turns his chair quickly, wheels working with him as he pulls you close—yours almost colliding with his. But he's good, so good. Already having his leg slotting between yours as you’re pulled to face him.

“Not the sauce. Where are they?”

You bite your lip, letting the smirk show, the angelic facade falling as quickly as your dress would have done—if he had shown up. “Pocket.”

“Give them to me.”

Frowning, you trace your teeth with your tongue. Slowly shaking your head, smirk broadening, telling him enough without as much as speaking.

He grits his jaw, staring at you, not even caring for how brazen he’s being with letting his eyes roll over you. How they take you in, undressing you, reminding your muscles and bones how he feels when he’s against you.

It takes all of you not to brush the strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. But if you do, he’ll kiss your pulse. He’ll coax you in, make you forget that he had you waiting for an hour.

You didn’t come here because you want to forgive him, you want him to repent. Want him on his knees, hands on the back of your thighs whispering prayers into the space between your thighs.

He must know. Must be able to tell. His eyes shifting, lips curling.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Leaning closer, your eyes flick to his lips. His perfect, parting lips. “Oh, I know." Your fingers press against them, pushing his head back gently. "Eat ya damn food, Peña.”

He drops his chin, staring up at you through his lashes, whispering, “There's something else I’d rather eat.”

You hum, smiling sweetly. “Oh, Javi, I know. But, that was dessert and you didn’t bother fucking showing up for the main. So.”

He eyes you, prodding his tongue into his cheek. "Alright, cariño."

Smirking, your eyes fall to his lap, noticing the prominent bulge, the one you'd caused as you, moved closer to his ear, lips ghosting over his skin. "Let this be a lesson to not stand me up again, Javi."

He tenses from head to toe, watching you as you lean forward to grab your tray. "You're a horrible woman."

Licking the sauce from your finger, you smile. "Oh, I know, querido."

[miscficsineedtoread]

Pedro Pascal’s Characters - Masterlist

Below are works done for various Pedro Pascal Characters! It will be updated as things are posted!

Main Masterlist

Request Guidelines

»»————-　♡　————-««

Agent Whiskey

It’s Lonely When You’re Gone

Are You Upset with Me?

I’m Going to Marry Her

Gold & Velvet

Dancing with Jack

Target

Taking Care of Jack

Jack Takes Care of You

Part of the Job

Meeting Jack at a Wedding

I Have No Clue What You’re Saying

Honeyed Whiskey

Inevitable

Gone

Worth Waiting For

Proud

Science Lab Crush

Dieter Bravo

Better Boyfriend

The Right Way

Behind the Scenes

Ezra

Helping Ezra Shave

Coffee Date

Heating Goes Out

Javi Gutierrez

Oblivious

Prove Me Wrong

Adventurous

Protective

Look at Me

Max Phillips

Daybreak

Max’s Birthday

Marcus Moreno

Christmas Wrapping Gone Right

Fools in Love

Like Saccharine Bliss

Tis the Damn Season

Marry Me?

Love is Patient, Love is Kind

School Meeting

Marcus Pike

Flannel

Surprise Date Night

Apples & Lattes

Rebound

Kitchen Sex 

Prince Among Frogs

Maxwell Lord

Honey & Velvet

I Don’t Want to Ruin That Pretty Face

Jealous Maxwell

Rough Max 

Halloween Spooks

Halloween Party

Kissing in a Stairwell

Trying His Best

It Was Always You

Oberyn Martell

In Name Only (complete series)

Of Princes & Berries (complete series)

Promethean Fire

I Don’t Get Scared!

Don’t Be Shy

Kisses

Let’s Run Away

I Thought You Were Dead

Fully & Completely 

Kidnapped

Pero Tovar

Hearth & Home

When You’re Sick

Make a Move!

Risk

The Thief

The Painting

[miscficsineedtoread]

Javier Peña -  Masterlist

Here we go friends - finally. All Javi prompts/requests/etc will be linked and updated here. Enjoy! * = Explicit

Request Guidelines

»»————-　♡　————-««

A Good Man Universe Masterlist

Time & Place (Mini-Series)

Disappear Here (Series -  Complete) *

Keep Quiet *

My Oh My *

Protective Javi 

This is Why I Fell In Love With You

Oh, Fuck Me *

How Hungover Was I?

Please Don’t Walk Out That Door

Javi’s Neighbor

Domestic Javi

Javi’s Birthday

I Told You Not to Fall in Love With Me *

Open Your Eyes

Frozen Yogurt & Pickles

Taking Care of Javi

The 1

Take My Sweater

Please Don’t Leave

I’ll Protect You, Baby

Golden

Let’s Get Ice Cream

I’m Not Good with Words

Stealing Javi’s Cigarettes

Rough Day

DEA Christmas Party

Even If I Don’t Show It

I Need You To Say It

Does He Know?

Because I Love You

Carnival Time

I’m in Love with Cheap Beer

Only Good Boys Get to Touch

Don’t Be Afraid, Javi

Jumping to Conclusions

Love Bites

Meeting Javi’s Family

Bitter

I’ve Got You

Wonder

Steeled

Aftermath

Thigh Riding *

Injured

Kitchen Dances

Cabin *

Stay

As We Go

Let Me Stay

These Nights

Grump

[miscficsineedtoread]

Frankie Morales - Masterlist

Below are all requests/prompts/drabbles for our sweet boy, Frankie. The list will be updated as things are put out!

Request Guidelines

Main Masterlist

* = Smut

»»————-　♡　————-««

Afterglow (Complete) *

Camisado (Complete)

Picky Bees & Christmas Trees

I Want to Hear You Scream

You Are Everything

Friends Don’t Do This

Endless

Fireplace

Stargazing

Don’t Talk About Yourself Like That

Making Out in a Graveyard

Pumpkins!

It’s Freezing

Autumn Showers

Sunset Drive

Weekend Getaway

When You Get Sick

Bonfire

AC’s Out

I Don’t Dance

Jealous Frankie

You’re My Girl *

Hot Chocolate Kisses

Rainy Confessions

I Have to Go

Baby Bee

Be My Wife?

Be My Fake Boyfriend?

It’s Always Been You, Sweet Girl

Team

Hello Sunshine

Always

Green Thumb

Knitting

You Weren’t Supposed to Hear That

Don’t Say It

Hello Fall!

Fall with Frankie - moodboard

Remember This

Apple Picking

Last Second Boyfriend

Winter Magic

Lessons

Grays

Saccharine 

Just the Help

Safe

Foolish

Positively Sure

Rough Month

Beachside 

Carnival

Very Not Boring

And They Were Roommates

Clingy?

Nightmares

Support System

A Small Surprise

Heart-Shaped

Touch

First Time

An Accident

Accidental Mess

Fight

Heat Wave

Storms

Photo Booth

Out of Context

Anniversary

Cute (But also Sexy)

Mr. Beans Goes Camping

Cuddle Weather

Caramel Apples

Birthday

Flowers

[miscficsineedtoread]

Okay so I just saw this on Twitter and immediately thought of Homecoming Frankie and Santi… the three of them tucked away in a cabin somewhere remote with nothing to entertain themselves with except this crappy old ping ping table. And it’s two against one and they are getting VERY competitive and they’re ganging up on you but it’s hot down there in that cabin basement and so you start to remove layers and notice it’s distracting them so you start stripping, watching them fumble and stutter, their mouths hanging open…

HOMECOMING: TWO AGAINST ONE

OH MY LORD! THIS IMAGE! You are sending me! So firstly I do actually have a wip that is very similar to this one, but because you sent me this depravity I wrote a little something, just for you. I LOVE YOU, I don't deserve this gorgeous, amazing, sexy thought you've sent me.

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Brat.

Obnoxious brat.

Short, obnoxious brat!

"What's wrong Cariño?" Santiago says, with a grin across the table from you, as you have to tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs as you walk across the room to pick up the little plastic ping pong table that ricocheted from Santiago's latest move and is now bouncing mockingly against the wooden floor in the corner.

Next to him, Frankie is shaking his head, with a sheepish expression on his face, clearly regretting being pulled into your competition with Santiago (as always).

"Thought you said you could take us both," Santiago adds.

From the way his voice is almost cracking with amusement at the edges, you know that double entendre is on purpose.

God, he's such a fucking brat.

You're better than Santiago at this game. You know it and he knows it. It's why you had bragged, perhaps a bit too confidently and a bit too loudly about how there is no handicap in the world that could have Santiago winning a game of ping pong over you.

It's why when Santiago had suggested two against one, you had readily taken him on. You just hadn't expected the two of them to be so coordinated and in sync with their movements.

In retrospect, that was a novice move. Because of course those two would be. You don't spend half a lifetime in the army together, watching each other's six only to end up on the other side of it, not being in tune with each other.

The bastard's still grinning at you.

Fuck your life.

Rolling up the sleeves of your sweatshirt, (Fuck it's warm in this cramped and stuffy basement--whose fucking idea was it to voluntarily do physical exercise), you bend over, picking up the tiny little ball.

You drag your eyes back to the table, where Santiago is practically lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, bouncing on his feet, as he takes a step back, in preparation, widening his stance, in some ridiculous half-wrestling move. He takes this game way too seriously (which, yes you know, you know: this is very pot calling the kettle black, considering the way you're already craning your neck from left to right in preparation for the next round).

He has no fucking right to look this good. Silver-black curls, bouncing on his forehead, as the sweat glistens off his thick neck. Bare-armed, as white fabric of his tanktop clings onto his chest. His fingers thread through his heat-furled curls, matted with sweat.

At the sight of it, something sharp and electric zaps through you, from the tip of your toes right into the center of your belly. For an infinitesimal second, you're not entirely sure if the sensation comes from the all-too familiar competitive streak between you or just how fucking attractive Santiago looks in this moment as he's grinning back at you. Gleefully happy and excited in a way you might not have seen him since you were both kids.

It makes your mouth dry out, heart pumping even faster (which isn't really ideal considering how high your heartbeat already is from the strenuous exercise you've already been victimised under from this stupid bet) and if the heat in this room hadn't already beat you to it, you'd be pretty sure your face would be burning too.

Frankie must see your plight, because his brows scrunch in concern as he looks at you.

"Baby, we don't have to keep doing this. We can call it a draw and just put on a movie upstairs instead," Frankie offers sympathetically.

"No Frank, game doesn't end until she calls uncle and admit she's lost, them's the rule," Santiago counters, as he taps his paddle tauntingly on the table. "Buckle up sweetheart, next round."

You make a sound in your throat that sounds much like a growl.

Brat. You weren't going to take Frankie's offer anyhow. Would much rather die from a heat-stroke than have to listen to Santiago's taunting all night about how everyone knows he's "technically the winner" if you hadn't begged for mercy.

A lone drop of sweat trickles down the back of your neck and fuck, that is it. You can't take the heat. Putting down your paddle and the ping pong ball on the table, your hands come to the hem of the grey army-sweatshirt, dragging the constraining cotton up your torso and off your neck, before you fling it onto a chair nearby. As soon as the itchy grey fabric leaves your skin, leaving you in your strapped cami blouse, you feel like you can breathe again. Thank god for linen.

Your skin is almost dewy from the sweat and perspiration, you feel disgusting. Stupid Santiago and his stupid competitive games, and his stupid army sweatshirt.

"Fish, don't get distracted. She's doing this on purpose."

You look back up, confused by Santiago's reprimanding tone until your eyes meet Frankie, and the way he's staring at your newly revealed skin. It's not until you look down, you realize, that your bra is showing under the near transparent material of your top.

Frankie's eyes round, almost comically, the black eating into the rest of his gorgeous eyes, until it's nearly pitched black.

"Uhm--yeah," Frankie responds, but you can tell from the thick drawl in his tone, the way his words goes slow and clumsy, the way it sounds like melted sugar burning under low heat, that he's not really hearing Santiago.

Santiago can tell too.

"FRANK!"

That snaps the man right out of it, he blinks repeatedly, as if waking up from a daze. The dark, near-blackness of his eyes, softening, until it's all warm and light hazel gentleness.

"Right, right," Frankie murmurs, as he drags his eyes away from you, eyes lowering to his feet, even as the flushed pink continues to climb.

And oh, bless this sweet summer child, you do love him so much.

So easy, your Frankie.

Bending over the table, you stay there, lingering languidly in your movements, until you're sure, from the way that Frankie swallows hard in his throat, that he's seen the lace of your bra peek out from the top, before you pick up the ball and lean back up.

Then you wink at your husband, and even though the loose sweats he's wearing provides him with some legroom, you know that the obvious bulge there is not from Frankie hiding a goddamn tree log in those pants.

If your next serve is a little bit more exaggerated in your movements for Frankie's benefit, well... there are no rules against that.

It's a comical sight. Santiago goes left, and Frankie clumsily fails to track the ball's movements, and missteps, until Santiago crashes into him with a loud curse.

The ball pings off the table and onto the floor, and you can practically see the fumes rising from the top of Santiago's head as he walks off to the corner, with pendejo and horny idiot scalding hot on his tongue.

With his back turned, you seize your chance, tilting your head coquettishly at your husband, as you drag your index finger along the flimsy collar of your top, dragging it down along the swell of your breasts until you can hear the groan wrenched from his throat.

"Foul!" Santiago's voice shouts from across the room. "That's fucking cheating and you know it!"

"How exactly am I cheating?"

"You're confusing Fish, flirting and stripping!"

"You're nuts, he's my husband! I'm allowed to flirt with my husband!"

"Not when we're playing, you're not!"

You stare at him in silence, a stand-off, neither of you willing to blink or back down from your irrational stance. The seconds ticking over from one to five to thirty until you must stand there for a full minute.

Until finally Santiago blinks. "Fine!" he growls, as he throws the paddle down on the table and his hand comes to the hem of his tanktop and pulls it off.

You blink in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Different game," he announces as if the logic makes perfect sense and he pulls off and kicks off the sweatpants to a far off corner in the room, standing in his half-naked glory, with only his boxers clinging onto his thick thighs and round ass.

Santiago must have lost his mind. The heat must have finally gotten to him. Because if he thinks that him stripping is going to make Frankie more concentrated in this game, then clearly Santiago's brain must have fried.

In front of you, Santiago is advancing on you, practically marching, until he's close enough that he can grab your arm and pull you to him, warm, rough palm against the back of your neck, as he presses his mouth against yours. It's hungry, it's frustrated, it's everything. Tongue licking into your mouth as he opens you up to him. The oppressive heat of the room strikes you again, the room spinning around you until your head is buzzing and you nearly lose your footing in his arms as you melt against him.

He pulls away from you. "Different game," Santiago repeats against your lips, "same rules though."

You're still confused, completely uncomprehending of what his words mean until he turns his face in Frankie's direction, with that mischievous grin still plastered on his spit-slick lips, "you comin' Frank?"

Santiago is grinning, eyes glittering with competitiveness. Heat licks against the bottom of your spine, as it finally click for you. Different game, but same rules: two against one.

FUCK

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[miscficsineedtoread]

Feed Your Ego

I was going to name this 3 Is My Favourite Number but I thought that was too on the nose lol. Instead I listened to Ego by Raye one too many times while writing this so-

Possibly the sluttiest thing I've ever written. Inspired by that tiktok of Santi and Frankie walking to the beat and making eye contact - you know the one.

NSFW Warnings: PinV (x2), creampie(x2), poly(?), PWP like literally what fucking plot, M/F/M, reader is fem, use of the word 'daddy', slight edging

(My face while writing these warnings as if I wasn't the one who wrote this thing 0.0)

The drag of Santiago’s hard cock through your quivering channel is all you can feel, the rest of your nerves essentially numb to the way he’s hitting your cervix on each hard thrust. It doesn’t help that he’s spewing absolute filth at you while doing so, palms pressing on your thighs, bending you in half at the middle.

“Louder, baby, let me hear you, let him hear you,” Santi groans as your moans escalate past recognition. “Oh, you liked that? She liked that, Fish.”

You clench down on his dick again as he continues thrusting, Frankie’s face coming into view above you as you lay in the center of the bed. 

“Wait your fuckin’ turn, Fish,” he growls at Frankie. You want to say something snarky back, something about how this was his idea to begin with and he can’t go acting all possessive now when you’re in the middle of coming for the third time that night. The first two times were on each of their faces; Frankie apparently had wanted to taste you the minute Santiago suggested this whole thing. 

Frankie only smiled at Santi’s remark. His hands came up to pull yours down from their place on Santi’s biceps, where you were gripping him like a lifeline, his hands encircling your wrists to pin them down next to your head. 

“You look so good like this, querida,” Frankie says quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear causing goosebumps to break out. 

Your reaction wasn’t lost on Santiago, who seemed to have taken this as a motivator to start fucking you with increased vigor, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, his thumb finding its way to your clit as he pressed up against something wonderful inside you. Before you knew it, you were coming, eyes closing in the wake of the burning white ecstasy it left you shaking with, hands still pinned down. You felt a soft touch on your neck and shoulder, repeatedly pressing down, only realizing belatedly that it was Frankie leaving feather light kisses on you. 

With a few more erratic thrusts, Santi’s hips stalled as he filled you up with his cum, groaning loudly with his head hanging back as he found his release. As he pulled out, Frankie let go of your hands, your body curling in on itself on instinct to keep him inside the way you know he likes. 

The boys were talking as you slowly came back to yourself, their voices blending together in their low tones. Your eyes adjusted and focused on Frankie, his face coming closer as he cupped your cheek, lips moving in quiet praise. 

“You okay, gorgeous? Still wanna continue?” he asked softly. 

“Uh-huh,” you managed with a short nod. 

It was clear enough for him, kissing your nose before flipping you over and adjusting your body to his liking. You landed on your knees, head resting on your folded arms with your ass in the air. Frankie’s hands came up to massage and pull at your cheeks, cupping them before spreading them to watch as Santi’s spend dribbled out of your puffy pussy. 

“Jesus, Pope, this is a lot,” Frankie scoffed. He wasn’t going to need any extra lubrication it seemed. 

When Frankie lined up his dick, after catching the bits that leaked out with his tip, he started to push in, only for you to moan and try to wiggle away from him. Putting pressure on your lower back to keep you in place, he continued to push forward slowly as you turned your head to moan into the sheets. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Thought you couldn’t wait to have ‘Big Dick Morales’?” Santiago laughed at your attempts to escape, fingers twisting the bedding. Cooing at you, he lifts your chin up as Frankie bottoms out, placing soft kisses on your face. “How does he feel, hermosa? Tell me.”

“Yeah, tell him how good I’m stretching you out,” Frankie pulls all the way out, the drag of him still slightly burning but his thrusts back in pull out a punched out breath from you on every pass. 

And even though you’re so wet and stretched from Santi, you find yourself still struggling to take Frankie. Santi continues to hold your face as you whimper and pant into his mouth, listening to your pleasure build. 

He couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of desire once again at seeing you look so fucked out so soon by his best friend. The crinkle of your brow as you bit down on your bottom lip, the shaky breaths you were letting out, fingers grabbing, clenching, twisting the sheets tighter and tighter. 

Kissing you again before letting go of your face, he leans back against the headboard, tired from his efforts. His cock sat between his outstretched legs, your face not too far from his as Frankie continued to fuck into you, his movements jostling you forward on each stroke. 

Frankie slaps your ass to bring you back to the present, and you briefly remember his demand, calling out to Santi,”so good, he feels so good.”

Your eyes meet his even as you grip the bedding, Santiago’s eyes flicking back and forth between yours and behind you, likely meeting Frankie’s searing gaze, before settling on yours with his brows resting heavy on his face. His cock stirs at the sight again, slowly coming back to full mast at the way you keep eye contact. 

Santi gets an idea.

“Look how pretty she is, Francisco, takes your cock so well-”

“Fuck, Pope-”

“No, keep fucking her Frank, but she has to keep her eyes on me, though, or else you stop, got it?”

Frankie groans at his words, gripping your hips a little tighter, thrusts a little harder, “Fuck!”

He starts pounding into you with wild abandon, your eyes threatening to close at the new wave of pleasure assaulting your senses but the commanding look in Santiago’s eyes as he raises his eyebrows challengingly at you keeps them open. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Santi’s spend mixed with your arousal being pushed out of you. 

Frankie’s thrusts were hitting something deep inside you, the drag of his length making it hard for you to breathe and you felt yourself slipping, eyes shutting for the briefest of moments. 

“Stop!”

The fucker.

Frankie grunts as he comes to a stop, pulling out of you begrudgingly. His iron grip on your body serves to show his restraint as your eyes fly open to glare at your beau.

“Please.” It doesn’t sound kind, or even remotely what you know he wants from you. 

“Please what, bebita? You closed your eyes. What did you expect?”

Frankie is breathing harshly behind you, like an animal kept behind bars. His hands flex and he lets out the softest of whines. 

“C’mon, gorgeous, be good for us,” he joins Santi in berating you. 

They fuck you til you can’t see straight and expect you to comply? Insane. Ridiculous!

Whining out of frustration, you hang your head and mutter another please and I’ll be good.

Santi tuts. You lift your head to look at him and beg again. “I promise.”

He looks to Frankie and nods with a single brow raised, looking like the devil himself. Frankie’s hands flex again as he slips easily back inside your fluttering hole, groaning out expletives while doing so.

He picks up speed rather quickly, pounding into you just right, and this time you’re determined to keep your eyes on Santi, determined to prove him wrong, to rise to the challenge he set out for you. And maybe this is why you loved him so much, because he constantly challenged you, never backing down from a fight. You did, you loved him so much-

Santiago leans forwards to cup your breast, tweaking your nipple while he gently bites down on your bottom lip and tugs on it. Your eyes fall shut of their own accord, your body being played by his dirty tricks. 

He doesn’t even say anything this time, just holds his palm up in the air and Frankie pulls out, falling into line behind Santi like a good soldier. Santi was always pulling the reins around the boys, whether it was intentional or not, but right now Frankie was as obedient as they come.

Whimpering and resting your forehead against his, the bastard laughs at you.

“I thought you wanted this, bebita. You promised you’d be good, don’t you want to come?”

Frankie leans down to press kisses between your shoulder blades, rubbing his hands up your sides soothingly while Santi gets on your last nerve. You had to swallow your pride if he was going to let you come tonight. Time to bring out the big guns.

“I-I’m sorry, daddy, I’ll be good,” you say in a soft voice, so sweet it could kill him. Opening your eyes to catch his, you watch as his eyes turn several shades darker. Cocking his head to the side, he smirks and nods at you, knowing you’ve matched his game with your own dirty play. You rarely called him ‘daddy’, only when you really wanted something and wanted to bypass his usual line of protests until he finally caved and gave in to you, as usual. 

“Okay, pretty baby, let’s try this again, hmm?” 

They must have some sort of silent communication going on because as soon as he finished speaking, Frankie rammed his cock back inside you and began a punishing pace, causing you to moan loudly. You were so pent up from before it didn’t take you any time for the coil to twist in your lower belly again at full force, Frankie’s thick girth and powerful thrusts hurtling you to the edge quickly.

In your periphery, you see Santi’s hand moving over his own hard length again, fist moving faster and faster - how long was he teasing himself for? Moaning louder at this realization, you started pushing your hips back against Frankie’s desperate to come before Santi was able to play you again. 

“Keep your eyes on me, you look so good like this. My sweet, pretty baby.” 

Your face is telling enough for him, he knows you’re close and so is Frankie by the way he’s pistoning in and out of you, gaze ultra-focused on where he’s disappearing inside you. Your moans are coming out uncontrollably now, bordering on pathetic and whiny. 

“So well behaved now, you wanna come for me?” 

Frantically, you nod. Somewhere, behind the rushing noise of your breaths and blood behind your ears, you hear Frankie groan out a fuck, please, Pope followed by a rush of rather harsh sounding Spanish, likely aimed at Santi. 

“So close, daddy, please t-touch- fuck, touch me” you pant out desperately. You’re cock drunk at this point, willing to spew whatever nonsense he wants you to say for his little show, you just need to come. And by the way Frankie’s hips are stuttering, he’s waiting for the call, too.

“Fish seems to be doing just fine, whatdya need me for?” He’s smiling at you so smug, knowing he holds the power right now. All you can do is whine for him in response, eyes crinkling at the edges from the effort of holding off your looming orgasm. 

He takes pity on you and begins graciously, generously, gloriously strumming your clit. 

“Go ahead, baby, come for us,” Santi relents, fisting his own cock tighter to completion.

Finally, you think before letting go to the tidal wave of pleasure overtaking you, arms unable to keep you up, and you crumble to the mattress and wail into it. Your pussy clamps down tightly on Frankie’s cock as it stutters through the last few thrusts, some of your mixed slick dribbling out. 

“Come on it, yeah, shit- ahhh,” Frankie growls, pushing his come deep into you as he collapses on your back, sweat slick curls stuck on his forehead.

In your tired daze you catch Frankie pulling out of you and laying your body down to rest comfortably while he went to get the wet wipes you had set aside for this exact scenario beforehand. While waiting for his return, you blindly pat on the bed next to you where you think Santiago is. A hand clasps yours and he brings it to his lips, kissing it languidly.

Frankie returns, smiling at the sweet display of affection and proceeds to clean your mess. 

“So uhh… where do I sleep?” Frankie asks, a goofy grin on his face as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. 

[miscficsineedtoread]

illicit affair

Dad’s Best Friend!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

Summary: Following your intimate encounter with your dad’s best friend, Santiago, during your family’s Thanksgiving gathering, the two of you pick back up where you left off when you visit home again for Christmas—though your covert rendezvous doesn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, minimal plot mainly filth, DBF!Santiago, implied age gap (reader is of age), masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), anal fingering, rimming, reference to anal sex, creampie, squirting, cum eating, spit kink, praise kink, choking kink, rough sex, dirty talk

A/N: This is a sequel to cut the brakes. If you want context on "what happened at Thanksgiving," read that first! This and all of my other spirals over DBF!Santi are forever dedicated to my beloved @welcometostayingawake.

While you’d anticipated sneaking away to see Santiago during your trip home to spend the holidays with your family…this turn of events certainly wasn’t in your itinerary. 

Initially, after the clamor of festivities at your dad’s house on Christmas, you’d had every intention of feigning plans with hometown friends for the days that followed—plans that would actually find you nestled up at Santi’s house, during which time he’d hopefully make good on all of the wanton promises he’d made over the phone following your Thanksgiving adventures. Your vibrator was nearly on its last leg after vigorous daily use at this point, the silicone finding a familiar home lodged deep inside of your wet cunt every evening as your phone screen lit up with videos of Santiago fisting his thick cock. 

Santi had found a reasonable excuse to politely decline your dad’s invite to Christmas dinner, if only because he could in no way promise that he’d be able to resist fucking you right there in your childhood bedroom while your family unknowingly mingled in the living room. The mere thought sent excitement racing down your spine, but you knew you had to play it safe if you wanted this to continue. He was your dad’s best goddamn friend, after all. God forbid your grandmother accidentally mistake your room for the bathroom and find the man balls deep inside of you. 

So yeah, you’d save your long-awaited fuck fest for the privacy of Santiago’s house. Where you could scream as loudly as you wanted to whilst he pounded you into the mattress.

…at least that’s what you thought. 

Until your dad invited you along for a Boxing Day visit to Santiago’s, in lieu of his absence from the prior evening’s celebrations. A visit which unfortunately coincided with a snowy morning that rapidly evolved into an outright blizzard by the afternoon, the hazardous road conditions therefore preventing you from leaving. 

Snowed in with your father and Santiago?

What could possibly go wrong?

—

You ran a hand over the sleek black comforter neatly tucked across Santiago’s large mattress, your mind spinning at the thought that you were about to sleep in his bed for the very first time with your father in the room just across the hall. And Santi wasn’t even there with you.

When it became clear that you wouldn’t be getting out the door anytime soon due the amount of snow that continued to accumulate in the streets with not a single plow in sight, Santiago had offered up his bedroom and his guest room to the two of you. Your father was quick to say he’d take the couch, but Santi insisted otherwise. And when he proceeded to head upstairs to clear out the abundant clutter in the spare bedroom, which he rarely used, your dad casually waved him off as he told him not to bother. He, personally, didn’t mind the mess, and you could just take Santi’s bedroom to make things easier.  You hadn’t dared even steal a glance over in his direction when your father said that, face burning with the downright irony of the situation at hand.

Sighing, you allowed yourself to collapse onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows and inhaling the warm scent of Santiago’s cologne. You rolled onto your side, your body pressing into the edges of a hard lump nestled beneath the covers. Curious, you pulled the blanket down, fingers closing around a rectangular box tied shut with a large, pink bow. You tugged at the silky material and opened the lid to find a lacy lingerie set with an index card placed on top of it.

Merry Christmas, cariño.

Breath hitching in your throat, you brushed your fingers over the material, a thrill running down your spine. Of fucking course he would do this. 

A few moments later, your clothes were left discarded on the floor as you slipped on Santiago’s gift, turning sideways to admire the way the lingerie looked on your body. Glancing back over at the soft, rumpled sheets on the bed, an idea occurred to you, prompting you to climb back onto the mattress.

Santiago may not have the opportunity to fuck you in this bed tonight, but you’d certainly be getting off one way or another. You ran a hand down your throat and over your breasts, teasing at your peaked nipples, which were nearly on full display through the sheer bra. Sliding your fingers inside of the material, you arched your back into your own touch, imagining that the sting of pleasure that pinching your nipples elicited was from Santiago’s teeth as he latched his mouth onto your tits. 

Your thighs fell open as you trailed your hand along your stomach, fingers flirting with the waistband of the panties that just barely covered your mound and your ass. But before allowing yourself unfettered access to your aching cunt, you reached toward the nightstand for your phone, opening up the camera.

You snapped several photos, including a shot of your breasts while you sucked on your fingers, your ass on full display with nothing but a thin strap of material running between your cheeks, and the sticky arousal that had already leaked through your panties, coating the inside of your thighs. Santiago had received plenty of suggestive photos of you recently, but the chance to shamelessly tease him while you were sprawled out across his mattress, knowing he couldn’t come upstairs and fuck you, was something you couldn’t pass up.

Swiping over to the video feature, you propped the phone up on a pillow for a full-frontal view of your leaking cunt as you hooked a finger in the fabric, pulling the panties aside and inserting your middle finger into your fluttering hole. You moaned as you realized just how wet you were already, the digit sliding through your tight walls with no resistance, and you quickly slid another finger in.

Downstairs, Santi shifted from where he was sprawled out on the couch, lifting up his phone and squinting in the darkness of the living room to glance at the bright screen. His mouth went dry as he swiped a finger to reveal the gallery of images you’d sent to him, showing off that you’d indeed found the gift he’d stashed under the covers for you.

He scrolled through the pictures, cock stiffening heavily in his sweatpants at the way the lingerie left little to the imagination, showing off the dips and curves of your nearly naked body. Groaning, his hand found its way into his boxers when he opened the video of you finger fucking yourself, and he gripped his shaft tightly at the slick, squelching noises that accompanied your needy moans. 

“Santi”

At the sound of you whimpering his name, he dropped the phone face down in his lap, biting down hard on his knuckles as he fisted his length, jerking his hips upward, mind wandering with the temptation of climbing the stairs two at a time and stuffing his cock inside of you without preamble.

He’d spent far too many nights jerking off to nothing but your text messages in the time since he’d seen you last—he’d even gone so far as to excuse himself from the table when he made the mistake of opening a particularly filthy photo of a dildo stuffed into your ass while he was out for lunch with your father last week, rushing to the bathroom to sloppily fuck his fist (while also sending you a photo of the way he’d accidentally splattered his cum all over the stall afterward). 

Santi was nearing the point of desperation now—he needed to feel the way your tight cunt choked down his fat cock as he slid inside of you. He needed to hear your broken sobs in his ear as he kept fucking you through your first orgasm and right into the next without stopping. He needed see the cock drunk expression on your face as he pumped you full of cum over and over. 

He was halfway through entertaining of the thought of how quickly he’d be able to escape the wrath of your father's fists if were to walk into the bedroom to find Santi fucking his daughter when he froze upon hearing a creaking sound up on the stairs. Hastily pulling his hand out of his pants, he sat up, only to be greeted by the side of you slinking your way across the room and over to the couch.

“Is that my shirt?”

You offered him a wry grin, doing a twirl for effect, the unbuttoned dress shirt fanning out to reveal the lingerie set you wore beneath. 

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he muttered, running a hand over his face, cock throbbing in his boxers. “Come here.”

He beckoned you toward him, and you swiftly climbed into his lap, immediately pressing down against the erection straining at the front of his pants. He slipped his hands inside of the shirt you’d pilfered from his closet, running them up your sides before scooping your breasts into his palms. You arched into his touch, rocking your hips against him. 

Leaning in, he ran his teeth over the shell of your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “Did you touch yourself in my bed?”

His breath was hot as it ghosted along the side of your neck, and you shivered as you admitted, “I...may have made a bit of a mess."

Santi snaked a hand between your bodies, cupping your mound to feel the wet, sticky remains of your orgasm. He pushed your panties aside just enough to dip a finger into your sensitive entrance, scooping up a glob of cum and licking it off. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, cupping the side of your face and leaning in to kiss you.

Your chest heaved as his lips finally slotted against yours, quickly engulfing your mouth as he loosely wrapped a hand around your throat.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, you asked, “Should we go upstairs?”

Santi chuckled against your lips, brushing a thumb along your bottom lip. “No, because I think you want me to fuck you right here on this couch. That’s why you came down here, isn’t it?”

Heat flared in your gut as his gaze burned into yours, knowing all too well that after your risky romp in your dad’s backyard, part of you wanted to chase that thrill again. And you knew that if you told him that’s what you wanted, he’d do it. 

So you nodded.

He reached up, sliding the shirt off of your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as he leaned in, mouthing the space between your breasts.

“Get up, and bend yourself over the arm of the couch.”

His tone brokered no room for argument, so you clambered out of his lap, padding across the carpet and grabbing a throw pillow before folding your body over the side of the couch. 

But before he could get up to follow, you reached out and placed a hand on his wrist from where he was still seated. “Wait.”

You let your hand trail over his thighs, pressing the heel of your palm into his erection, and he quickly understood what exactly you were getting at. Santi shifted so that he was kneeling on the cushion in front of you, and he tugged his t-shirt up and out of the way as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock as it sprang free. He sucked in a breath as you darted out your tongue to lap up the precum dribbling down the tip. 

Santi’s hand came to rest at the back of your head as your lips parted around his cock, slowly taking him into the wet heat of your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his length, swallowing him as deeply as you could and glancing up at him to make eye contact as you reached out to play with his balls. 

Santi groaned, fingertips pressing into your scalp. “Can’t believe you can take my whole cock in that pretty little mouth. If I didn’t want your pussy so bad right now, I’d fuck your throat till you were choking on my cum.”

Clenching your thighs together as a fresh wave of arousal trickled through your body, you continued to bob on his shaft, saliva running down your chin as your lips engulfed him. After a few moments, Santi pulled himself out of your mouth before you drove him over the edge, sliding off of the couch and coming to stand behind you.

He began to firmly massage the globes of your ass with both hands before pulling aside the material of the thong nestled between your cheeks and spreading them wide. You dug your fingers into the couch cushion below you at the sound of Santiago spitting, letting out a huff of air as the glob landed right on your exposed tight ring of muscle.

“I was out to eat with your dad when you sent me that photo of you fucking yourself in the ass with a dildo, sweetheart,” he casually stated as he ran a finger over your puckered rim.

“I know,” you gasped out.

He tutted. “Maybe I should take you to the same restaurant this week. I’ll show you the bathroom stall where I had to go jerk off, and I'll stuff my dick in your tight little hole right there. You can spend the rest of lunch feeling my cum dripping out of your ass.”

You whimpered as he slowly began to press his finger past the rim. “Please.”

“I’ll fuck your needy cunt in my truck after, too. And then you can go back to your dad’s house and act like both of your fucked out holes aren’t full of his best friend’s cum,” he gritted out, voice wavering slightly as he slipped his entire finger into your ass. 

Despite his initial reservations about your arrangement, Santiago had clearly reached the point of no return, prepared to embrace just how fucked up this entire situation was.

A sound of surprise left you at the feeling of him reaching down with his other hand to run his fingers through your folds before thrusting two of them into your entrance. You tugged the throw blanket down from where it was laying on the back of the couch, biting down hard on the edge of the material as Santi squeezed another digit into your ass, fingering both of your wet holes with fervor. 

“You like having both of your holes filled, don’t you?” he questioned, voice rough.

“Feels so fucking good, Santi,” you nearly sobbed.

He worked a third finger into your cunt and your ass, and it took all of your willpower not to shout.

“Come for me again before I fuck you, cariño.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As he crooked a finger tightly inside of your pussy, the steady thrum of pleasure coiling deep in your gut unfurled rapidly, the ache between your thighs blooming white-hot as your climax gushed out of you—literally.

“Oh fuck,” Santi moaned appreciatively as clear liquid squirted out of your cunt, dripping down his arm. 

Cock throbbing painfully with need at the sight, he hastily tugged you back onto the couch, placing you so that you were kneeling on the cushions and facing the back of it. He unclasped your bra, greedily palming at your naked breasts before reaching down and tearing your panties in two.

“I liked those!” you protested, whispering loudly.

He leaned in, biting the side of your neck. “I’ll buy you more, if you’re good.”

You wiggled your ass against his cock, feeling it brush against your cheeks. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

Santi smirked, gently grabbing your chin and turning your head to the side to face him while wrapping his other hand around your neck. “That’s my girl. Now open for me.”

Clearly, your late night pleas via text message for Santi to “make you his little slut and spit in your mouth” weren’t forgotten, because the moment you parted your lips for him, he tightened his grip around your throat as he spat a glob of saliva into the back of your throat. 

After you swallowed, he brought his lips to meet yours, kissing you hard as he reached down to line his cock up with your dripping entrance. You let your thighs spread further apart as he began to sink into your cunt, both of you groaning softly in unison at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of your slick walls. 

He slowly pulled out of you, taking his time to let you adjust to his girth, but he paused as you pleaded, “Be rough with me, Santi.”

Running a thumb along the curve of your jaw, he warned, “You have to be quiet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to shut me up,” you retorted, roughly pushing back against him and rapidly sheathing his length in the warmth of your cunt once more. 

He hummed thoughtfully, trailing two fingers along your cheek before swiping them across your lips. You darted your tongue out, licking the digits before taking them into your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he crooned, pushing his fingers further in, urging you to suck on them as he began to increase the pace of his thrusts, hips snapping against your own.

A wave of heat spread under your skin as you desperately sucked on Santiago’s fingers, saliva running down your chin while he pounded into you, massaging your inner walls with his thick shaft at a brutal pace. Your nerves were on fire, and it was all you could do to keep from moaning as he jackhammered into you, the couch groaning in protest with each vigorous thrust. 

He reached down with his free hand, and you gagged on the fingers lodged in your mouth as he slid two fingers back into your ass while he continued to roughly fuck you against the cushions. At that, you began to lose your composure, legs trembling and tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you tried not to cry out. Feeling the telltale tightening of your muscles, Santi took his fingers back from where your lips were wrapped around them, instead clapping his hand firmly over your mouth to muffle the wail of pleasure bubbling up in your throat as your orgasm punched through you.

Hips stuttering, Santi plunged into you several more times before his own climax overtook him, and he left his pulsing cock stuffed inside of you, filling you to the brim with every last drop of cum that your cunt greedily milked from his shaft.

Once he was spent, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade as you both tried to catch your breath. When you eventually attempted to move, he shook his head, holding you in place as he pulled away from you, and you could feel as his cum began to leak from your hole, dripping down your thighs. Confused, you glanced back, only to catch a glimpse of the wink he tossed your way before leaning in, lapping broad strokes through your sensitive folds. You shivered at the overstimulation, the feeling of his tongue probing your entrance both too much and not enough all at once. 

Santi froze as a creaking sound echoed from the hallway upstairs, and he cursed, quickly climbing up onto the couch and pulling you down, trapping you between his body and the cushions as he covered you both with a blanket. Your breath caught in your throat at the sound of your father descending the stairs, and you dared not breathe as Santi gripped your hips tightly while footsteps could be heard in the kitchen. Obscured by the darkness of the living room and the thick blanket you were burrowed beneath, you thought you’d probably be fine...as long as you didn’t move until your dad went back to bed.

—but Santiago clearly couldn’t resist a challenge. 

He trailed a hand down your chest, cupping your mound, and you bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to hold back the whimper he almost drew out of you as he sunk two fingers back into your cunt.

“I want you to come for me one more time," he murmured.

—

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