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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Second Movement (Allegretto)

6K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: Pero continues to be a source of encouragement and support as you navigate the marriage mart.

Warnings: Some pining and light angst. Soft!Pero warning. Liberal use of Bridgerton characters and canon.

A/N: I'm sorry for any historical inaccuracies/liberties taken! Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist

You think you should have been warned that the days following season events are somehow always busier than the events themselves.

The morning after the Danbury ball, with hardly enough sleep and exhausted almost to the point of delirium, you find yourself yawning through Daphne’s chipper recitation of your schedule for the next few days.  You must have agreed to it all while inhaling your breakfast, because you’re now dressed in a prim and proper powder blue frock, sitting prettily in the Bridgerton’s upstairs drawing room, waiting for what feels like the millionth young man you must have met last night to make your reacquaintance.  Although there was no one who had caught your attention particularly at last night’s ball, you do recall several gentlemen being very pleasant and look forward to getting to know them better.  Every visitor and potential suitor that waits for your audience today is afforded your full consideration and open heart, even if you are still very, very tired.  And though the conversation gets repetitive and the gifts are slightly impersonal, you appreciate everyone’s efforts and invite them to return all the same.

---

It’s well after lunch by the time Pero steps into the front hall of Bridgerton House and is shown into the waiting room where he finds you and all the Bridgerton women in various states of exhaustion, draped over chaise lounges and chairs, while the Bridgerton men chat merrily and sample from various boxes of candies and treats that had been brought as offerings by your, Eloise and Francesca’s suitors this morning.

“Pero!” Though you are delighted to see him, you’re so worn out, all you can muster is a small wave.  You return the bemused expression he has on his face as he takes in the room and the collection of gifts and offerings piled high with a soft smile of your own.

“No peonies,” Pero observes readily.

Daphne chirps, “No, but lots and lots of flowers.  Expensive ones.”

“But peonies are your favourite,” he says pointedly to you.  You nod, heart swelling with fondness, “You remembered!”

“Of course, Dulce, I remember everything about you.”  You feel warm at his affectionate tone; you remember everything about Pero as well, but would never have expected him to do the same.

“How did this morning go?” 

The Duchess answers for you and runs through the list of suitors that called on you this morning, including tidbits on their pedigrees or impressive accomplishments.  Pero half listens as he looks over the table of gifts; refusing a biscuit when Benedict extends a box in his direction, he murmurs, “Busy morning.”

You and the women nod.  Eloise yawns.  Francesca closes her eyes.  You sigh.

Pero kneels before you, comforting hand on your leg, “What’s the matter, Dulce?”

Sighing again, but this time a little less weary, “I don’t know?  I suppose it’s that there was no spark.  I didn’t spark with anyone.”

Daphne is quick to reassure you, “It can take time!  Simon and I did not spark right away.  In fact, we hated each other.  But as we spent time together, our feelings emerged.”

You nod in comprehension, but joke, amiably, “Well now I do not know if it’s a good thing then that I did not hate anyone either.” When you see Pero still looking at you with an apologetic expression, you smile sheepishly, “You must think me very naïve.”

“No, not naïve.  Very, very sweet, and even romantic.  There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, Dulce.”

Nodding gratefully at Pero, he smiles when he sees that you’re taking solace in his words and decides now is a good time to produce a tin from behind his back that you hadn’t notice he was holding, “I know you have received a lot gifts already and the day itself has been quite overwhelming.  Perhaps you do not have the energy for one more?”

There’s something familiar about the container Pero is holding out to you; when you open it and see the delicate wafer cookies contained within, you’re instantly transported to a small Italian bakery that you and Pero used to visit daily in Florence. “Oh Pero,” you breathe, your eyes bright.

“I was in Florence recently and could not help but revisit our old haunt.  Did you know Signor Russo is still there?  I’m embarrassed by how many tins I purchased.  I remembered last night they used to be your favourite and it just so happened that I had one tin left in my luggage,” grins Pero; all he has wanted to do since he said good night to you after the ball, is to draw out the smile that’s currently on your face.

“Thank you so much, Pero,” you close your eyes and hum in contentment as the familiar sweet flavour washes over your tongue.  “This is the best thing I received today,” you grin, “May I share?”

“Of course,” Pero isn’t the least bit surprised by your display of generosity and he watches with satisfaction as you excitedly pass around the tin to your friends, sharing with them its origins and small snippets of the time in your life when these cookies were a daily treat.

Invigorated by the nostalgic treat, you and Pero spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up and recalling fond memories of your childhood together.  You learn that after completing his studies, Pero embarked on the customary grand tour before returning to Spain to help his father with the Tovar estate.  Subsequent to his father’s passing, at his King’s insistence he resumed his father’s former diplomatic duties and has spent the last five years travelling under the same charge previously entrusted to the old Barón.  When you tell Pero about the many places you have travelled with your father since you saw him last, you delight in the discovery that you’ve been to many of the same places, sometimes missing each other by only weeks.  Your never-ending conversation comparing new and old favourite discovered delicacies and sights runs all the way until dinner; you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun just talking.

It’s exactly what you had wanted to do since the moment you saw Pero last night at the Danbury Ball.  Your grateful heart overflows with joy that you’ve been allowed the grace of closing out this whirlwind twenty-four hours in the laughter-filled, carefree manner that can only be possible when catching up with an old friend.

When you enter the Ramsbury Ball the following week it’s with Pero as one of your party.  His inclusion the most natural thing given that he’s become a regular fixture at Bridgerton House, often joining Colin in the morning for breakfast and returning in the afternoon to check in on how you’re doing and how the day’s suitors have treated you.

You can hardly express your appreciation at having your old friend’s support while you endeavour on the daunting undertaking of your first social season.  Though you remain a popular fixture among the ton, you must admit that socializing so much does not come without effort, being used to much quieter and calmer company.  It does not escape you how lucky you are to have a group of friends and supporters such as Pero and the Bridgertons with whom you can momentarily relax and jovially chat in between dances and some of the more awkward attempts at flirting by your suitors.

“Wait, wait!” laughs Colin, “You mean to tell us that you were actually there when our good Barón got his scar?  Please, pray tell, how did it happen?  I have tried in vain to get Tovar to reveal his dark secret!”

Pero catches your eye and you see his own twinkle in mischief.  “I’m afraid my lips are sealed,” you proclaim, falling easily into conspiracy with your friend, “and on any account, the tale is not suitable for polite society.”

Eloise, Colin and Benedict all groan and try various tactics to convince you to give up your story, but to no avail.  You simply will not tell them that the fearsome scar over Pero’s left eye is the result of a boy falling off the dock after running too vigorously towards the lunch bell and slipping on a wet fish.  Though you can laugh about it now, at the time you had been scared witless when the sailors from your father’s fleet lifted Pero’s wet, limp body from the water; you had cried by his bedside all three nights he was unconscious, praying he would be alright.  Even now, Pero remembers the force with which you had punched him in his uninjured shoulder when he woke, scolding him for scaring you so and making him promise never to do it again. 

Later, when you’re once again gliding across the dance floor in Pero’s comfortable but firm hold, he grins down at you, “Thank you, Dulce, for keeping my secret and upholding my reputation as a dastardly rogue.”

“My pleasure!  Have you been telling people that your scar is the result of some great feat of bravery?  Perhaps you fought off five pirates in order to protect the virtue of a young maiden?”

Pero laughs, “Sadly my imagination is not as inventive as yours.  I have simply been saying the details of the incident are difficult for me to recall.”

You nod, knowingly, “Ah yes, on account of all the injuries sustained.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I will be sure to drop enough vague hints to satiate their curiosity and raise you in their esteem.”

“Thank you, Dulce,” Pero says, amused as always by your good humour.

But you haven’t finished teasing, “... and perhaps they will be more forgiving of when you are dull, if they understand that you suffered a great many head injuries in your past.”

“Why you…”

Luckily for you, the dance requires you to spin away from Pero at this exact moment so you never hear what he says; by the time you turn back into his arms, he has already forgiven you – he’s never been truly upset with you before and has no plans to start now.  As the two of you continue to dance, your happy banter floats over the quickness of your steps and the laughter Pero pulls from you rings loud and clear across the dance floor.

---

Pero watches as you dance yet another dance with some seemingly upstanding gentleman from the ton.  A Lord something-something-shire.  Though he stands stiffly next to Benedict, scowling, inwardly he smiles and admires your graceful form.  You really have grown up to be a lovely, beautiful young lady, and yet – he finds in many ways, you’re hardly changed from the spirited, kind, and funny girl he knew in his youth.  You’re elegant and poised, but even as you extend your arm to your partner, the lilt of your fingers denote a playfulness that he remembers, something he does not observe in the other girls of the ton.  When not dancing, your pretty smile and witty remarks, coupled with the way your entire being lights up during the energetic story telling of one of your anecdotes, charms the entire room.  He’s exceptionally proud of you.

Still, he can tell you’re holding back, that you’re not entirely comfortable to be yourself in this setting.  Perhaps it’s modesty that begs you not to draw the attention of the entire room.  Or you’re following some outdated tutelage to conform with the subdued formality of such events.  All he knows is that to him, you’re radiant, a beacon of light, but he has yet to see you unleash the full extent of your charisma on the ton.

A weird, inexplicable part of him is glad that you don’t.  Something in him oddly akin to possessiveness wants to remain the only man at these events that knows you the way he does; knowing the depth of your wry humour, your never yielding compassion, and your unique perspective on the wide world that only a handful of people in this room have seen.  This same part of him leads him to spend most of the balls and societal events with his face set in a deep, glowering frown, standing apart from the other members of the ton, needing to be alone in order to wrestle with his thoughts.

Since the day following the Danbury Ball, Pero has brought you a single stemmed peony every single day, reasoning that if nothing else, you will have at least one of your favourite flower if none of your suitors sends any.  You come to look forward to the quiet meditative minutes you spend carefully clipping and arranging your one peony every day; it’s as if Pero has not only given you the flower, but also permission to take some relaxing time to yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of your social obligations.  By the time the Somerset House Gallery viewing arrives, you have yourself a fairly impressive bouquet that brings you peace and joy every time you look at it. 

As usual, Pero joins your group for the outing, but to your surprise, Eloise does not.  The reason for this is soon clear when Colin announces that he will be escorting Penelope Featherington as part of your party today.  You haven’t broached the topic with Eloise, but it’s clear that something has happened between the two women.  For as long as you can remember, Eloise and Penelope were thick as thieves, the very best of friends – when she thinks no one is watching, you’ve seen how this rift has affected her, but you can also tell Eloise would rather not discuss it.

Although you do not know her as well as you do the Bridgertons, Penelope has always seemed to be a lovely and friendly type of person.  Spending the afternoon with her today, you find her to also be witty and observant, direct in her comments and transparent in her thoughts and feelings as your group wanders through the galleries and enjoys the art on display.  Periodically, a friend of the Bridgertons or a suitor will join your small group as you move from piece to piece, making small talk and asking you or Francesca what you thought of this painting or that. 

When your party gathers around the refreshments table, Mr. Barnett, a young man you recall dancing with once at a recent ball, joins the conversation and remarks that the entire event is too dull for his tastes.

Met with polite but awkward looks and a light scoff from the Duchess, he apologies and tries to explain himself, “I simply mean that a sporting event, say a boxing match might provide more excitement than simply standing around and looking at pictures.  Although, I’m sure, Miss Featherington, you and your family might find this banality preferable to the type of action that typically surrounds the boxing ring.”

You’re absolutely shocked.  Even having not returned to London for several years, you had heard the rumours surrounding the late Lord Featherington’s untimely death.  Although certainly scandalous, as far as you knew, it was all speculation and you can’t imagine any reason to bring it up in polite conversation, never mind the gall of doing so directly to the poor deceased man’s daughter.

Colin looks murderous, his hands flexing, clearly battling himself on how he’d like to handle the situation without creating too much of a scene.  Next to him, Pero glares menacingly at Mr. Barnett, ready to follow his friend’s lead and provide whatever backup is necessary. 

Your candy laced voice snaps all three men back to the present, “I’m honestly so astonished, where do the men find their courage nowadays?” directing the question at Mr. Barnett who perks up at your attention.  You continue, all smiles, “For the life of me, I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to voice a thought like that out loud.”  Mr. Barnett turns bright red and mumbles something that sounds like “Right,” before bowing slightly and scampering away.  Pero finds himself smirking and filled with pride.  He remembered this viper-tongued hidden side of yours – you, who was always so sweet and good-natured, but irrevocably intolerant of cruelty or injustice.

Once in a small town in Greece, he had watched you chase away a group of boys bigger than you who had been stealing candy from a local girl, with nothing more than the ferocious spitting of admonishments and a small stick.  That the bullies probably didn’t even understand a word of English did not apparently leave your harsh rebukes lost in translation; the fury in your face and the conviction in the stance of your small frame doing all the talking for you.  After comforting the little girl, you had then given her all your candy and seen her safely home.  Later when Pero had offered to buy you more candy, you had been surprised that he knew you had run out, embarrassed he had witnessed your display of ferocity.  That was the day he bestowed the nickname “Dulce” on you, telling you as he refilled your candy bag that he was proud of you; the same way he’s proud of you now.

Unsurprisingly, Penelope excuses herself shortly after and when Colin follows her, your group breaks apart and you end up walking through the gallery with just Pero.  You wait as long as you can, making sure you’re out of earshot of others before putting your heads together the way only close confidants do, recounting what had happened.

“The audacity of that man, if he can even call himself that!” you practically hiss, still so incensed at the lack of civility that you had been witness to.

Pero chuckles, he’s always quite liked it when you would get riled up and vent to him; it was like watching a soft kitten bare its claws, “Well you certainly put him in his place, Dulce.”

Sighing, you certainly hope so, “I hope Penelope is alright.  And I hope Mr. Barnett at least has enough sense not to approach her ever again.”

“Well, if he does, I’m sure he will have plenty to contend with, including another fearsome tongue lashing by the prettiest lady of the season.”  While you feel your cheeks flush at his compliment, Pero continues, “My guess is that you won’t be seeing him in the suitors line at Bridgerton House.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, “Pity.”

“But what if he would have brought you peonies, Dulce?” teases Pero.

You take Pero’s arm, leading him back to a painting you’ve been wanting to revisit, “I’d throw the bouquet at his head.  Besides, I already receive the most beautiful peonies from someone I actually want to spend time with.  You can tell the men of the ton that peonies are taken, they need to find their own flower.”  You chuckle cheerfully and Pero finds that the sound lands deep in his chest and makes his heart expand.

If you thought the Italian cookies or the peonies were thoughtful gifts, Pero renders you absolutely speechless when he presents you with a breathtaking necklace before the Crawford Ball.  When he sees you, he’s secretly pleased that the necklace will compliment the cream gown that you’ve chosen for the evening, but he also can’t help but notice the way it shapes to your curves and accentuates your pretty features.  He waits with bated breath as you open the black velvet box and triumphs at your gasp and the way your eyes grow wide as you lift the delicate ruby necklace from its soft resting place. 

“Oh Pero, are these…?” you whisper, so full of awe and disbelief that you’re unable to finish your sentence.  It’s not often that something or someone renders you speechless.

“The rubies from India?” he finishes for you softly, “Yes, they are.”

Your eyes shine bright at the recognition of the rubies that had been gifted to Pero’s father by Indian dignitaries; when you were younger, you were so entranced by their beauty that you would often ask the old Barón to show them to you, and the kind hearted man had always indulged you with a chuckle.

“May I?” asks Pero gently, and you turn to let Pero drape the necklace around your neck, letting it rest delicately over your collar bones before he clasps it securely.  Hand gingerly touching the precious jewels you turn to Pero, still stunned, “Pero, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he smiles generously, “it always amused Father how much joy these rubies brought you.  I think he would have loved to see you wearing them.”  Your eyes well up with emotion, remember the gentle man whose sweetness you see shining so brightly and clearly in his son before you.

That night, when your necklace attracts the inevitable compliments, Pero watches with a full heart as you proudly talk about his father with love and generosity, regaling your admirers with tales of the far-off lands where you knew the man who raised him best.  Unavoidably, heads would turn in his direction during your stories, and Pero finds himself grimacing at the attention; choosing to turn away and move out of your audience’s line of sight to somewhere where he can once again admire you from afar in peace.

It doesn’t escape the ton’s notice that Pero only ever dances with you at balls; though your dance card is always full, the second and sometimes even third dance are permanently reserved for him.  Your smile is the brightest for him and ever present whether you’re together, on the dance floor or off.  There is no politeness or restraint with the two of you, only lively and animated conversation - the cheerful and melodic harmony of your joint laughter often carrying above the noise of the room.  He only ever smiles for you.

In between dances, if you’re not engaging in small talk with other young ladies or your suitors, you can always be found chatting happily with Pero and the Bridgertons; the other ball goers looking over in jealousy that your little corner of friends might actually dare to enjoy yourselves at an event meant for the very serious business of finding husbands.

Mornings at Bridgerton House include the usual parade of suitors waiting with gifts and flowers to have an audience with you or Francesca, and to Eloise’s extreme mortification, sometimes her as well.  If he doesn’t stay after breakfast, Pero generally arrives mid-morning to visit with Colin, but spends the majority of his time scowling at the young men waiting patiently in line, making no secret of the fact he’s scrutinizing them as he passes by.

The Duchess cannot decide if the Barón is a help or a hinderance to your marriage prospects.  On one hand, his fearsome glower and imposing figure have been enough to scare off any potential suitor who either had less than honourable designs on your fortune, or, via consensus with the Bridgerton brothers, was deemed to be a rake, or worse.  On the other hand, it was clear to any person with eyes that the two of you have a deep friendship - your company the only one he sought out, and his always cheerfully received by you.  Daphne could only imagine that it might intimidate even the most strong-willed, unwavering of suitors.  She wonders if any of your suitors ever question if your friendship with Pero masked a deeper affection between the two of you; she herself having started to wonder the same.

Convincing herself that it’s for your ultimate well-being, she endeavours to talk to the Barón about it. 

The morning after the Crawford Ball, when the line of suitors is the longest its ever been, Daphne waits for Pero to make his usual appearance mid-morning, and when he is seen in, she’s already anticipating him at the bottom of the stairs.  After he greets her courteously, she asks, “Barón Tovar, may I please request a moment of your time?  There is something with which I need your assistance.”

Following the Duchess into a room off the main hall, Pero asks with curiosity, “What may I do for you, your Grace?”

Daphne starts by thanking him for his support during the season, acknowledging that his presence has meant so much to you and helped you tremendously in conquering any nerves you may have had about debuting.

“Of course.  The pleasure has genuinely been all mine; it sometimes feels almost unbelievable that it has been over ten years since we last saw each other.  I have found it remarkably easy to fall into old patterns.”

“Yes, it is evident that the two of you are very close,” Daphne hopes that her comment comes out as the compliment she intends while at the same time hinting to Pero why she may have asked to speak to him in the first place.

Countenance faltering a little but still keeping his tone kind, Pero queries, “Is there something you wish to ask me, your Grace?”

Daphne decides from the limited time she’s known Pero that he is the type of person to appreciate transparency and directness, and so she ask with what she hopes is an impassive look on her face, “Do you intend to court her, my Lord?”

Pero nearly stutters, so caught off guard by the question.  He contemplates the implication of the Duchess having asked this question, and then, more seriously, his answer; after a few moments of silence, Pero responds truthfully, “No.”

Daphne nods in response, “I see, my Lord.  Please do excuse me for asking what you may have found to be an impertinent question.”

“Not at all, your Grace.  I rest easy at night confident that you always have your friend’s best interests at heart.”

Daphne nods, “Yes, always.  That is my highest priority.  Please consider with me: if I have wondered, do you think it is possible that some suitors and potential suitors have pondered the same question?”

And there it is, a perfectly reasonable question that Pero knows if he were to answer, would expose a part of his heart that he’s been keeping hidden, maybe even from himself.  Pero was telling the truth when he said he would not court you, but he is not so selfish to wish to keep you from another if he cannot have you for his own.  Truthfully, he is aware that he presents an intimidating and imposing figure, the mettle of which might scare off any number of gentlemen interested in pursuing you. 

“I should step back,” he announces abruptly and with finality.

“No, no!” protests Daphne, “I do not think that is necessary!  Your presence and attendance with us at the season’s events have been most welcomed and to be honest, a comfort.”

“I do not wish to do more harm then good, though,” Pero says, resigned, “If my presence deters someone who might be her match, I could never forgive myself.”

Again, though Daphne has only known Pero for a short period of time, she somehow knows that he’s made up his mind, and that even she, a Duchess, does not have the power to change it.  Pero thanks her for all her continued kindness and attention towards you and bids her goodbye with a bow.  Heading to leave out the front door, he looks up, as if looking through to the drawing room where you’re currently sitting, one last time before exiting Bridgerton House with a heavy heart.

You haven’t seen Pero in a week and a half and you’re worried sick about him.  He hasn’t been by Bridgerton House at all and he missed the Trowbridge Ball last week.  He, of course, does not owe you a tally of his coming and goings, but you feel unsettled at having not seen him for such an extended period of time after having seen him nearly every day for the past two months.  Your days, though full of engagements, feels empty when he doesn’t make an appearance.  You miss him.  You miss his gentle teasing, his reassuring presence and the way only he can make you laugh.  You have not really laughed in nearly ten days.

You convince Eloise to show you how to sneak out and traverse the alleys that run behind the houses of the square safely and quickly, the way you know she used to in order to visit Penelope, so you can secretly pop down the street to check in on Pero one evening.

You follow Eloise’s instructions exactly as you hurry along the pathways that weave behind the grand houses and it takes you only five minutes to reach the house Pero is staying at.  Standing in the small courtyard, you spot one window with a light on; hoping Pero is in the lit room, you find a few stones on the ground and launch them upwards.  Your aim could be better, but you do manage to hit your target a few times, ricocheting a few stones against the glass with the lightest of clinks. When you see Pero’s face appear in the window, you’re more than relieved – he doesn’t look so ill that he can’t move about and that’s good news.  You wave at his confused face and watch as he leaves the window; it’s a minute before the back door opens, “Dulce, what are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”

Pero is looking around into the courtyard, concerned for why you would appear at his door in the middle of the night, alone.

“I could be asking you the same thing, Pero!  I am so relieved to see you up and about, I’ve been so worried about you!”

Pero melts a little at the concern written across your face, “Me?  Why?”

“I haven’t heard from you in… well, it has been ten days now!  You haven’t been by Bridgerton House, Colin did not know where you were, and you missed the last ball!  I thought you must have taken ill!” your voice sounding a little shrill as your finish in a huff, as if why you might be worried was the most obvious thing in the world.

Pero laughs a little at your theatrics and his jovial manner makes you laugh as well, “I am very glad that you are not.  I mean, you’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I am not, Dulce.  Thank you for being worried about me.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “You are very welcome.  Well!  Now that I am convinced you’re not at Death’s door, may I ask where you’ve been?  Why have you not come to see me?”

Pero scratches the back of his neck and looks mildly uncomfortable, “I had some business to take care of over the last few days that took up a lot of my time.”

“Oh!  Well, I hope it has all been settled to your satisfaction!”

“It has.”

You’re glad for him, “Good.  Then things will be back to normal?  You will be able to come to the Queen’s Luncheon this week?”

“I do not think so, Dulce,” his chest tightens a little at the way your face falls, “I think it is probably better if I stay away for a while.  I don’t think I am helping your marriage prospects very much.”

You’re so confused, what does Pero have to do with your marriage prospects? “Pero, I’m not sure what you mea-” but you’re cut off from finishing your thought when you hear a distinctively feminine laugh ring out from inside the house, followed closely by a response from a second, also feminine voice.

Your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp of shock upon realizing that Pero has company.  Female company.  And for some inexplicable reason, your eyes start to fill with tears, “Oh Pero, I’m so sorry!  I did not realize you were not alone!  I am so sorry to interrupt!”

You’re babbling and you’re not sure why nor can you seem to stop yourself, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” It’s not from embarrassment.  You’ve known Pero far too long to be embarrassed by anything with him; the two of you have always been able comfortable enough with each other to laugh off most things.  No, this is something else - an uncomfortable, sharp feeling right in the middle of your chest, “I just thought you were sick and I am so very glad you’re not.  I’ll go now!  I am sorry, so sorry!”  You fight back tears as you turn and flee back to Bridgerton House.

Eloise is waiting for you as she promised she would; she freezes when she sees your tear-stained face but to her credit, doesn’t pry – she just asks if you are okay and ushers you back into the house when you nod.  By the time you’re tucked into bed and your lights have been blown out, you’ve been able to name the dreadful feeling that’s made a home in your heart.  It’s devastation.  You’re devastated.  And plenty confused and angry at yourself for feeling that way!  It’s selfish, you think, selfish and childish.  You have become so accustomed to being the only woman Pero ever paid attention to, you realize that you had somehow come to think of him as yours, and having been confronted tonight with the fact that he decidedly is not, you’re now feeling foolish and plunging headfirst into a sense of loss for something that was never yours in the first place.

But… was that all it was?  No, it wasn’t.  You had liked it.  You liked being the only one he danced with.  The only one who he seemed to smile for.  The only one who could make him laugh.  Oh, his laugh.  Deep and booming - you lived for the way it shook all the way from his belly and crinkled the little lines around his eyes.  You harboured pride in being the only one who could pull it from him and you liked all the other ways that his countenance would seemingly soften just for you. He made you feel special and so worthy.

And that wasn’t the only way he did so.  He was so thoughtful and considerate; remembering even the littlest things about you: what you liked, what brought you joy.  He knew you so very well; always knowing the exact thing they would make your heart sing and taking every opportunity to do so.

You think about how Pero had let you lean on him this entire season - every request for reassurance or support met with kindness and words of praise for your wit, your mind, your sweet nature that you couldn’t help but believe based solely on the earnest and genuine expression in his eyes.

He had been there every step of the way with you, shouldering some of the pressure of the season so you wouldn’t have to; being your reprieve and relief, a shelter where you could laugh loudly and unabashedly be yourself.

He made you feel free and cared for.

And Lord, was he handsome. Closing your eyes, you think of the distinct slope of his nose and the strong cut of his jaw, covered in that scruff of his - unkempt but somehow still so distinguished.  You think of Pero’s deep brown eyes that would fleck with gold when he laughed, and wonder how you haven’t fallen into them every time he looked at you. And his hair. Oh, his hair. Your fingers actually itch just thinking about the soft curls that frame his face so perfectly; how you wish you could run your hands through them.

The thought that there is another woman who might be doing exactly that right now shatters your heart so completely.

You love him.  The realization is both a relief and a complete shock to your system.

The unexpected admission to yourself that you’re in love with Pero, followed closely by the certainty that your feelings are undoubtedly unrequited, is a one-two punch to your heart.

You cry and cry until sleep overtakes you.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa

[oberynslady]

💜💜💜

What A View [Agent Whiskey Oneshot]

Warning: 18+ MDNI, PIV, dirty talk, he’s hot as fuck, TW Nashville

Word Count: 1.8k

It was your friend’s idea to make her Bachelorette party in Tennessee. It was just the five of you, and although you thought something like Las Vegas would be more fitting, the tackiness is what makes it so perfect, Nashville was starting to grow on you. Live music poured out of every bar, and the streets you were roaming were lined up with nothing but bars and burger joints. 

Your party found itself perched under neon lights at a two-story bar, the dance floor packed with sweaty bodies. You clink your glass against the others’.

“Cheers to Mariana,” you yell over the noise, the other girls screaming in encouragement. “You may have years of happiness to look forward to with Jason, but tonight you’re our girl,” you giggle, and your friends crowd around her, hugging her tightly. “Now, let’s go get fucked up!”

You’re dancing for what seems like forever before you excuse yourself from your girls to get a drink. You walk over to the bar, tugging down your fitted black dress that slowly rolls up to a dangerously short length. Sitting at a barstool, crossing your legs, you flip the small menu they have, eyes searching for something sweet. The bartender slides a drink in front of you, leaving you puzzled. He points down the counter. “It’s on him.”

Your eyes land on a particular man dressed in black, and you pray that it was him.

He’s handsome, almost too handsome, and he knows it. His demeanor is almost arrogant as he readjusts his black jacket, reaching out to sip on his glass. Your eyes finally meet his and and he winks at you as he swallows. You got caught. But instead of panicking, you just give a coy smile and a nod. This cues him to get up from his spot, walking over to you. The seat next to you is taken, so he just leans against the counter, facing you entirely. His cologne fills your lungs and you feel like a moth drawn to the flame.

“Now,” he starts. “What brings a pretty, little thing like you here?” His southern drawl is too sexy for his own good. You shift in your seat, blushing.

“First, thank you,” you say, sipping the drink. “And second, I’m here for a bachelorette party.” He absentmindedly taps on the counter, his eyes trailing over your body, shameless in his stare.

“Hope it ain’t yours, sugar.” You chuckle, trying to cover up the way ‘sugar’ makes you feel.

“It’s not. What’s your name, cowboy?” There’s something mischievous in his eye when you call him that. He pats your knee, and his touch is enough to make you hot all over.

“Oh, doll, you’re gonna have to let me buy you another drink to get that information.”  

“Go ahead then.” You flash him a smile and he smirks, ordering you both another drink. 

You’re deep into conversation when one of your friends comes over to your side.

“There you are! We thought you-oh. Well, hi there.” Her eyes move between you and him. You begin getting off the barstool to head back to your party, having lost track of time.

“This has been fun, Jack, but I-“ 

Your friend puts her hands up.

“No, no. You can stay. We’re still dancing. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like you’re doing good.” She grins at you, encouraging you to stay put. “We’ll be over here if you need us.” She walks away, winking over her shoulder. You chuckle, standing so close to him that you can feel his pants against your thigh, enticing you further.

“You wanna get some air, darlin’?” He asks, adjusting his hat. 

“Sure, it’s too hot in here.”

He leads you to a door in the back, leading you up a set of dark stairs, until he opens another door, a cool breeze hitting your skin. 

It’s the second story of the bar, half covered in roof and the other half is a long stretch of balcony, overlooking a creek behind it. In the distance, the dark skyline is glittered with the nightlife, neon lights and street lamps illuminating the area. You can't help but gawk at the scene, leaning on the metal railing.

“Jack, this is beautiful, but are we allowed up here? There’s no one else-“ You feel him press up against you, placing his hands on either side of you, caging you against the railing.

“Of course, sugar,” he says, his breath fanning across the back of your neck. “Wouldn’t do anything that would get us in trouble, now would I?” You shiver at his words, desperate for his touch.

“You seem like trouble to me,” you whisper, trying to keep your composure. You feel his lips place soft kisses against your shoulder and neck. Then, he bites softly before licking at the mark.

“You’d be right about that,” he growls. To you, all bets are off, grinding your hips against him, moaning when you feel him hard behind you. One of his hands goes to grip your hips, pulling you in a rhythm that makes him grunt in arousal, the other wrapping in your hair, tugging you against him so can continue kissing your neck. You whimper and he drops his hand from your hip, landing on the front of your bare thigh. 

His fingers start to trail higher, slowly pushing your dress up with ease.

“Wait-what if someone sees us?”

He caresses your thigh, and you have to bite your lip to suppress a moan from leaving your lips. 

“Well, then darlin’,” he says, his fingers continuing their path upwards, pressing against the wet spot of your panties. “I guess, they’ll just have to enjoy the view.” He rubs swift circles over the fabric, against your clit. You squirm under his grasp, mewling in pleasure. 

“Sound so pretty like this, babydoll. You just can’t seem to get enough, can ya?” His southern drawl is warm against your ear, relishing in the feeling of you grinding down on his hand. He pushes your panties to the side, moaning at the slick that coats his fingers. Your hands wrap around his arm as he pumps his fingers inside, hooking at the perfect spot. 

“Jack, please,” you moan.

“What do you want, baby? Use your words, mama.” You tug on his arm, chasing your release. His pace gets more brutal, thumbing your clit, until you clench around him, throwing your head back as you ride out your high. You melt into him, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you up as you lean against him. You turn around to face him, pulling your dress down a bit. 

You watch him as he bring his fingers to his lips, tongue poking out to lick your juices off his hand. Your lips part with desperation.

You reach out to pull him by the collar, kissing him hard, shoving your tongue down his throat as he moans into your mouth. Your other hand reaches down to palm him through his pants, sighing in anticipation when you feel a wet spot of precum. Pulling the black hat off of his head, you smirk, placing it on your own head.

“I want you to fuck me, cowboy, until I can’t walk.” 

He licks his lips in anticipation, eyes dark with lust. Jack leans down to nip and kiss at your neck, turned on by the sight of you in his hat. Intoxicated by the sounds you let out, he trails his lips down, pushing the top of your dress down until your tits spill over. He groans as he squeezes them in his hands.

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice, sugar,” he growls against your skin, licking at your nipple, his tongue warm and teasing.

You tug on his hair, eliciting another moan from him, bringing him up to face you. You start unbuckling his pants, quickly unzipping it, dragging down his pants and underwear, falling to your knees in front of him. It successfully knocks the air out of his lungs. 

You stare at his length, mouth water at the sight. You grab his cock, kissing the tip, swirling your tongue, savoring the salty precum. His hand lifts up your chin, a string of spit connecting from your lips to his tip.

“Fucking Christ, babydoll, you’ll damn near kill me like this.” 

You give him a sweet smile before tapping his cock against your tongue, hot and heavy in your mouth. His breathing hitches. Then, you slowly swallow him, achingly slow, taking your time letting him hit the back of your throat, until tears prick your eyes. 

He can’t grab your hair, so instead he cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. It’s a sweet gesture that makes this so much more erotic.

You whine when he lightly pushes you off of him, missing the moans that he was letting out moments before. Looking up at him with want, he bites his lip.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” he starts, helping you stand up. “But I won’t last much longer if you keep sucking me off like that.” He holds your face again, this thumb swiping across your bottom lip. “You got such a pretty mouth, sweetheart, but I need to feel ya.” He kisses you, slowly turning you around to face the railing again. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the ache you feel.

His large, warm hands are firm on your hips, lining himself up at your entrance. He slides into you with ease, slick with arousal. He bottoms out and your breathing gets shaky, feeling so full that you think you might cum in that moment. Then, he starts  thrusting into you at a bruising pace, making you yelp and moan in pleasure. Reaching his hand around to rub your clit again, you feel yourself tense with overstimulation and an oncoming orgasm.

“Jack,” you moan, gasping in between thrusts.

“Cum for me babydoll.” He says, ramping up his pace. You tighten around him, cumming on his dick, whimpering as he hits that spot inside you with every thrust. “Atta girl. Did so well for me.” Jack’s breathing becomes more staggered as he feels himself get close, slamming into you. The sight of you gripping onto the rail pushes him over the edge. He pulls out just in time, spurts of cum landing on your ass and back. 

Lifting his pants up and buckling them closed again, he goes over to a standing table and grabs a few napkins to wipe you down. After helping you get cleaned up, you fix your dress again, somewhat avoiding his gaze. He smirks, lifting your chin up to look at him. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, darlin’.” He leans down to kiss you, deep and slow. You pull away, breathless, barely able to stand properly. You move to take off the hat but he stops you. “I think you look good in it.”

“Looks expensive, Jack. I don’t want to keep it if-“ He backs you into the railing, dragging his finger down your neck, over the swell of your breast, and down your stomach, leading to grab a handful of your ass.

“It matches your dress. You can just drop it off next time you stop by.”

“Next time?”

“Yes, sugar. Next time.” 

reblog and comment plsss<3

[A/N: hope yall liked it!! Lemme know what you think!!]

[oberynslady]

Taste of Sugar

summary: watching a movie with jack "whiskey" daniels, you become distracted by his fingers. one thing leads to the next.

pairing: jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader word count: 3.7k warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but a lot of nicknames); some swearing, unprotected p in v, fingering, some biting

• masterlist •

Being in a relationship with Jack was… something. He was sweet and loving but he was also flirtatious and dirty and wouldn’t keep his hands off of her even just for a little while when they were out.

It was especially strange as she was new to this whole relationship thing.

Jack knew, which was why he tried to tame himself, to lay off his usual tactics a little. 

Take it slow, make her feel comfortable, safe.

Though he wanted nothing more than to fuck her, in all honesty.

Truthfully, he had thought she was joking when she confessed she was a virgin. It had taken three attempts to convince him until he had realized that she was 100% serious. 

Then, he felt like an ass.

How was a woman who looked this stunning still a virgin? He had barely believed her when she said this was only her second actual attempt at a relationship.

But that?

Damn.

“C’mon, darling, you’re kiddin’, right?” Is what he said, playful smile on his lips, a hand on her waist. “You? Never.”

“Well, but I am, Jack.” She had answered, a little embarrassed, really.

So… he had changed his approach.

And she was glad for it. Really glad.

Though some days, when he had drunk a little too much bourbon, she enjoyed it when he forgot just momentarily.

Grabbing her hips with a bruising grip, kissing and biting her neck until purple marks bloomed like flowers on her skin and pushing his tongue into her mouth all while his noticeable, growing dick was grinding against her front.

Yeah, some days she really just wanted to take things further, but she was just so damn nervous.

Jack seemed experienced as hell, while all she knew was to use her own fingers on herself.

Maybe a toy here and there.

And even with that she was sure she could do better.

He definitely would be better. 

His fingers were so long and thick, she often found herself thinking about what they’d feel like inside of her. 

How just two of them could stretch her out. 

What the rough pads would feel like on her clit, drawing circles into it. 

How they’d pump in and out of her slowly, all the way to the knuckle, over and over again.

She squirmed where she sat in his lap at the thought of it, looking at his huge, veiny hand, splayed out on her thigh.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

Thank God, because she felt herself growing wet already.

They were watching a movie - or trying to, in her case - and he had insisted on having her sit in his lap, a blanket draped loosely over them, her back pressed against his chest.

It had started out fine, with her actually concentrating on the awful movie they had picked together.

Somewhere halfway through, her mind had wandered, though, when she felt his warm breath fan over her neck, felt his moustache tickle her there sometimes, felt how his strong arms were wrapped around her middle.

She knew she was a goner when she imagined him fucking her from behind, mouth on her neck and an arm around her waist.

And now, with him gripping her thigh like he did, her eyes glued to his fingers? 

Yep, she was wholly gone. Beyond saving.

“You still watchin’ the movie, sugar?” He whispered against her ear in that thick, southern accent, taking her by surprise. “Or did you find somethin’ else more interestin’?”

Her heart skipped a beat, his moustache tickling her ear, his breath hot. As if to emphasize what he meant, his hand squeezed her clothed thigh harder, fingers digging into the fabric of her dark pants.

“I don’t know what you mean, Jack.” Of course she knew, and he knew that she knew. She did a horrible job at sounding believable.

She also knew that.

“Really? You don’t?” Jack’s voice was low, raspy even as he spoke. His lips ghosted over the shell of her ear still, and the arm around her waist tightened. “S’ that why you’ve been grindin’ that ass against me for the past twenty minutes, sweetheart?”

Her breath caught in her throat, almost choking on it as she stared straight ahead. Of course she hadn’t been as subtle as she believed herself to be.

Fucking idiot.

When she didn’t answer, he pressed a kiss against the crook of her neck, his hand that had been on her thigh removing the blanket now.

It was an unspoken question.

Do you want to continue this?

Did she want to continue this? She wanted him, but was she really ready yet?

According to the growing wetness between her legs, yes.

Her eyes found his fingers again as his hand returned to her thigh, trailing up and down the outside now.

“Relax, doll.” He said, voice soothing, calming. “Breathe, tell me what’s been goin’ through that pretty head of yours.”

A shaky breath left her, licking her lips, trying to calm down.

Jack probably felt how nervous she was, but this was far from the first time they’d been in this situation.

His hand wandered higher on her thigh, moving to the inside and stopping not too far from where she could already feel herself soak her underwear

He wasn’t going to continue unless she gave him permission. 

“Been thinking about… your fingers.” She admitted finally, quietly,  and she could swear his lips curled just slightly against her neck, pressing another kiss there.

His hand remained where it was.

Yes, they had been in this situation before, but never had she indulged him before.

“What about them, doll?” A hundred things went through his head at the admission, but he could guess what she had been thinking about them.

He needed to hear it from her, though.

“I thought about them inside of me.” She breathed out, slightly rushing her words. A faint blush painted her cheeks pink, making her feel hot as her hips involuntarily moved. “How they’d feel.”

She could feel him against her lower back now as he slightly shifted underneath her. A small, rough chuckle left him, hot against her neck.

“Did ya?” His hand on her thigh crept higher, her eyes following it as he moved it, close, closer to where she needed him now. Breath hitching in her throat.

Yeah, she wanted him.

“Wanna find out what that feels like, sugar?” His fingers landed on the button of her jeans, waiting for her answer.

Fuck.

She nodded, breaths shallow and not trusting herself to actually speak right now.

A dizzy feeling overcame her, her body feeling hot.

The movie was entirely forgotten now, just noise in the background.

Jack shifted so he could easily look over her shoulder, opening the button with skilled fingers before moving down to the zipper. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched with a smirk just how transfixed she was on his hand, practically drooling as her eyes became dark.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.” 

He didn’t have to tell her twice, spreading them over his, then watching as he spread his own further, opening her up more.

Quickly her attention was back on his hand, watching as it disappeared inside her pants, feeling his fingers delve between her folds, brushing against her already swollen clit.

Her hips jerked into his touch, a loud gasp leaving her which made him chuckle into her ear again. One of her hands gripped his wrist, to ground herself somehow, not to tear him away.

“Sweetheart, you really got this wet just from thinkin’ ‘bout my fingers?”

His voice sent a shiver down her spine.

He applied light pressure to his movements, just small circles as he listened to her breath hitch, watched how she bit her lip so no more noises would spill out, how her eyes were just zeroed in on the small movements she couldn’t even really see.

She was goddamn adorable like this.

“Jack-”

She was surprised by how high her voice sounded, how desperate it was as warmth spread through her body, outwards from where his fingers languidly applied pressure. 

It felt so goddamn good, that familiar feeling of lust and desire and that pressure settling deep in her stomach, her hips moving against his hand to chase more friction.

How was he getting her this close already?

Jack enjoyed seeing her fall apart just from one finger, kissing her neck, wandering up to her ear and gently biting the earlobe. The noises she made were like music to his ears, and he just needed more. 

Needed to feel her clench around his fingers.

“Take off your pants, sweetheart.” He said, removing his hand from her, chuckling at her small noise of protest.

It took a moment for the words to register in her brain, but when they did, she quickly did as told, feeling how he helped hold her hips up to get the dark fabric off of her legs.

He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing her ass as he did, laughing at the moan that slipped past her lips.

“Don’t laugh.” She tried to complain but it didn’t sound very convincing, more of a small whine as she settled in his lap again, turning her head to look at him.

“I apologize, baby.” He chuckled, kissing the underside of her jaw while his hands hooked into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down. “Couldn’t help myself…”

A moan bubbled in her throat when she felt his hand on her again, this time seeing how his fingers moved between her folds. His other hand came up to squeeze her breast through her shirt, making her whine and bite her lip.

It all felt too good almost.

“I want them inside me, Jack.” She said, her hand returning to his wrist and trying to move it. “Please.”

Any other day, any other moment, he would have teased her more, but she was desperate, pleading him so nicely. 

He could swear he could feel her soak through his jeans.

And he wanted this, too.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll get what you want.”

Gathering her wetness, he moved his fingers deeper, finding her entrance and slowly, so slowly pushing one finger inside. He could feel how she clenched around it, her hips squirming as she gasped.

Even just one finger was a stretch, taking just a moment to let her head fall back and look up to the ceiling to gather herself and not lose composure immediately. 

But her eyes were back on his hand the moment he began to push his finger in and out of her, his thumb hovering over her clit but not touching it.

Jack smiled against her neck as he watched, too.

Seeing his fingers coated in her, glistening in the low lights, it took all of him to just not add another and another right away. To not throw her onto the sofa and fuck her into it until she screamed his name so much she forgot her own.

“Damn, you’re tight.” He said and he could feel how she tightened around him more.

Just this little bit of him already got the heat building up again, making her head feel foggy.

But she wanted more, and almost as if he understood from how she moved in his lap, how she moaned, he eased in another finger, making her hips stutter momentarily.

“Jesus, Jack.” She breathed quietly, voice heavy with lust. 

When he began moving his fingers again, the wet sounds of them obscene but so hot to her, she felt like she was going to fall apart right then and there.

He knew exactly just how he had to move them, making her squirm so much he wrapped his free arm around her waist again as she arched her back. 

Close, closer, closer.

It felt so much more intense already, whimpering and moaning without shame as he kept pumping his fingers.

“‘Atta girl.” He rasped, fingers curling against that spot inside of her.

Just a little more.

“C’mon sugar, show me how good ya look coming on my fingers.”

Then, he pressed his thumb to her clit.

And she was gone.

Crying out his name as that pressure inside her burst, a string of expletives mixed into it, her legs shook, still spread open over his own and her nails dug into his skin.

One wave after the other crashed into her, washing over her and reaching every tiny crevice in her body as he fucked her through her orgasm.

Jack smiled all the while, eyes going from where his now soaked fingers were buried deep inside of her back to her face, watching the bliss, how she bit her lip, how her cheeks and neck were flushed dark.

His cock twitched at the sight and he became painfully aware of the effect she had on him.

Only once she moved her hips away from him, on the brink of becoming overstimulated, did he pull his fingers out of her. 

He really had lost track of himself there, but he was sure she hadn’t minded, judging by her face.

Her half lidded gaze followed his hand as he brought it up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, tasting her.

“Taste goddamn delicious, sweetheart.” He chuckled, his voice deep.

It made her brain stop, mouth slightly open as she still came down from her high.

“God, fuck me.” She whispered, twisting her body so she could kiss him.

He used the momentum to lay her down on the sofa, lips still attached to hers as she groaned, tasting herself on his tongue. It was strange but she liked it, her hips grinding up against him.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do right now, doll.” Jack grinned, hands moving to hike up her shirt and push down her bra, exposing her breasts.

The sight of her let his patience evaporate and he had half a mind to remember this was her first time. 

Even if she didn’t seem to care that he was going to fuck her on the sofa.

Licking his lips, he pinched one of her nipples, making her moan and arch into the touch.

“D’you still want this, doll?” His voice was dripping in lust still, but he genuinely cared. “You know, once I’m buried inside that tight pussy of yours I’m not sure I can stop.”

She groaned at his words, hands moving to undo his belt, then the button of his dark blue jeans. 

“Jack, fuck me.”

A cocky grin broke on his face and she groaned again, in annoyance this time. She wanted to roll her eyes but only managed to close them when his lips attached to her neck, sucking a purple bruise into it.

He helped her to take off his pants, before her hands went to pull the white shirt over his head, leaving him only in his underwear.

The sight made her drool almost, pressure already building back up in her abdomen, while also feeling a little nervous.

She’d seen this before, just not when he was fucking hard.

“Like what you see?” He grinned, pulling her shirt over her head, fingers moving to unclasp her bra. Both items landed in a pile behind the sofa somewhere.

She couldn’t care less.

“C’mon, doll, why don’t ya take a peek?”

She swallowed hard, looking up at him before her eyes wandered down again, as did her hands. 

“I fucking hate your cocky attitude, Jack.” She mumbled under her breath, hooking her fingers under the waistband of his briefs and pulling them down.

“Something tells me you don’t, doll.”

It won’t fit. 

Somehow that was her first thought seeing it, knowing it was just some shit trope pornos used.

But seeing his cock spring free, she doubted if it was just a stupid porn trope.

It was thick, leaking precum already and looked fucking heavy.

Jack could basically read the thoughts running through her mind, all in her eyes. 

“Relax.” He said, voice close to her ear as he kissed her neck, his fingers already pushing inside her again, making her whimper. “Gonna get you all ready for me, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

Two fingers easily fit, so he quickly added a third after a few pumps, the girth making her squirm, nails digging into his skin.

She reminded herself to breathe, to try and relax and enjoy this.

It was too much, but at the same time not enough, her mind running wild, imagining what his dick must feel like if this was only his fingers.

“Fuck, I want you, Jack.” She moaned, legs opening further.

“Just a little more-”

“Jack, I fucking need you.” She cut him off, squeezing around him.

Lust glowing white-hot deep in her stomach.

He removed his fingers with a deep sigh, raising a brow at her. “Don’t get bossy with me now, doll.”

It made her chuckle, that empty threat of his.

She knew he liked it, deep down.

Shifting above her, he took himself in one hand, giving his cock a few pumps before letting the head glide through her folds.

All before pushing inside her with one fluid motion, while looking into her eyes, savouring every tiny movement of her face.

She couldn’t suppress the groan coming from deep inside her, hearing him moan as he bottomed out and stilled.

What a pretty sound.

It was bigger than his fingers, stinging as she adjusted but he had done well in preparing her, quickly finding herself wanting more again as she eased around him.

Rolling her hips, he smirked, holding back just a moment longer.

“Gettin’ impatient, sugar?” He asked, teasing. One hand rested on her hip, thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“Shut up, Jack.”

She pulled him down into a kiss, and he groaned into her mouth when he finally moved his hips, pulling almost all the way out until he thrust back in again.

Quickly he set a steady but harsh rhythm, feeling how she joined in, rolling her hips to meet his with every snap.

His hand roamed up her side, groping one breast roughly, pinching and rolling the hard nipple. 

When she moaned at the sensation, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, feeling how she clenched around him.

She was getting closer fast, his mouth on hers, his warm body on her and his cock inside her too much at once, still feeling her previous orgasm deep in her bones as he continued his pace.

Every drag of his cock inside her filled her so perfectly, feeling full to the brim with just him alone. 

The thought made her head spin.

Not that there was much going on there at the moment anyways, the only thing she could think about being his cock and how she wanted him inside her again even though he hadn’t even left yet.

“Looking gorgeous with my cock inside you, sugar.” He rasped, breath laboured as he parted from her to look down to where he was driving in and out of her. 

His movements were faltering already, signalling he was close.

Just like her.

“‘Atta girl, pretty pussy takin’ this cock so well, huh?”

His words only made the pressure build inside her, his voice making its way through the fog in her head. 

She felt incapable of forming a single word so she just mindlessly nodded.

“Look so pretty, all cockdrunk, sweetheart.” 

He was rambling now, mouth on her neck, teeth leaving faint marks.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her head craning so he had easier access.

“Squeezin’ me so tight, god damnit.”

Just a little more. 

“Jack-”

Angling her hips, she tried to get more friction on her clit and he seemed to understand, smirking against her neck.

“C’mon, want to feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart, go ahead.” Jack’s voice was right in her ear suddenly, his hand leaving her breast to move between them. “Say my name again, baby.”

He had barely applied any pressure when her second orgasm of the night crashed into her, squeezing him so tightly his own hips stuttered as he groaned, almost as if he was in pain.

His name left her lips over and over, like a prayer almost as the waves rolled over her, his fingers still on her clit and fucking her through it.

Not long after, he followed, so lost in the feeling he forgot to pull out, stilling deep inside her as he groaned her name.

When he collapsed on top of her, she let him, even as all air was pushed out of her lungs.

In a way, it was a comforting feeling, him pressing her into the sofa and she stroked his hair as she looked up at the ceiling.

That was so much better than anything she could have imagined.

“Whoo.” Jack said after a while, pushing himself up, the softest groan slipping past his lips when he pulled out of her.

She felt empty now. A strange feeling.

His eyes raked over her body, settling on her pussy, seeing his cum leaking out. 

That was almost enough to get him hard again, chuckling. He decided to just leave it uncommented for today.

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I haven’t had a better ride in all of my life.” He said, rubbing her thigh as she just laid there, looking back at him. “How d’you feel, sugar?”

She rolled her eyes before smiling at him, feeling warm as his eyes kept going back to her middle.

“You sure are talented, cowboy.” She giggled, nudging him with her foot. “You’ve proven to me you can ride after all.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them.

“Shower?” 

She broke the silence, closing her legs and sitting up slowly, feeling a little sore.

The way his eyes twinkled and the corner of his lips curled upwards didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“Just shower, Jack.”

He chuckled through his nose, raising his hand in mock surrender.

“‘Course, darlin’. Just a shower.”

He got up, picking her up and she yelped, before he carried her up the stairs.

She couldn’t help the giggle leaving her.

With Jack Daniels, it obviously wasn’t just a shower.

Not that she would ever complain.

[oberynslady]

Come Back to Me

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+

Warnings: reader is super pissed, mentions of injury (slightly), lots of making out, quick and needy sex, p in v sex, unprotected sec (wrap it up kids), dash of angst but still fluffy

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Notes: First Jack fic of the year!!!! FINALLY! Back to my favorite cowboy and what a way to get back into writing him. This was fun to write based off this request! Thank you anon for the request and I hope it lives up to what you wanted! Thank you to @clint-aww-no-barton​ as always and big thanks to all the new readers!! If you want to be added to my taglist please let me know!!

ao3 link 

This work is intended for adult eyes only. By continuing, you agree that you are 18 or older. 

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[oberynslady]

Pedro is and always will be "Papi" to me. 💜

Reblog if you find Pedro Pascal attractive

I know they’re just teasing me, but I’m sick of everyone at my work telling me I’m the only person in the world who could ever find Pedro attractive. They tease me every day about it at this point, and I’m annoyed.

So, yeah, please reblog and leave comments and stuff so I can rub it in their faces.

[oberynslady]

day eleven - sensory deprivation

pairing: jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader

word count: 784

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; blindfold, earplugs, bondage, teasing, one brief spank, unprotected p in v

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

She hated Jack for this. Hated that he was so knowledgeable about these things, coming to her with the idea of sensory deprivation.

She hated that she agreed to it, letting him bind her arms and legs to the bed so she couldn’t touch him. This one was barely new, but adding a blindfold and earplugs to the mix? Leaving her blind and deaf, flinching each time his rough hands touched her after what felt like ages of anticipation.

Leaving her waiting until he was back again, ghosting over her arms, her legs, then her breasts and down her stomach. Gone just before he reached where she needed him most.

Leaving her helpless because eventually even his touches stopped for a while. Suspense building, there would only be the whisper of a breath on her skin, some warmth in another place.

Maybe she was only hallucinating all of that.

Then, after many long minutes, something touched her, not his hand, quickly figuring out that it was the head of Jack’s cock which only had her squirming more.

Brushing along the inside of her thighs, warm and heavy. Hitting her clit a few times, the contact feeling like lighting zapped through her. She wanted to see him so badly as he pushed into her, wanted to hear her own moan, frustrated that she couldn’t.

So she imagined his face as he began to thrust into her, smug and his teeth showing, dark mustache wide over his lips. Dark hair dishevelled, unless he had kept his cowboy hat on.

Her other senses felt heightened, her skin on fire and that coil in her stomach quickly becoming tighter and tighter.

She only hated him more when he finally took the blindfold off of her, even the low lights hurting her eyes as everything became more clear. Happy to see again, but quickly becoming even more frustrated when she saw him moan and groan with a smirk but not being able to hear.

Tugging at her restraints, trying to get to him somehow. She missed his sounds, his touch - his hands firmly placed behind his back where he knelt between her spread legs, thrusting into her harshly. Then slowing down, shaking his head with a smirk.

Stop throwin’ a tantrum, darlin’.

She was sure that that was what he said, trying to read his lips and practically hearing him in her mind.

How cruel he was to deprive her of all of this, but she had agreed, after all. Enticed by being at his mercy in everything. No matter how much she hated him right now, it was still hot.

But she couldn’t stop squirming, trying to remove the earplugs somehow and earning a sharp slap to the inside of her thigh before he quickly pressed them in again with a stern look. The sting hurt so much more, as if he had burned her, her pussy tightening around him.

Speeding up his thrusts, he still didn’t touch her, only seeming to be more vocal, saying things she couldn’t fully understand.

Bad girl. Good girl. Darlin’. So tight. Pretty pussy. Sugar.

Just some of the things she thought she was able to read off his lips.

Only driving her more insane. Seeing him chuckle at her struggles, he put the blindfold back on, her body thrashing in frustration as he slowed once more, all the way until he was still.

She could feel him again, leaning over her, his soft, warm stomach brushing against hers and sending shivers up her spine.

His warm breath against her neck, making her whine.

Then, there he was.

“Be a good girl for this bull, cowgirl.”

The earplug gone and his deep, southern drawl so close to her ear, her orgasm surprised both of them. Tightening around his dick, finally able to hear her own moan, tears spilling down her temples as she shook.

Jack’s groan only intensified the feeling, all of it still heightened as he chased his own release, faster and faster until he pulled out and his cock sputtered all over her stomach.

Warm and sticky, then the roughness of his hands as he untied her, his beard like razor blades on her body as he kissed her.

“That was hot.” She whispered, letting him remove the other plug and hand her some water. “It felt more intense, I could see you moan.”

Jack chuckled, drawing her into an embrace, kissing her cheek.

“You were quite loud like this, sugar.” He said, and she couldn’t help the blush from creeping onto her cheeks. “Wanna do it again some time?”

She looked up at him, sitting behind her with the softest eyes and the prettiest smile.

“Hell yeah, cowboy.”

[oberynslady]

ride cowgirl! ★ (agent whiskey x reader)

(18+ mdni) pairings : agent whiskey x afab!reader summary : you like to make bets with your coworker for simple things, what happens when he decides he wants to raise the stakes? warnings & tags : no use of y/n, smut, sort of dubcon there's reluctance but everything is consensual, porn with plot, this ended up actually being mostly plot lmao, p in v sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, light bondage, use of restraints, fully clothed sex, pet names, size kink, praise, whiskey big dick truther word count : 2.3k a/n : first new fic post on the new blog!!! I had so much fun with this thank you so much to the person who requested it !! one of my google forms anon requests was for anything whiskey!! (I put the request at the end) this was the direction I went in >:) this was meant to be a drabble but I got carried away immediately. enjoy!! (this was edited super fast bc i'm tired after work lmao, so apologies for any mistakes)

It was a stupid deal. 

And you never should have made it. 

Of course it’s a little late for that now, when he’s already tying your hands behind your back with his ridiculous flask belt. 

“This wasn’t a part of the original agreement.” You grumble as he pulls the leather tight. That smug smile on his face. 

“You said, anyway I wanted it. This is how I want it.” He leans back against the headboard to admire his work. His eyes focused on the way your chest pushes out now with your arms forced behind you until you cough to get his attention. He takes his time before letting his eyes crawl back up to your face, still grinning ear to ear. 

“Can we just get this over with?” You groan. 

“Oh come on, gorgeous.” He’s loosening his tie, his smile never falters. “I already told you we don’t have to do this. I’ve offered you several outs and you keep turning them down. Besides,” He flashes his teeth at you in a toothy grin. “it’s no fun for me if you don’t want it.” 

That’s exactly what he’d said when you’d made this deal a week ago. 

“I think I want your hat.” You said rather confidently. The two of you had a long standing rivalry. You were placing bets nearly every week at this point. The winner was whoever had the most successful missions. It had started off simple. The loser has to take the other out to dinner, or pay for drinks after a night out. 

After a few months of that you’d gone out with Whiskey more times then you’d gone on any dates. 

Then you decided to raise the stakes. 

The other person's paycheck that week, a piece of tech the other had, at one point your mothers phone number was on the line. (Thankfully that week you had won.)

This week you were feeling lucky. So you pointed at his cowboy hat, he was never seen without. 

“If I win I want your hat.” You cock your head to the side, smirking. 

“You have a hat already.” He was typing up a mission report, you had come in as you always did on Monday mornings. 

“Nice observation agent, how’d you figure that out?” You took a pen from the mug on his desk, rapidly clicking it in an attempt to get under his skin. “That doesn’t change my mind, I don’t want my hat. I want yours.”

He sighs in irritation, taking the pen from you and moving the mug to the other side of his computer. 

“And if you win you can have mine.” You flick the rin of his hat as you say it and he finally turns to glare at you. 

“I don’t want your hat, I already have a hat.” 

“Someone’s in a bad mood today.” You whisper theatrically as he turns back to his work. 

“I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through darlin’ so let’s hurry this up.” 

“I already told you. I want your hat, if you don’t want mine then pick something else.” 

He turns in his desk chair completely to face you now. Annoyance visible on his face. 

“If I win, then you wear my hat.” As he speaks he cracks the first smile you’ve seen on him all morning. 

“You aren’t making any sense, are you still waking up? Do you want me to go get you some coffee?” You laugh but he leans forward. Even though you were up on the desk and he was in his chair he was still nearly face to face with you. 

“Darlin’ you can be so cute sometimes.” You have no idea what he means but his voice has a condescending tone that makes you scowl. 

“Stop being coy and just clarify.” His first signs of a smile turn into a full blown grin. 

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” He whispers, you’re about to slap him for making such a crass joke but he looks completely serious. 

“That’s not funny. What do you really want?” You pray he doesn’t see the goosebumps on your arms at his words, you spend so much time with him yet he’s never made a pass at you. You’ve watched him hit on countless women these last few months but he’s never turned his attention towards you quite like this. 

“I told you. You win, you get my hat. I win, you wear it.” He has to be messing with you. You want to believe that he’s just trying to push your buttons but you know purely based on the way he looks at you that he couldn’t be more serious. 

It’s an insane offer. But it’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Who wouldn’t be curious about what he must whisper to get women to come home with him, what he must promise them. 

Stop. You can’t seriously be considering this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously I’m not doing that.” You get up to leave. Embarrassed by the entire situation. 

“You win, you get my hat and the Bronco. I win, you wear the hat.” You’re already walking out when he says it and you stumble a bit before turning back to stare at him slack jawed. 

“You’d give me your car?” The disbelief in your tone is palpable. 

“If you won.”

And you just couldn’t say no. It was too good of an offer. 

So you set up ground rules. 

You wanted your clothes to stay on, at least as much as possible for the situation. Which he agreed to, so long as the two of you did it “how ever he wanted.” You didn’t realize until much later what that entailed. And of course there was the fact that he wanted you to enjoy it. An odd request all things considered, but he said it was important to him that you had a good time. 

“It's no fun for me if you don’t want it.” 

He had insisted that if you weren’t into it that he would stop, especially if he thought you were faking it. 

Once everything was decided the two of you shook hands. 

And then, by some cruel trick of fate, you had fumbled not one, not two, not even three, but all of your missions that week. A feat that has never happened to you in the entire history of your employment with Statesman. 

So that’s how you ended up like this. 

Fully clothed other than your discarded panties, straddling your most annoying coworker, who’s sitting underneath you, dressed the same as always except his pants are unzipped, with his belt around your wrists. 

“Just let me know when you’re ready darlin’, take your time. I can wait all night, I've got nothing else planned.” 

You could tell him no. You should. You just don't want to.

The second you did he would take the belt off your wrists, hand you your panties (the ones you pretended you didn’t see him shove in his pocket when you threw them on the bed,) and send you on your way. And he’d do it all with a smile. 

Of course you can’t let that happen, that would just mean that he’s won, again. 

He wouldn’t even tell anyone, not that anyone knew about the deal to begin with. But he’d never tease you for bailing, he’d just make you live with the knowledge that you bit off more than you could chew. 

And worst of all, if you had won, you know for a fact that he would have handed over the keys to his car with zero hesitation. 

So you roll your eyes and nod. 

He clicks his tongue, leaning forward, his hands rub your thighs, pushing your skirt up further. 

“Tell me you want it sweetheart.” He taunts, making you sigh loudly. 

It’s not that you don’t want it. God knows you want it. You crave it. But you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“I want it.” You say, almost comically emotionless which has him frowning, sitting up straighter. 

“Let’s just call it. You clearly don’t, and I’m not interested in an unenthusiastic partner.” He begins to lift you off of his hips but you push against him, properly sitting yourself in his lap. 

“Give me a second, Jesus. I’m not even warmed up, just- I need a minute. We’re doing this.” There’s a determination in your voice that stops his efforts.

There are a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. 

“Do you want me to… warm you up?” It’s the first time he’s dropped the cocky facade since you started this ordeal. 

“No. I think I’m okay. Let’s do this.” You nod a few times, almost like you’re hyping yourself up. The two of you hadn’t factored in a lot of the logistical details of this deal, more specifically foreplay. 

As he pulls himself out of his jeans you’re starting to wish that you had. He isn’t even completely hard yet and you aren’t entirely sure how you’re going to take all of it. 

He unceremoniously spits into his hand before gripping himself at the base, steadily stroking himself. 

It’s like he’s a porn star and you’ve got front row seats to a private show. 

You’re close enough that when he leans forward, softly grunting, his face brushes against yours. His cock becoming fully erect in his hand, you hope he doesn’t hear you gulp. 

As he jerks himself off, his free hand reaches up, removing his hat before placing it onto your head. It’s a little too big for you so it tilts to one side. He gives you a lopsided grin before picking up his pace. You watch with wide eyes. 

He’s too big. 

In every way possible. 

He’s too long, he’s too thick, he’s simply too much. 

And you can’t tell him that. He’s smug enough as is, if you say “actually nevermind. you’re dick’s too big I couldn’t possibly fuck you.” he’ll be even more insufferable than he already is. But much to your chagrin he already knows what you’re thinking. 

“You still sure you don’t want me to warm you up?” His nerves are clearly gone as he chuckles before hissing through his teeth. His thumb brushes over his pink, weeping tip. 

“I’m fine. Ready when you are.” Not true. 

“Maybe I could free your wrists. You can do it yourself if you don’t want me to do it.” He’s reaching behind you and you once again halt his efforts. 

“No. We’re doing this your way.” 

You’re certainly overestimating your abilities, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You scoot forward in his lap until his cock is resting between your thighs. You sit up on your knees and he lines himself up at your entrance. 

“Last chance to back out, sugar.” With that final taunt from him you sink down onto him without warning. Barely taking more than an inch before you drop your chin to your chest so he can’t see your face as he simultaneously leans back to rest against the headboard once more. 

It feels like he’s splitting you in half. 

His hands return to your thighs. His palms splayed against you as his thumbs rub comforting circles against your flesh. 

The sting is all you can think of but buried beneath it all is a heat that threatens to consume you. 

You lift your head to look at him. He’s lost a bit of his bravado as he runs his fingers through his hair. You don’t give him (or yourself to be fair) a chance to adjust. You have a desperate need to watch him unravel despite the ache between your legs. 

You take a deep breath before you take nearly half of him in one rock of your hips. 

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, the heat in your stomach is bubbling over as you let out a moan you’ve never heard from yourself before. His grip on your thighs is tight enough now that you’re certain you’ll have to wear a longer skirt tomorrow. 

“Christ darlin’.” He stutters out, his eyes are squeezed shut and you couldn’t be more proud. 

“Is this enthusiastic enough for you?” You manage to grunt out between your small gasps. 

He mumbles something that sounds like a yes.

You have to wait longer this time before moving again, you wait until the pain eases itself away and is replaced with that heat you’ve been pursuing. Only then do you try taking more of him, you don’t manage all of it but you take most of him after a bit of effort. The entire time his eyes are trained on you, a look of admiration on his face. 

“You are something else, gorgeous.” He whispers.

His low drawl shoots straight to your core and god you’re sure he knows it. He whimpers when your walls clench around him.

You haven’t even started properly riding him and you’re close. 

The way he fills you has you seeing stars. You would love to try and banter with him right now, tease him, but you’re too far gone. Too focused on the way his tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he lets out a soft whine before squeezing your hips.

“Let me touch you, please.” He mutters breathlessly.

You aren’t one to deny good southern manners. 

You give him a nod and he wastes no time as he rubs your clit with the pads of his fingers frantically, like he’s trying to make you cum as fast as possible. You’re confused as to why for only a moment because your climax approaches so rapidly it nearly knocks the wind out of you. Your hips stutter as you sit, finally fully impaled on his length, in an instant your vision is a searing hot white. His hat tilts forward on your head, briefly covering your eyes. You’re left breathless in his lap, when you come down from your high he’s grinning at you.

“I win again darlin’.” 

You groan as you recall the conversation you’d had right before he had tied your hands behind your back. 

“If I finish first you can have my hat, if you do, then I get to finish inside you.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“If I finish first you can have the Bronco.”

“...Fine.”

a/n : requester ily, thank youuu

[oberynslady]

Southern Nights

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader.

Summary: Gettin' caught in the rain with a cowboy.

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Complete absence of horse lore. Jack’s hat. Brief alcohol references. Flannel shirts. Hay bales. British author writing cowboy stuff. Reader is shorter than Jack and he can pick her up. Heavy petting.

Quiet Moments collection masterlist | Main masterlist

Nicknames drove you to despair and always had. As the shortest and, frankly, dorkiest looking kid in your class at school you’d heard them all, and they never got any funnier or more original. 

So it was just your luck to take a job on a horse ranch with a bunch of cowboys who told you their first names once and once only. You needed a spreadsheet to match up their names with their booze themed monikers. Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels seemed to delight in this enforced joviality, playing up to his merry persona every chance he got. 

You'd gotten the job, in part, because you were a woman. The other guy's testosterone filled whip-cracking was becoming a little old-fashioned in today's world. Your interview consisted of little more than you proving you knew how to tack a horse and confirming whether or not you could start right away. You'd half expected a tobacco spitting contest.

Jack charmed pretty much all the visiting day guests, and the guestbook on reception read like a teenage girl's diary. For the most part, you saw through his corporate sponsored flirting, and you tried to ignore what it did to you when he turned that molasses deep voice on you while you brushed the horses or rode quietly together in his truck to the feed store, his hand drumming against the open window frame as you rumbled along the dirt roads into town.

You wouldn’t necessarily say that you and Jack got off on the wrong foot, but at first, you thought he just wasn’t your kind of person. He'd swagger over and drop down onto the bench next to you at lunchtime and you'd end up eating in silence because you were so determined to avoid both his cheeky questions about your weekend plans, and that little honey flecked flash that would creep into his eyes.

You wanted to pass the weeks as quickly as you could, to keep your head down and work hard. He spent a large majority of his time just leaning on things, watching you, and making heat prickle under your skin.

You were as Southern as they came, so his dashing cowboy routine should have had you rolling your eyes into next week but, most days it left you flustered and a tad irritable and you found yourself dropping things a lot more when he was around.

The boss seemed to pick up on something and kept pairing the two of you up to work together. “We’re a family here”, he’d said knowingly as he slapped you on the back a little too hard. This was how you’d ended up mapping out a new trail route together ahead of the summer season of guests arriving. 

You had set off late in the afternoon once all the daily chores were done and the midday heat had started to ease up. The air was thick with humidity and beads of sweat dripped from underneath your ageing hat, running off the end of your nose at regular intervals and carving salty rivets through the last of the sunscreen on your face. You tugged at the long point of the red cotton bandana around your neck and wiped your cheeks with it, a somewhat pointless endeavour, but at least it gave a few moments relief.

Jack was up ahead, his narrow denim clad hips swaying gently in the saddle as the clip-clop of his silver dappled horse’s hooves matched the steady rhythm of your chestnut mare. There was a peaceful silence between you both that you were grateful for after a busy morning’s work.

After an hour, he caught your attention with a quick, high-pitched whistle and pointed towards the pebbled edge of the riverbank, signalling that it was time for a rest stop.

“Hot as hell out here.” He said as he dismounted with a thud and fished his water canteen out of the saddle bag. He downed the whole thing in a couple of large gulps, and you watched an errant drip run down his chin and disappear beneath the open collar of his shirt. He crunched his way over the shingle to the water's edge, where he crouched down to refill.

“Yup.” You nodded and wiped your itchy eyes with the sleeve of your linen shirt. “Hot as Hades, as my Momma would say.” 

He chuckled at how you always over exaggerated your Southern lilt when you talked about your family.

You hopped off your horse and led her down to the river for a drink, letting the reins drop to the ground as you pulled a worn map out of your pocket. You sat down on the hot stones and leaned the paper against your thigh, tracing the faded colours of the route with your finger.

“So, we have about another mile and a half of the riverside path, then we cross the bridge, and it should be an easy ride through these fields as we come back around on ourselves.”

Jack took off his brown leather Stetson and splashed his face with some cool water. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he ran his hand through his damp hair and smoothed down the corners of his moustache with his fingertips. He really was infuriatingly handsome.

“Ok, Calam’.” He nodded. “Let’s keep movin’.”

You bristled at the nickname. ‘Calamity Jane’ he’d christened you one night in the town’s only bar when he’d seen you down a whole beer without taking a breath and almost break some fella’s wrist when he stood way too close to you and called you “Sugar.” 

Mostly, you liked that he thought of you as tough, that you weren't some delicate flower angling your petals towards his megawatt smile. But there was a small part of you, one that you couldn't quiet, that felt a little deflated at him thinking of you as ‘just one of the guys.’ You saw the softness underneath his bravado, and you hoped he saw yours too.

You heaved yourself back into the saddle, and Jack tossed you two apples from his pack. You fed one to your horse and kept the other for yourself. 

“See how you have everyone eatin’ out of the palm of your hand?” Jack joked. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun, which had dipped low enough to shine under the brim of your hat. “I’d need to be real careful around you, Jack. Wouldn’t want to lose a finger now.”

He laughed and snapped his jaw at you before giving his horse a firm ‘giddy up’.

The two of you set off again, trotting your way towards the bridge, the river quietly babbling at the side of you.

When you reached the old beam bridge, your horse needed a little gentle encouragement to cross the rickety wooden slats. Jack turned his head to check on you, his mirrored aviators slung low on his face. “Ah, come on now, gorgeous. Nothin’ to be afraid of."

You patted her softly on the mane. “She doesn’t need you sweet talkin’ her, Jack.” Your horse let out a small nicker of agreement. “This here’s an independent lady.”

“You’re assumin’ I was talkin’ to the horse.” He winked at you from beneath his shades before pushing them back up the bridge of his nose.

When you reached the other side, you paused to check the map again. You were pretty sure you were heading west, but didn’t want to give Jack the pleasure of proving you wrong. The teasing would be unbearable. 

“Ok, so we just need to be headin-” You were cut off by a loud whinny from both horses.

“Well, shit.” Jack pointed to some ominous looking black clouds that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “We’d better get goin’ before that hits us.”

You scanned the map again. “There’s some sort of barn three fields over. If we can get there, we can sit it out.”

“Passin’ the time with Jack in the hayloft?” His mouth curved into a crooked smirk, showing off the deep dimple in his cheek. “Can’t say I mind that idea one bit.”

“Oh be quiet, would you?” You kicked your heels in the stirrups and kept your eyes forward. You didn’t trust yourself not to return that smirk. “Let’s get goin’.”

By the time the barn was in sight, the rain had caught up with you and was bouncing off the rim of your hat in increasingly large droplets. The damp leather rubbed the skin of your forehead, and you lost grip of the reins more than once. 

Your horse huffed and snorted, the change in the air making her nervous. You hummed to her absentmindedly for a few minutes and stroked her mane with your knuckles.

“That’s a nice tune you’re hummin’ there, Calam’". Jack said playfully from up ahead. “I’m guessin’ that it’s just in your head on account of your nickname, not cause’ you’re tryin’ to tell me somethin’?’”

You felt embarrassment burn under your skin at the realisation that you’d been humming ‘Secret Love’ from the movie Calamity Jane. Jesus Christ. You couldn't have chosen any other song from any other old movie, could you?

“Don’t get your hopes up now, Jack.” You shook your head as he chuckled and started whistling the same tune, only louder.

The ground underneath you was rapidly turning from dust to mud, and you were keen to get to shelter sooner rather than later. As you reached the brow of the hill, you saw the barn up ahead, all red timber and orange rusted metal.

“Roof looks like it’s hangin’ on for dear life, but it’s better than nothin’.” You shouted ahead to Jack. 

It was at that moment that the first rumble of lightning and crack of thunder hit. Your poor spooked mare reared up before you could calm her and sent you sliding off the back of her. You hit the ground with a thump and heard something pop in your ankle.

“Fuck!” You cried out as you hissed at the pain and the indignity of falling flat on your ass.

“Shit, you alright down there darlin’?” Jack was off his horse and striding towards you.

You rubbed your ankle and wiggled your toes tentatively inside your boots. “Yeah. Think it’s just a sprain, but dammit it hurts.”

There was a flash of concern in his warm brown eyes. “Think you’ll be alright for just a minute while I get these two inside?” He gestured his thumb towards the barn, which was now just 100 feet away.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you calculated how long it would take him to get there and back to you. “Yeah, I think so. So long as you don’t take your sweet time about it.” 

Jack huffed out a laugh. “Don’t go anywhere, now.” He said as he mounted his horse and grabbed the reins of yours. You watched him gallop away, dismount, and tie them both up underneath the shelter. He gave them both a nuzzle and a scratch behind the ear before he sprinted back to you.

You were turning your sodden hat around in your hands when he returned, and the leather flopped apologetically in your lap. “Safe to say the waterproofin’ on this has seen better days.” 

“Now, haven’t I been tellin’ you for weeks you need a new one?” Jack lifted his hat off his head and placed it on top of yours.

His hat was warm and comfortable, but much too large. The brim covered almost all of your eyes.  You held it in place with your palm as you tipped your face up to look at him. “Hold up, did you just give me your hat there, Jack? Are we betrothed now?” You fluttered your eyelashes sarcastically at him.

"True." You smirked up at him. "But usually, when you're talkin', I'm waiting for you to be quiet."

He stretched out his hand to pull you up. “More of a loan, darlin’.” He had his usual cocksure expression on his face, but there was that softness there too. That one that sometimes seemed like it was just for you.

You grabbed his hand, heaved yourself up to standing, and winced in pain. “I don’t think I can weight-bear on it, Jack.” You said as you wobbled into his side.

He caught you, wrapping his arm around your waist and sliding two fingers through the belt loop of your drenched jeans.

He patted you on the waist affectionately. “Ah, hush now, enough of this grousin’.” He said, smiling. “Looks like I’m gonna have to carry you, I’m afraid.” 

You felt foolish and self-conscious all at the same time, but his arm around you felt comforting, like it wasn’t the first time he’d held you.

“You think you can?” You pulled down the hem of your t-shirt a little further down over the curve of your belly.

Jack scooped you up with a grunt, hooking his arms underneath your knees.

“Little half-pint like you? No problem.” He said as he gave your thighs a reassuring squeeze “Need you to keep quiet and turn the complainin’ down, though?” He winked. “You're scarin’ the horses.” 

He hurried towards the barn, his boots splashing through the increasingly deep puddles as you rested your head against his chest. You felt safe here. He was damp but warm, and his shirt smelt like straw.

Once inside, he gently placed you on top of a hay bale, the sharp stalks spiking your legs through your jeans just a little. He pushed the sleeves of his soaked grey flannel shirt up to his elbows, knelt down beside you, and set about delicately pulling your boots off your feet. The rain hammered against the worn-out tin roof above you, and drips of it were falling around you both, making the hay smell warm and sweet.

“Ooof.” He let out a long, slow sigh. “That’s gonna bruise up a treat, darlin’.” 

He began to lightly massage your swollen ankle with his fingertips.

You put your hand on top of his, and he looked up at you, one eyebrow raised like a question. 

You decided to be brave. 

“Jack.” You said softly as you rubbed his thumb with yours and felt him sigh a little at your touch. “You’ve called me darlin’ three times now.”

He cleared his throat and moved to slump down onto the hay bale next to you. Your hand fell to your side, and he captured it inside both of his before the thoughts in your head got too loud.

“Well,” he paused and ran his palm over his jaw, “that’s right. I have.” 

He brought your hand up to his face and kissed your knuckles lightly. “The way I see it, you can keep bein’ my buddy Calamity Jane. Or-.” He took a beat and swallowed. Your heart was now hammering in your chest. “Or you can let me kiss you, and you can be my darlin’. What d’you think about that?”

You shifted forwards to close the gap between you, tipped the brim of his hat upwards with two fingers, and let your lips hover over his for just a moment. A little jolt of electricity sparked through you when you saw him run the tip of his tongue over the cleft in his bottom lip in anticipation. 

“I never really liked that nickname, anyhow.” You said in a breath.

A blast of thunder made you jump back with a squeal, and Jack pulled you back under his arm with a laugh. Your wet clothes had started to make you shiver a little, but he felt like a furnace. “Can you keep it down, please, darlin’?” He buried his face into the velvety skin of your neck and kissed you softly, once, twice, before he said with a growl. “Those horses are scared enough as it is without you screamin’ the barn down.”

As you pressed your lips to his, he glided his hands from your waist and slowly up your arms until one was cupping your face and the other was wrapped around your shoulders. Your tongue tasted apples and the cold water from the river, and he hummed softly as he dug his fingertips into the fleshy part of your bicep, a marked contrast to the gentleness of his kisses.

He hissed quietly as you untucked his shirt from his jeans so that you could slide your hands underneath his shirt and feel the warm skin on his back.

You poked him in the side with your elbow. “Jack Daniels! You kiss me, and now you’re teasin’ me?”

He flicked his hat off your head with his finger and titled your chin up with his thumb. “Hmm. You’re right.” He nudged your nose with his own and slanted his mouth against yours. “No more teasin’. We’ll let this storm pass, shall we?”

Taglist:

@nerdieforpedro @chujo-hime @5oh5 @katareyoudrilling @maried01 @survivingandenduring @pedrit0-pascalit0 @casa-boiardi @iloveenya @lwfics @rhoorl @msjarvis @heareball @yorksgirl @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @khindahra @inept-the-magnificent @angiewatson @auteurdelabre @trulybetty @lizzie-cakes @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @julesonrecord @magpie-to-the-morning

A/N: Here's the song she was humming 🤠

[oberynslady]

Oh sweet Pedro....just take my panties please. *Dreamy sigh*

Via IG

When he imagines being a glove on Juliet's hand, to touch her face... 🫠

[oberynslady]

Peña Husband! 😘���️❤️

javier peña in every episode of narcos

1x04 the palace in flames

uhhhh officer agent peña daddy sir, can i please suck a hicky behind your ear, then on your neck, and one on your collarbone, and maybe one on your chest too?

[oberynslady]

Javier Peña on the office phone

Can you remember who was on the other line?

Alright, let's try this again. Tumblr ate my the first version of this post, which is good, because I thought the gifs were too small anyway. Commentary below the cut.

Question: do you like these gif grids? Trying something new, would love some feedback!

Bonus: This man definitely knows how to set up a landline.

He showcases either (a) his neck if he cradles the phone to one ear or (b) his hands. We love both body parts in this house.

The way he flashes his watch every time he answers the phone with his left hand. Enough said.

He's almost always smoking when he answers the phone. Or about to light a cigarette. Or has a cigarette next to him.

My favourite phone scene is the one where Javier gets the call from Gabby. The scene is pure sex. Him talking around his cigarette, checking out his watch, and that cocky little look where he thinks he's going to get laid in 20 minutes. Peel me off the floor please, sir.

My favourite phone scene is the one where Javier gets the call from Gabby. The scene is pure sex. Him talking around his cigarette, checking out his watch, and that cocky little look where he thinks he's going to get laid in 20 minutes. Peel me off the floor please, sir.

More phone action from Javier to come!

[oberynslady]

Javier Peña’s kisses

✨ Bonus ✨

I just realised - we don't see Javi kissing anyone in the daytime, or outside the bedroom, do we? 🥺

• Masterlist •

Related posts:

Pedro boys disrobed

Kissing: Oberyn v Javi G*

Making out: Javier v Oberyn*

[oberynslady]

Excuse me who gave him permission to cross his arms so sluttily?

[oberynslady]

Pedro Pascal in “Hope”, a short film for Style Magazine Italia, August 2018.

Thirsting Sunday! 🥵🥵

[oberynslady]

This Man....Javier Peña! I would Hubby you so quickly it's ridiculous!!!!

Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.

thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!

You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.

It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be. 

You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration. 

As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men. 

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date. 

“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.

While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time. 

Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña. 

She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.

But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.

Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”

“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”

You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”

Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

“You have a date? With who?” he demanded. 

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”

The color drained from his face.

“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”

You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb. 

Of course he knew Valeria. 

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.

For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”

Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”

“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”

He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”

You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”

Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.

He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.

If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different. 

Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.

His best friend.

For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you. 

Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things. 

He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.

He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home. 

And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.

Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”

“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”

You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”

“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”

“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”

Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you. 

“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”

Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”

“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”

Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.

He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.

Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.

You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse. 

Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.” 

You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again. 

“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”

“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.

“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”

“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”

Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”

Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed. 

“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”

Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him. 

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole. 

“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you. 

Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him. 

Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.

“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.” 

“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.

“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”

“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.

You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile. 

After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”

“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

Javier quirked an eyebrow.  “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”

You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.

“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”

Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”

His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”

“I want to make him feel good.”

Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?

Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.

Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”

“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”

“By showing you a thing or two.”

You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”

Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”

You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”

“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts

“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”

You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.

Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.

“There.”

“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”

You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”

“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.

God, he was fucking good. 

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.

Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch. 

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier. 

Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin. 

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him. 

“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”

Your mouth fell open at his request.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide. 

“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”

Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.

Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”

Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him. 

“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.

He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.

“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. 

“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”

You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.

You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen. 

Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”

“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”

“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”

Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”

“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. 

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.

He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?

“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself. 

You didn’t want to know how to please another man.

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.

“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.

“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”

Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”

“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true. 

His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”

“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.

“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely. 

“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you. 

You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.

Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come. 

He needed to see you come.

“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.

“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”

Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release. 

It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely. 

His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.

Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants. 

 “J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder. 

The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.

“Javi, I’m so close—” 

“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth.  “I’ve got you.”

Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.

You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.

Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you. 

Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.

What had you two just done?

Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”

Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.

“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.

Translations

Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.

Chismosas - Gossipers

Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.

Mentirosa. - Liar.

Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow? 

[oberynslady]

Oh that Neck and Nose! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

hair, cheekbones, nose, nose, nose, tongue, tongue, neck, neck, neck, neck, neck, adam’s apple, collarbone

[oberynslady]