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pedrospatch · 1 year

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Just Friends

Javier Peña x DEA Agent 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.

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?

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier pena smut

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luxurychristmaspudding · 3 months

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Una Noche En Medellín | Javier Pena x f!Reader

summary: a long day playing pretend at a wedding leads to... exactly what you'd expect.

pairing: javier pena x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. javi smoking, mention of a fictional pregnancy, ONE motherfucking BED BABY! mention of previous p in v, fingering, brief f!oral. this is pretty tame, y'all. reader has hair.

wc: 2.4k

an: this is my entry for the summer lovin' challenge thought up by the wonderful @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i can literally only apologise for this being so late. i scheduled it in the wee hours and got my dates SO wrong.

my brief was a wedding, javi, and the moodboard you can see in the header. this was so much fun, and my first time posting for our fav dea agent - i hope you enjoy!

divider from @saradika-graphics

The fabric of your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, sweat glistening under the warm lights of the hotel as you step into the elevator. Hair damp at the nape of your neck, thighs chafing a little as you shift on aching feet, you turn from your tired reflection in the mirror back to the closing doors.

You watch, drowsy, as Javi presses the button to the tenth floor, one thick finger lighting up the numbers. The same hands that have been on you all evening, long into the night. Squeezing, holding, twirling. He stands with his back to you now, shoulders tense and squared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you’d pissed him off.

You slump a little against the mirror behind you as the elevator swoops and glides upwards, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Neither of you had thought it’d be easy. But neither had you thought it would be so exhausting.

Exhausting to remember the details of your cover, to explain that the reason you weren’t drinking was because you’d recently discovered you were expecting your first child. Exhausting to navigate the knowing looks and slaps on the back, the hands on your non-existent bump, trying to make it look convincing. Following Javier around the room, his hand in yours; whispers pressed into the conch of your ear, your hairline - intel exchanged, wrapped in the pretence of humour and affection. Bodies pressed together in a way that should have been unprofessional, but not in a way that was unfamiliar.

The mission had been a success.

Under fairy lights and between bubbles of champagne, blanketed by the heady heat of Medellín, you’d wound your web. Dancing and talking, sharing cooing compliments with the other guests, letting people watch and believe as you’d kept each other close, the proximity of Javi coming so easy with the thump of bass and threat of danger. Recognising the faces taped and pinned to corkboards in the office, matching voices to crackled radio frequencies, red string to red crosses.

Never standing in one place for too long, never speaking English, never looking surprised, always looking so in love. Draped across his lap with one hand on your hip and the other splayed against the small of your back. Your face tucked into his neck as you relayed information against his jawbone. His kisses to your shoulder as he told you Steve and Carillo were already on their way to the targets’ addresses. Not out of each other’s sight for more than a minute.

It had been so easy it was almost laughable.

The cartel’s informant would be on his way to his hotel, and his impending arrest, now. The rest of the guests, the family and friends, would soon catch wind and begin to disappear, to turn on each other. And it would be like you and Javi were never there. Blending with the disco lights, melting into the shadows.

For now, all you need is some rest.

The elevator bell dings for the tenth floor, and you watch as the doors slide open with a quiet hum. Javi turns his face, barely, to make sure you’re still with him, hand twitching at his side as though he wishes to reach for yours.

It’s hard to turn the performance off.

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, wedding band glinting in the light, as he steps out into the hallway. You follow, reaching into your purse for the key card, watching the slump of his broad shoulders stride up the hall, the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been running your fingers through it twenty minutes ago, cooing something about wanting to take him to bed that had only been a half-lie. He’s been warm and firm against you all night, always within reach. There’s not a scrap of your dress or an inch of your skin that doesn’t smell like his aftershave. And you’re not too proud to admit how much that turns you on.

He leans against the doorframe with one arm when you reach your room, lips lifting in a smirk.

You pull a face at him as you swipe the key card and open the door.

‘What?’

He shrugs as he watches you step into the darkness, waiting only a moment before following and flicking on the light.

‘Just - didn’t think you had it in you, cariño. Never thought you could dance like that.’

You scoff at him as he closes the door, leaning against the coolness of the wall to unclasp and take off your heels.

‘Surprises are part of the job, Peña,’ you grin, ‘Didn’t think you’d be so good at pretending to enjoy a wedding reception.’

‘I’ve had practice.’ He quips, unbuttoning another two of his shirt buttons, white linen against the gold of his skin, sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something burns in your chest - wanton and willing.

He flips on another light as you throw your heels to the side, pausing in the mouth of the room before it opens to the sleeping quarters. You press a palm to his warm back, trying to urge him forwards before he speaks.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’

You step from behind him to stand at his side.

Illuminated, glowing in the bedside light before its backdrop of glimmering city lights, is a single, king-size bed; crisp white sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress.

You bite your cheek, looking at Javi. His stormy brow, his clenched jaw.

‘This was supposed to be a suite.’ You murmur.

You want to be angry. Want this to be the thing that ruins an otherwise successful day. But you’re so warm, so tired. You only want a shower and a place to sleep. And you’ve had many worse places than this to do exactly that.

‘We could call the front desk,’ Javi says, as a yawn pulls at your jaw, ‘See if they can switch us to a room with two beds.’

You shake your head, and he glances at you, surprised.

‘It’s late, and bad for our cover. We can share.’ A small frown teases between his dark eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘We’re fake married, remember?’

You step past him, smoothing the sheets with your hand. Cool. Soft. You could lie down now and die happy.

There’s the distinctive shnick-whoosh of a lighter behind you, and when you turn, Javi’s face is lit by the soft glow of a cigarette.

‘How could I forget,’ he says, breathing out a rush of blue smoke, ‘When mi esposa has been the life of the party all evening.’

You purse your lips playfully.

‘I thought you enjoyed being my husband, Alejandro.’

A sultry smile softens his features.

‘Sure, cariño.’

You wink at him as he brushes past you, linen against silk. He smells so good. Clean and masculine, something so Javi cutting through it that you can feel that burning move from your chest to pool between your legs.

He breezes through the curtains shrouding the balcony, and you turn into the bathroom, inspecting the array of toiletries, and the towels, fresh and white, waiting for you. You turn the shower on, setting the water to cool before reaching for the zip at the back of your dress. You twist fruitlessly for minutes, but the heat, the dampness of your skin makes the fabric hard to adjust, the zip impossible to catch. A well of frustration rises up your throat, and you clench your jaw.

Hands pressed against the porcelain of the sink, you look into your own eyes in the mirror. Tired, hot. Not too proud to ask for help.

Javi is stood on the balcony, forearms resting against the railing, smoke curling around his strong silhouette. He turns at the sound of the curtains moving behind you, and you smile as he leans back to watch you approach.

His appraising look is appreciative. Sexy.

You turn your back to him, to those eyes.

‘Unzip me?’

You wait for what feels like an eternity. Rocking slightly where you stand, breath catching in your lungs. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.

Goosebumps break out over the small of your back as his fingers trace the line of the zip, up, up to your shoulders. They skim the fabric there, catching your bare skin before settling at the slider. He pulls, slowly. So close you can feel his breath on your neck. Pulls it all the way down so that the dress falls loose at your chest, so it would take only the smallest movement for the garment to drop to the floor.

His palms slip beneath the silk, curving around your waist. On instinct, yours follow, catching and holding them in place as you sigh at the feeling of his nose tracing your neck. His thumbs stroke the contours of your back.

‘Que linda, bebita.’ He breathes, and you fight the moan surging up from your belly. You hum, leaning into him even as you whisper,

‘I didn’t say undress me.’

A short burst of air at your shoulder, a barely noticeable kiss against your hot skin to disguise his amusement.

‘Wasn’t going to.’

It’s your turn to huff a laugh.

‘We can be professional for a night.’

‘We can.’ He murmurs, and the heat of his body behind yours is lost almost immediately. You sway a little, a smile on your lips as you step back towards the bathroom. You know Javi is watching.

He always is.

He told you. That night in Bogotá, bodies pressed against, pressed into each other. Your legs wrapped around his waist, claw marks red-raw up his back as you’d moaned and cried for him. The wet squelch of your cunt as he worked you open, as he fucked you, as he crooned into your mouth how you’d been all he’d thought about since you stepped into the bullpen. So fucking smart, so capable, so sexy. How you’d been driving him crazy - lips crushed against your temple as you clenched around his cock.

That whole night, how good it had been, how heady. No one had ever made you come like that.

You’d not called the next day, having slunk out of Javi’s room some time in the early hours of the next morning. He’d never asked you why you hadn’t stayed. You’d never spoken of it again.

It was stress relief. Never anything more than two people blowing off steam. Never anything more than two people giving into an obvious attraction.

But that night doesn’t seem so far away as you wash away the sweat and soap from your body, as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Doesn't erase how you feel him watching, how close he feels, even separated by the door.

And though the shower is cool, your blood still runs hot. Pumping and burning with want in your veins, arousal so strong it makes you giddy as you wrap a towel around yourself, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Javi is sat on the edge of the bed, naked save only for his boxers. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He's so broad, hard and soft in all the places he needs to be. And he's so pretty. Perfect little pouty mouth, deep, dangerous eyes. There’s no cigarette dangling from his lips, nothing in his hands as he clasps them between his spread knees. You think about sinking down between them, pressing your cheek against the bulge outlined below the smattering of hair at his navel.

You step towards him, and he watches with blown, hungry eyes.

You stop in front of him, still wrapped in the towel. He reads your mind like he always does. In the bullpen, the offices, the field. With a gun or a cigarette or a pen in his hand, Javier Peña knows what you need. He parts the towel, sliding his palms across your naked hips, holding you before him. You can’t breathe, can’t speak. It’s too hot in the room, in your body. You can feel slick sliding against the tops of your thighs, spread right up to your clit. So wet it should be criminal.

Javi clicks his tongue, moving his hands so he can spread you open with his thumbs. He pouts at you, small tilt of his head.

‘Pobrecita.’

You'd roll your eyes if it were any less true, if he weren't swiping one thumb through your wetness, over your clit. You suck a breath in before moaning brokenly. He grins, wolfish, up at you.

‘What were you thinking about in that shower, cariño?’

You smile down at him, eyes half-closed.

‘You.’

He hums, moving his thumb again. You shudder, knees giving a little. His hand at your hip tightens.

‘Good girl.’ He coos.

Your hand flies to his shoulder with a garbled cry as he presses tighter, moving the digit faster. He knows how to work you, knew before he'd even touched you. You're on fire, pussy tightening as your hand travels up his neck, before tangling with the curls at his nape.

That's it.

You can hear how wet you are. The only sounds in the room are the buzz of the city below, your fast breathing, and the movement of Javi’s fingers. He’s building you up to it, astoundingly fast. The sight of him, sat on the edge of the bed, spellbound by what he’s doing to you, the noises you’re making, the sight of you bared to him. Makes you want to touch him, too.

Does that feel good, bebita?

So good, Javi.

But just as it seems so close, as you can feel yourself start to clench and pulse and twitch, he slows. Slows the rhythm of his thumb right down to deep, languid circles, keeping you right on the edge as he loosens the towel and lets it drop to the floor, as he leans forward to reverently press his forehead to your belly. He breathes in deeply, and you flex your hips towards him. He nips at your skin, and you whine as he laughs.

‘I think about it,’ he breathes, voice deep and thick, nuzzling into the crease of your thigh, ‘That night in Bogotá. Tell me you think about it, too.’

You hiccup, nodding. Fisting his short hair.

‘All the time,’ you gasp, ‘All the time, Javi.’

He groans, moving to lick a hot, wet stripe through your folds, right up to your clit. It’s like fire, electricity. Your body jolts against him, every nerve ending bending towards him, flinching into this sweet torture.

His lips are shining with your arousal when he pulls away to look you in your eyes.

‘Let me have it. One more night, in Medellín. Let me have you.’

#summerlovin24 #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic

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javier-pena · 3 months

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Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #10k follower celebration

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 20 days

Text

ricochet l Javier Peña

Summary: you shouldn't sleep with a coworker who also irritates you so much

Warnings: +18, smut, angst, swearing, fingering, sex without protection (don’t do that!), guns, shooting, violence

A/N: this is my first story for javier. please be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

A loud knock echoed through your apartment and it was it that woke you up. You reached for the clock lying on the nightstand and groaned quietly. It was almost two in the morning, not the best time for visits. However, the knocking didn’t stop and eventually you had to drag yourself out of bed.

On your way to the door you turned on the lamp in the living room and soon turned the key.

"What the fuck, Javi?" you hissed seeing a familiar face on the other side "Do you know what time it is?"

"Perfect for a visit to such a beautiful woman." he replied, leaning nonchalantly against your door, his dark eyes running down your body dressed only in shorts and a top "I was wondering what you wear to sleep, hermosa. So, naked only next to me?"

"You're drunk." you stated, crossing your arms over your chest "Jesus, did you really have to come here?"

"There's no better place. Can I come in?"

Javier didn't wait for an answer, he just passed you in the doorway and finally sat down on your couch. You watched as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and soon you smelled the pungent smell of smoke.

"Why did you come?" you asked, approaching him with resignation. "Can't you get to your apartment by yourself?"

He took a drag on his cigarette and a wisp of smoke escaped from between his lips. He had time. Drunk Javier Peña always had time, and he liked to spend it the most on teasing you. Testing your limits was his passion, even when sober.

You made one serious mistake. A mistake that shouldn't be made with a coworker.

Some time ago, you slept with Javier when you were both celebrating someone's birthday. You were drunk, and so was he.

He seemed so charming and seductive then. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you what you could do together if you just left that hole in the wall. His large hand rested on your thigh, slowly moving higher and higher.

So you went to your apartment and you did it. Not once. Three times, to be honest.

After that, you thought everything would go back to normal. You'd be back at your desk in the office, working together to take down the Medellín Cartel and everything would be like it used to be.

You couldn't have been more wrong.

Your verbal fights were becoming more and more frequent and sometimes it was only Murphy who was able to send you back to your corners. Recently, Peña outdid himself when he wanted to forbid you from going with the team to arrest a larger group of people.

And at that very moment, he was sitting drunk in your living room, completely unconcerned about anything.

"I missed you, dulce." (sweet) he groaned looking at you with tenderness "I've been wondering all evening why you're so mean to me..."

"Mean?!" you repeated after him snorting.

"...and haughty. I thought that after such a good fuck you should be much nicer to me."

Your jaw dropped to the floor. You didn't feel like sleeping anymore, but your blood pressure was quickly rising.

"Javier, what the fuck are you talking about!" you finally choked out “I should be nicer? You treat me like some secretary, but we should work together as a team. Besides... Fuck! I'm not going to talk to you about this now! Go back to your place. You're drunk."

Javier stubbed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray lying on the coffee table and stood up slowly approaching you. His dark eyes bored through you and you felt uncomfortable at that moment.

"I know you don't mean it, hermosa." he said in a quiet but firm voice "I know you'd like to feel my cock inside you again. And do you wanna know how I know that?" he leaned in so he could whisper in your ear "I can still taste your pussy on my tongue. The sweetest I've ever had. Addictive."

A shiver ran down your spine straight to your core, but you didn't let it show. You couldn't let him win.

Yes! Of course you were thinking back to that night, but Javier was so sure of himself that you would never admit it.

"Get out." you replied seeing a sly smile appearing under his mustache.

"Are you scared because I told the truth?"

"I'm not scared, Peña. I'm not one of your hookers that you can come to whenever your pants get too tight. Get out."

Still smiling he passed you, gently nudging your shoulder and soon you heard the door slam shut.

Fucking Javier Peña.

The next day at the office, you both pretended that nothing had happened. You focused on your work, not even looking up when Peña and Murphy showed up.

The day passed with paperwork and drinking a dozen cups of coffee. The thought of going to a night meeting with one of the informants was not something you were excited to do, especially since you didn't get a good night's sleep last night, but you didn't want to give it up.

When the office slowly started to empty, you took your walkman out of the drawer, slid in the cassette that you got from the colleague at the desk next to you and soon closed your eyes, hoping for a moment of rest before leaving.

Music quietly resounded in your ears. You sat comfortably in the chair, resting your legs on the desk and tried to restart your brain.

This work was exhausting, but with each subsequent arrest you felt more and more proud of what you were doing. You were far from achieving your goals, but maybe soon...

Your heavy desk shook strangely, and after a second someone slid your headphones off your ears.

"Don't sleep during shift!"

Javier sat down on some of your papers, completely unconcerned that he had knocked a few files to the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, turning the box from your cassette over in his fingers.

"I got this. From Bradley. Could you?" you held out your hand for him to give you what was yours, but Javier had no intention of doing so yet.

"Did he make you a compilation of some romantic shit?" he snorted. "I don't want to worry you, sweetie, but Mr. Bradley definitely wants to get into your panties."

"Why do you think I'm worried about that?"

"Because you deserve more." he put the box on your outstretched hand.

"Oh! You mean someone like you?" you raised your eyebrows, trying not to laugh. "Maybe I prefer nice guys, Peña."

"I'm nice guy, hermosa." He unceremoniously reached for your cup of cold coffee and took a few sips. "You're the only one who doesn't want to admit that you have a wet patch in your panties just by the sight of me."

"I won't be the one to boost your already too high ego, babe." You replied, sliding your legs off the desk. "You're doing it yourself perfectly well. Did you come to tease me or do you have some business?"

His smile disappeared and Javier frowned. Yes, he had a business.

"I heard you were going to meet the informant right away. I thought I could replace you."

"Why?" You frowned, surprised by his proposal.

Javier looked away from you as if he was looking for the right words.

"It's just a bad neighborhood, you know. I don't want you to go there alone." He finally replied.

"I'll be with Bradley, so what could happen?"

"Bradley? Jesus, really?" he automatically reached for a cigarette, but didn't light it, just rolled it in his long fingers "In that case, I'll go with you instead of him."

"No." you shook your head "You can't keep interfering in my work. He's my informant, and a stranger will only scare him."

"Bullshit!"

"I won't discuss this with you." you stated, standing up and picking up your bag "If you have a problem with me, go to the boss. But don't tell me what I can and can't do."

You noticed Bradley calling you to the door and you headed towards him, still feeling Javier's gaze on you.

"Y/N!" his voice sounded like a gunshot in the now empty office, you looked in his direction "Be careful."

"Have you seen Y/L/M today?"

Murphy looked at his friend in surprise. He looked around the office, but he didn't see a familiar face anywhere.

"Wasn't she supposed to meet with an informant yesterday?" he asked, returning his gaze to the documents he held in his hand. "She probably overslept."

"Y/N never did it." Javier mumbled, quickly glancing towards the opening door as if he was counting on seeing you there.

"Maybe she's already gone home. We spent a few hours out of town. Maybe you should just call her or go over to her place. By the way, why are you so interested?"

"Fuck off."

Murphy smiled as he saw Javier reach for the phone and dial a number. However, after a few rings, he hung up, disappointed.

"Nothing?"

Peña shook his head.

"Hey! Have you seen Bradley?" he called out to the employee who was sitting near your desk.

"Not today." he replied "I think he took the day off."

"And agent Y/L/N?"

"Same here."

"Office romance?" Steve smiled looking at Javier, but he didn't seem calmer. "We were going to leave anyway so why don't you just go to her, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll do that." he nodded.

But even though he showed up at your door and knocked for a long time, no one opened it. Javier felt a strange knot in his stomach, something like a bad feeling, although he preferred not to think about it.

He already felt like an idiot. He didn't know why he came and why he cared so much. Javier had known you for almost two years and it was quite an interesting acquaintance.

He would never admit it openly, but he loved teasing you, and at the same time he respected your professionalism very much. You never ran away from hard work, even if it meant working late at night.

He liked watching you work in the field or at your desk. He knew how you drink your coffee and that you take your shoes off under your desk when you do paperwork.

Peña was a man of flesh and blood, he could appreciate the beauty of women and had a weakness for them. And somehow you didn't have a weakness for him. Maybe that was what attracted him to you?

"And? Have you seen her?"

Javier shook his head, taking the cigarette out of his mouth "I was there, but the apartment seems empty."

"Have you asked the neighbors?" Murphy sat down at his desk "These old grannies often know a lot more."

"They haven't seen her in two days." unexpectedly Peña frowned and craned his neck, spotting someone in the distance "Is that fucking Bradley?"

Murphy spun around in his chair "Yeah, that's him. But somehow... Peña!"

But the man was already heading towards Bradley. The man had not yet managed to get to his desk when it stopped in front of him.

"Hi. Did you see..." but suddenly he saw something that worried him even more "What happened to your face?"

"Someone beat you up?" Steve asked approaching them "What the fuck?"

"Where's Y/N?" Javier immediately interjected.

Bradley looked at both men a little confused. There was a yellow bruise under his eye, and a cut was visible on his lower lip, he also looked a little sore.

"It happened after that meeting with the informant." he mumbled, pointing to his face "Y/N and I ran into some bad company."

"What about her?" Javier was already clearly worried.

"I don't know..."

"What?!" Peña raised his voice so much that Steve had to put a hand on his shoulder trying to calm him down "You were there with her! What the fuck happened?"

"I told you! We left the meeting. We were about to go to the car when a few guys stopped us. They were hitting on Y/N. We got into a discussion and when it turned out that I am a cop..."

Peña felt like something heavy had fallen into his stomach. A thousand visions of what could have happened were flashing through his mind.

However, Bradley continued "We had a bit of a fight. After everything was over I took Y/N to the hospital, but she didn't want me to stay with her so I went to my place."

"You left her there alone, you idiot?!" Javier growled.

"She's not a child! She told me to fuck off, what was I supposed to do?!" Bradley was already furious too "Go to her if you fucking care about her so much!"

"I'll do it!"

A knock on the door echoed throughout the hallway again. An older woman poked her head out of one of the apartments and for a moment watched the black-haired man knocking on the door of the young woman she sometimes saw.

"Y/N! I know you're there!" Javier finally announced towards the closed door "If you don't open it, I'll come here with a whole strike force! You don't want a fucking mess here, do you? Open this fucking door!"

He put his ear to the door and was sure he heard movement behind it. You had to be there.

"Y/N... please." he added a little calmer "It's me."

After a dozen or so long seconds, he heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened, letting some light into the dark hallway. Javier wasn't ready for what he saw.

He felt like his heart had broken into a million pieces at the sight of your face. Your eyes were red, probably from crying. There was also a bruised cheek and an ugly cut lower lip, and with each passing moment he noticed more and more.

"Hi." your quiet voice was barely audible where he stood "I took a few days off. Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone..." Apart from you.

"I noticed." he mumbled "Can I come in?"

You opened the door wider and Javier slipped inside, closing it carefully behind him. The room was dimly lit, a few lamps and a few candles were lit. He noticed the curtains being drawn, as if you wanted to hide from the whole world.

"Would you like to..." you didn't finish, because his hand grabbed your chin lightly.

Peña directed your face towards the nearest light source. You saw the glow reflected in his eyes, which were carefully studying you. He let out a quiet breath when he noticed the bruises on your neck, as if a man's hand had left a mark. A few scratches on your arms.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Javier, please..." you whimpered, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, it was too painful for you, too intimate.

"Tell me. Please, hermosa.” He wasn't ordering, he was begging you. He was asking you to trust him.

You clumsily grabbed the edge of your shirt and lifted it, showing him the bruises on your side. His breath caught in his lungs.

"They're not broken." You said as warm fingers brushed your skin. "I had an X-ray. It just looks that awful. And it hurts a little."

"Did they... Did they do anything more?"

You knew perfectly well what Peña meant. You lowered your shirt.

"No." You shook your head and he wiped his mouth with his hand. "They talked about it, but... No, nothing more."

"Thank God."

You didn't know what to say. Tears filled your eyes and after a moment you felt his strong arms hug you to his chest. You snuggled into him, sobbing quietly. You felt his hands as he stroked your hair and back, trying not to cause any more pain.

"It's okay, hermosa.” he said quietly, kissing your forehead. "You're safe. You should have called me. You know I would have come right away."

"I didn't want to bother you, besides, it's just bruises..."

"But I want you to bother me. If something happened to you... Fuck! Would you be able to recognize them?"

"I don't know, I don't think so..." you moved away from him and sat down carefully on the couch. "I don't want to go back to this, Javier. I'll be back at work in a few days... We've gathered new information..."

"Fuck this whole cartel! Fuck Escobar!" he growled. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror?!"

"I see myself all the time. And I assure you, today I look really good."

He shook his head in disbelief. You looked so much like him. Peña seemed to be starting to understand why he was pissing you off so much.

"I know what you're thinking and I don't want you to do this." You finally spoke up, his watchful gaze settling on your face. "You're not going to be running around the streets looking for those guys now. That's not your job, Javier. There are more important things."

"You're important!" he hissed, pointing a finger at you. "I should go to Bradley and kick his ass. And then find those fucking guys and do to them what they did to you."

"But you're not going anywhere and you're not going to do anything." You saw him thrashing around like a beast in a cage. Javier Peña was demanding blood and revenge. "Listen, I knew what I was getting into when I came here. It could have been worse. I could have been raped by a few and ended up in some ditch on the outskirts of town."

"Sweet Jesus Christ!" Peña groaned "This is no time for such jokes!"

"I'm not joking." Now you were standing too, ready to face him "The bruises will heal, and we're here for something more. You can yell at me, you know I can take it. But you have to focus on our work!"

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He quickly lit the first one and inhaled the smoke. He knew you were right. He would tell you the same thing if he was standing in your place.

Finally, he nodded, admitting you were right, and a faint smile of relief appeared on your face.

"But from now on, you'll be riding with me to and from work. I don't accept any objections!"

Getting back to work turned out to be easier than you thought. The information you had gathered helped you track down the nearest smuggling operation and the entire unit was preparing for new arrests. You had been putting in long hours at work, so Javier's offer to drive you home really suited you.

Although at first glance your contacts hadn't changed, you had noticed that he had become much calmer when he had his eye on you. You had caught him looking around the office more than once, searching for you. You had smiled and shaken your head reproachfully when he had winked at you.

However, all of that had gone to hell an hour before you had to leave to stop the transfer. Murphy had found you arguing fiercely by the car and it had taken him a while to figure out what you were on about.

"Peña's gone crazy!" you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest, "He doesn't want me to go with you! I'm the one who got that fucking information!"

"They're going to shoot there, loca!" (crazy) he growled with his hands on his hips.

"Oh! I thought we were going on a fucking picnic!"

"Maybe Y/N should wear a vest, she'll be close to us." Murphy butted in, not afraid of his friend's angry glare.

"That's an idea!" you replied pleased with Steve’s words "I'll take the fucking vest! Will you be happy then, Peña?"

"Not really." he grumbled "You have to stay close to me."

"But not too close." you added getting into his car.

"Close!" he growled, slamming the door.

He didn't like the idea, and he didn't like Murphy standing by your side even more. The whole way out of town he clenched his fingers tightly on the steering wheel. He would feel much calmer if you stayed in the office, but you didn't listen to him again. You were already leaving the forest when he reached into the backseat and threw a green bulletproof vest on your lap.

You rolled your eyes, but Peña ignored it.

"Put it on."

So you followed his order and then stayed close. However, neither of you were ready for what was happening. The group of smugglers turned out to be larger and soon the shooting began.

You dodged the bullets by hiding behind the wall of the building. A dozen or so members of the strike team passed you. You went after them, seeing Peña's back in the distance. You spotted the first arrestees, and Murphy was throwing some trucks out from behind the wheel.

"Y/L/N!"

You noticed Peña calling you and went towards him when you heard a gunshot. Something hit you in the chest and you staggered, but after a moment you saw Javier aiming at some guy behind a nearby building. More shots were fired

"Hey!" Steve ran up to you "Is something... Fuck!"

"Vest." You mumbled in surprise, feeling a hole under your fingers "The bullet must have bounced off something..."

Suddenly, Javier appeared next to you. Dark sweaty locks stuck to his forehead, a mixture of rage and fear was painted in his eyes.

"I saw you got hit!" he growled.

"She had a vest on!" Steve replied quickly "She's fine!"

"Fuck! I told you to stay!"

"It was a ricochet!" you replied furiously "I'm fine!"

"You were supposed to be close!" Peña retorted "To the car! I'm taking you back!"

"But I..."

However, he had already grabbed your arm tightly pulling you towards the car. You stumbled on the way, but he didn't even slow down. He forced you inside and slammed the door shut.

"Not a word!" he growled, threatening you with his finger as soon as you opened your mouth.

Soon he started the engine and you drove off abruptly. You drove out from between the buildings, heading down the road through the forest. You could feel how furious Javier was and you were angry at him yourself. He treated you like an intern, just because you were a woman.

"Are you going to stay silent the whole way?" you growled looking at his clenched jaw and deeply heaving chest "Fine! At least I don't have to listen to your bullshit!"

The car suddenly pulled onto a side road and stopped. In an instant Peña turned towards you. His dark eyes were focused on you, he looked like he wanted to tear you into a thousand pieces. Before you could say anything he ripped off your vest. You saw the relief on his face when he saw that you were indeed not injured.

"Fucking ricochet!" he hissed "You're so fucking stubborn! So annoying!"

"You're no better!" you replied "Just because I'm a woman you treat me like..."

You didn't finish. His hand grabbed the back of your neck and forcefully pulled you to him, your lips crushed hard.

It was full of teeth and fighting between you. But you didn't back down when his tongue pushed between your lips. On the contrary, your hand moved to his crotch where you could feel how hard he was.

You knew what he wanted, you wanted the same. You didn't protest when he quickly started to unbutton your pants. Your lips parted only for a moment to free your legs and then you sat on his lap, struggling with his zipper.

"So disobedient." he hissed through his teeth "You'll be the death of me someday."

"I'm not sure which of us will finish the other off first." you mumbled "But it's only a matter of time."

His hard cock came out and you knew you wouldn't last if you didn't feel him inside you right away. You felt his long fingers slide over your folds.

"So wet already?" Peña purred and a sly smile appeared under his mustache "I knew it, hermosa. You have a soft spot for me."

"Maybe I just want to fuck you?" you replied, one of his fingers slipping inside you.

"That's for sure!" his eyes were fixed on the spot where his hand was moving "You were rubbing that sexy ass of yours all over the office. Just waiting for me to put my cock in you one more time."

"Don't forget, you're the one who came to me trying to get into my bed again." you sighed, your hand rubbing his cock, a little precum glistening on his red tip.

"But I don't deny that I have a weakness for you, hermosa.”

His hand withdrew and he gripped your hips tightly to position you just above his manhood. His tip slid over your entrance a few times, then slid in in one swift movement.

The air escaped your lungs and your head fell back against Javier's forehead as you closed your eyes. His cock stretched you wonderfully, reaching so deep inside you. But you didn't want to wait any longer.

His hands squeezed your hips as you began to move up and down. In each thrust you felt all the stress and anger that filled you, but lust followed right behind it. The car filled with your moans and the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"So good, hermosa. You're so tight, so good for me..." Javier whispered, his voice darker than usual "I've wanted to be back in that pussy for so long. Fuck! I'd take you on the fucking desk so everyone could see how good you take me."

You felt a slap on your ass, but it only made the excitement in your core grow. Peña's cock hit exactly the spot you wanted. He could do anything to you then.

"Jesus, right there..." you moaned "I'm so close!"

"That's good! You'll take everything I give you, right?" he began to press you harder against his hips "I knew that pussy was missing me, hermosa.”

"You're a bastard, Peña." you groaned "Fucking bastard."

"With the best cock you've ever had, right? I'm sure no one has ever fucked you like I have. C'mon, chica! Give it to me! I want to hear you come!"

"Javier, please..."

"Oh, you'll beg me again soon." His lips sucked on your neck below the collar of your shirt, leaving a mark on it. A mark that Javier Peña had you. "I'll fuck you so hard all night long that you won't be able to walk properly. Everyone in the office will know who owns this pussy!"

"Fuck!"

The velvet walls trembled and tightened around his cock as a spasm of pleasure spread through your body. You dug your nails into his shoulders, moaning loudly as you came. Javier was right behind you.

He thrust a few more times and came, spilling inside you. He breathed deeply, resting his head against the headrest. His dark eyes watched you lazily, you felt his hands running over your aching thighs.

"We should get back to the office." you finally spoke up. "Murphy will be there soon."

"You're probably right." he replied, his tongue licking his dry lips.

You slid off him, feeling his cum running down your thighs. However, you slipped into your panties and pants, trying to get yourself in order. The engine started.

Suddenly, you felt Javier's arm leaning against your seat, and when you looked up, you saw his face turned towards you. You couldn't decipher what was going on in his head.

"I really meant what I said." he declared, smiling slightly. "I have a soft spot for you, mujer loca.(crazy woman) And it will kill me someday."

"I don't know if I can make that happen, Javier." you replied, your hand tightened on his thigh. "You're worse than the cockroaches in our office's basement." he shook his head in disbelief "And that's why you were so tense and angry lately, huh? Your pants must have been really tight if you were still hard at the sight of me."

"Sweet as always." he snorted, laughing.

He leaned down and his lips touched yours again. But now he kissed you tenderly, exploring your mouth with his tongue, drawing from you the sweet moans he loved so much.

You were his death, the sweetest he had ever known.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

#javier peña #pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier peña x y/n #narcos #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #joel miller

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couldsewyouastitchandsavenine · 2 months

Text

Blank Spaces [Javier Peña]

a/n: she’s done it, she’s written smut. y’all can blame the couch. yeah, that couch. be gentle with me. it’s my first time.

pairing: javi peña x reader

word count: 5.1K

warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, mastrubation, strong language, references to violence and trauma, drinking & smoking, infidelity, pining

The crime scene is a blood bath and it looks as if every police officer in the city is here. There are red lights and blue lights, flashing through the jungle, and the cicadas screaming into the acrid night. There are loud voices and sounds, and there is silence, loudest of them all.

You crouch over a body.

Or… well, what’s left of one before the narcos had their way with it.

They like to send a message, and this one couldn’t be clearer if they’d painted it in ten-foot high letters with all the blood that’s pooling around your scuffed boots: no one fucks with the Medellín cartel. Not judges who can’t be bought. Not politicians who don’t know their place. Not innocent bystanders who get caught in the crossfire of this endless, senseless drug war. And sure as shit not some insignificant DEA agent from America who can’t mind his own fucking business.

Adjusting the focus with hands that tremble from exhaustions and other things you don’t care to examine too closely, you try to remember the last time you slept.

It’s been days, but it feels like weeks; months. A fucking year.

—

You hear him before you see him, the sound of his footsteps as familiar as your own heartbeat. Even in the chaos of the crime scene, with the crunch of gravel under dozens of boots and crackle of police radios, you would know him anywhere. It’s in the way he moves, the cadence of his walk. Authoritative. Unhesitating. Like he’s going somewhere important and he knows exactly how to get there.

Even with your eyes on your work, you can’t help but track him from the corner of your eye. Watch him as he exchanges greetings and handshakes with other agents and members of CNP. You catalogue the details like you’d do when staring at the surveillance photo; you just can’t help it. The hair that’s just a tad little too long, curling slightly against the nape of his neck. The moustache that should look sleazy but instead makes him seem rakish. Dangerous. The ever-present cigarette dangling carelessly from his fingers.

His gaze lands on you and your breath catches in your throat as you fumble with the rewinder. And then he’s walking through the sea of uniforms and grim faces until he’s standing next to you. Zippo between his fingers flicks to life and he inhales a lungful of smoke, exhaling through his nose seconds later.

“Tell me you got something,” he says by way of greeting.

You stand, joints protesting, and turn to face Javier Peña.

“And good evening to you too,” you reply, aiming for sarcasm but landing closer to weary resignation. “I got plenty, but you ain’t gonna like any of it.”

He squints at the tarp-covered lump that used to be a human. Clenches his jaw. Rubs a hand over his face and you watch his throat work as he swallows. He looks how you feel, you think. Wrung out and nauseous.

Catching yourself staring, you quickly look away, heat crawling up the back of your neck. You then snap a few final shots of the scene, just to have something to do with your hands, and pull the camera strap over your head.

"Buy you a drink?" he asks, already turning to leave, confident you'll follow.

So, you do. Just like always.

—

The bar is a dive, but that's nothing new. It’s the kind of place where the floor sticks to your shoes and the air tastes like stale cigarettes and broken dreams. Javi sits with his back to the wall, one booted foot resting on his opposite knee, his posture seemingly relaxed. You know better.

He knocks back two fingers of bottom-shelf whiskey like it's the water. You do the same. It burns going down but you almost welcome the pain. Anything to feel something that isn't the cold, creeping despair.

You don’t talk much, but that suits you just fine. There is no energy left for conversations. Or empty platitudes about how you’re fighting the good fights, how your work matters. It’s all so goddamn futile.

Still, there are worse ways to spend an evening than getting wasted with Javier Peña, you suppose. Even though you’ve heard the rumours about him. That he’s a cowboy. A hothead. Quick with his fists and even quicker with his dick.

But, you’ve also seen another side to him these past months, ever since you got assigned to assist DEA as the body count rises and the streets run red. You’ve watched him sketch portraits of the victims so their families will have something to bury. Seen how he never flinches from the brutality of his job, just squares his shoulders and wades back in. Seen him wrap a trembling, half-naked body of a young girl with his jacket, shielding her.

He's a good man, Javi. Rough around the edges, sure, but who isn't in this place? You’re all hip deep in shit creek without a paddle, just trying to keep your nostrils above the stink, long enough to do some good.

“Another one?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, just signals for another round. His knuckles are bruised and you wonder who he hit this time.

When you lift your gaze, you find his eyes are already on you, dark and glittering in the dimness of the bar. And it feels as if he’s pinning you down, flaying you open. Reading. Observing. Trying to see right into the marrow of your bones. It sends a shiver down your spine and you look away. Wrap your trembling fingers around the cool, rigid surface of your glass, condensation dripping onto the scarred table.

Javi’s hand then reaches for yours, and for a reason you can’t explain, you don’t pull away. Don’t tell him to fuck off, to keep hands to himself. Instead, you let him. Let him trace idle patterns across your wrist, each point of contact searing you like a brand. You should stop this. Should make an excuse and leave before you do something stupid.

But you’re tired. So fucking tired. Of death and of ugliness; of feeling numb. You want to feel alive, if just for a little while. Want to feel something. Anything.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, suggestive. “Wanna get out of here?”

Warning bells clang in your head like a distant echo of self-preservation, but you ignore them as you nod once, decisive. “Yeah.”

—

Javier’s apartment is bigger than yours but darker. The AC-unit rattles but it barely makes a dent in the oppressive heat as you stumble inside. Sweat prickles along your hairline and between your breasts as he crowds you against the door.

His mouth is on yours before you can overthink it. Whiskey and smoke. Tongue and teeth. It’s not gentle but that’s okay. You don’t want gentle. You want to be consumed. Want to forget. And he is ready to give you what you want because his hands are like a fever on your warm skin, pushing under your shirt to palm and cup your breasts—callouses rasping against your nipples. You arch into him. Shameless.

Fumbling with his belt, you get a hand into his underwear and take him into your fist. He’s hard, and hot, and throbbing against your palm. You stroke once, twice and he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck. ”

Moments later, Javi’s boot slams against the doors to his bedroom. Walks you back to the bed; a graceless tangle of limbs as he bears you down into the mattress. Rips your shirt as he yanks it over your head. Still, you can’t care less. Because it’s what you want. What you need.

Heat. Fever. His skin against yours.

After that, everything narrows to physical sensation and a handful of filthy words. The slick slide of your tongues. The ache between your thighs as he wrings orgasm after shuddering orgasm from your willing body. You scratch angry marks down his back and he hisses but doesn’t stop you. Just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and thrusts into you harder.

It’s messy and it’s desperate. Artless. There’s no finesse, just a furious coupling. An exorcism. You cry out his name over and over again and for a few blissful minutes the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Afterwards you lay side by side, not touching. Chest heaving. You stare up at the nicotine stained ceiling and will yourself not to cry. It’s just sex, for fuck’s sake. A means to an end. You don’t need it to mean anything more.

You’re still telling yourself that an hour later as you hunt for your underwear in the golden glow of his bedroom. They’re a lost cause, ripped and unwearable. You ball them up and shove them in your pocket as a memento of Javier’s impatience.

Behind you, Javi lights up a cigarette. Clears his throat.

You ignore him. Focus on the task of getting dressed; of putting yourself back together piece by piece.

But then he says your name. And it's so foreign coming from his mouth that it stops you in your tracks. It's as if he's tasting your name on his tongue for the first time, savouring the way it feels; the way it sounds.

You tense, your back to him as you button up your jeans with shaking fingers, trying to brace yourself for the inevitable brush-off.

“This can’t happen again.”

Even expecting it, the words still land like a punch to the gut. You force yourself to turn around and face him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet pooled around his waist, looking as wrecked as you feel, and it would be funny if it didn't hurt so fucking much.

“I know,” you say.

And you hate how small your voice sounds, how pathetic. Hate yourself for even thinking that this could be anything other than what it was — two broken people using each other to feel something other than despair for a little while.

So you leave without another word. Walk home in the hazy dawn light, feeling emptier than ever. Later, in the shower, you stand under the spray until the water runs cold. Let it wash away the smell of him on your skin. You place Javier Peña and the ghost of his hands on your body into a box in your mind and lock it tight, throwing away the key.

Tell yourself it's for the best.

And if you slide your hand inside your panties night after night to thoughts of his mouth between your thighs and his fingers digging into your hips, well. No one needs to know.

—

Six months later…

"So I hear congratulations are in order."

The words startle you so badly that you nearly drop the tongs you're holding.

You've been hiding out by the grill for the past twenty minutes, using the excuse of tending the hamburgers to avoid making small talk with Steve's DEA buddies from Miami. It's his birthday cookout, and it's the last place you want to be, but Connie had insisted, and you couldn't think of a believable excuse fast enough.

You paste on a smile that feels more like a grimace and turn to face Javier Peña, smirking at you over the rim of a sweating bottle of Corona. You've barely seen him in weeks, your paths crossing only when strictly necessary, and even then, you've done your best to avoid being alone with him. Still, you can’t deny that he looks good. Too good. The bastard.

"Excuse me?" you say, trying to keep your tone light. Casual. Like your heart isn't suddenly pounding in your chest. Like your palms aren't slick with sweat that has nothing to do with the heat of the grill.

Javi leans a hip against the table, his body loose and relaxed in a way you never see him at work. "You and Golden Boy. Connie says it's getting serious."

Golden Boy. That's what they call Michael Whitman, the attorney sent to DEA from the Langley office that the Murphys have been not-so-subtly throwing in your path for months. You'd finally agreed to a drink with him just to shut them up, and had been pleasantly surprised to find that you actually have things in common beyond a mutual love of cheap tequila and bad action movies.

He's not the kind of guy you usually go for — too clean-cut, too earnest, with a boyish charm that makes you feel old and jaded in comparison. But he's funny and smart, and most importantly, uncomplicated. There's no baggage there, no messy history. Just easy conversation and the promise of something simple. Something you can control.

"I don't know if I'd call it serious," you say carefully. "We've only been on a few dates."

Javi takes a long pull from his beer, his throat working as he swallows, and you look away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of char marks on the hamburgers.

"He's here today."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway.

"Yeah, Connie invited him." Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, like it's coming from somewhere far away.

Javi makes a noncommittal noise, a hum that could mean anything or nothing at all. You risk a glance at him, and immediately wish you hadn't. He's looking at you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. Then, his gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there for a moment that stretches into eternity, and you feel heat crawling up your neck.

"He seems nice," Javi says finally, his tone carefully neutral, and you almost laugh at the banality of it. Nice. The ultimate kiss of death, the faint praise that damns with its very blandness.

"He is." The words come out more forcefully than you intend, and you punctuate them by flipping a burger with a vicious twist of your wrist. Hot grease splatters your bare arm, and you swear under your breath, reaching for a napkin to blot at the stinging pain.

But Javi is already there, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist in a touch that is achingly familiar, a sense memory that transports you back to that night, to the heat of his skin against yours.

He examines the angry red welt rising on your forearm, his brows drawn together in a frown of concern. "You need to run this under cold water."

You try to pull away, but his grip is implacable, his fingers like bands of steel around your wrist. "It's fine," you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Your name falls from his lips, low and serious, and the sound of it sends a spike of heat straight through you, pooling in your belly.

Memories of the last time he spoke to you in that voice, mouthed your name into the sweat-slick curve of your neck as he moved inside you, threaten to overwhelm you, and you ruthlessly shove them aside.

That way lies madness, a rabbit hole of longing and regret that you can't afford to tumble down.

"I said it's fine, Javi." You finally manage to twist out of his grasp, taking a deliberate step back.

Hurt flashes in his dark eyes. It’s brief, but there nonetheless. Then, he nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. Message received.

"I'll leave you to it, then." He turns to go and you exhale shakily.

But then he stops, his back to you, his shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"I'm glad you're happy," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of conversation and the sizzle of grease on the grill. "You deserve it."

And then he's gone, striding across the lawn without a backward glance, leaving you staring after him, your heart in your throat and a hollow ache in your chest.

Are you happy? You’re not unhappy, that’s for sure.

So why does it feel like Javi just ripped the scab off of a wound you thought had long since healed, exposing the raw, festering hurt beneath. You shake your head in disgust at your own weakness. At the part of you that still years for his touch, his taste. The way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before.

This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous. It was one night, months ago. A mistake. A moment of weakness that meant nothing. Less than nothing. And you need to get over it. Need to move on.

So, you focus on the task at hand, determined to push all thoughts of Javier Peña out of your mind. And as your brain struggles to do so, a pair of arms circle your waist from behind. You stiffen for a moment, but then relax, recognising Michael’s clean scent of soap and aftershave.

“Hey you,” he mumbles, nuzzling your ear, blissfully oblivious to your inner turmoil.

“Hey yourself,” you answer. Force yourself to relax into his embrace. Tip your head back onto his shoulder and let him press a chaste kiss to your cheek. Curse your traitorous body for yearning for another man's touch, a man who made it clear he doesn't want anything more from you than a quick fuck.

You just need time, that's all. Time and distance. A chance to let the wounds Javi inflicted heal properly, without constantly picking at the scabs.

And if your heart feels like it's breaking in your chest, if every breath is an effort, a reminder of the emptiness that yawns inside you... well. That's no one's business but your own.

—

You join the others at the picnic table and you let the conversation wash over you. Laugh in all the right places. Deflect Connie's good-natured ribbing about your cooking skills. Studiously ignore Javi where he sits at the other end of the table, a pretty secretary hanging on his every word. You think the girl's name is Maritza. Or Mariana. Something with an M. You try not to care.

It doesn't matter. You and Javi are ancient history. You were never even history to begin with. Just two people seeking oblivion in each others' bodies for a few hours. Hardly the stuff of epic romance.

So you smile and nod and make a show of enjoying Michael's arm around your shoulders. Listen attentively as he tells a funny story about a deposition gone wrong.

He really is a good guy, Michael. Steady. Dependable. The kind of man you could maybe build a future with someday, if you could just get Javier fucking Peña out of your system. Out of your head. Out of your goddamn heart.

But every time you look in Javi's direction he's already watching you, dark eyes inscrutable. It's unnerving. Like he's trying to see right into your battered, cynical soul. You drop your gaze to her plate, appetite gone. Push potato salad around with your fork as your stomach churns.

The seconds drag by with agonising slowness but finally, blessedly, the party starts to wind down. People drift off in twos and threes until it's just you, Michael and the Murphys left. You make your excuses, pleading an early morning at work. Hug Connie and wish Steve a final happy birthday. Determinedly don’t look around for Javi. He slipped away at some point without saying goodbye, Maritza, Mariana, whoever giggling on his arm as he escorted her to his car.

And that's just fine. It's not like you expected anything else.

Michael drives you home, one hand resting warmly on your knee. You lean your forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the city lights blur past, and try not to compare the feel of his fingers to another's. Rougher. More gun-callused. It's a losing battle, and you know it.

When he walks you to your door, you half expect him to try and invite himself in. Brace herself to demure. Things between you haven't progressed much beyond some heated kisses on your couch but you know he wants more. Can feel him holding himself back, trying not to scare you off.

But he just smiles. Touches your cheeks with tenderness that makes your heart ache. Tells you he'll call you tomorrow to arrange some plans for the weekend. You nod vaguely, murmur a goodnight and escape into your apartment.

The door closes behind you with a muffled click, and you sag back against it, the exhaustion hitting you like a physical blow. You feel wrung out. Hollowed out. Like someone has reached inside you and scooped out all your vital organs, leaving you empty and aching.

"Get it together," you grit out. Push yourself off the door and head for the bathroom, stripping off your clothes as you go. A shower. That's what you need. A long, hot shower to scour the day from your skin.

You stand under the spray until the water runs cold, forehead pressed to the slick tiles. Think about the night six months ago when you let Javi fuck your sadness and self-loathing into something resembling peace.

And the memories come in flashes. Teeth sharp at your throat. Fingers dragging down your sides, digging into your hips, holding you steady as he pushed inside you, stretching you, filling you, his eyes locked on yours in the dark, seeing you, all of you, in a way no one else ever had.

You shove a hand between your legs almost angrily. Find yourself wet and wanting. It only takes a few rough strokes before you’re coming with a bitten off cry, Javi's name trapped behind your teeth.

And only after, when it’s over, you stand with your face tipped up into the spray of water, allowing yourself to cry.

—

The next morning you’re in your cramped closet of a darkroom, a negative strip held up to the low light. You look for patterns in the grain. Clues to illuminate the black and white. Explanations that make sense. Pieces to solve the bloody puzzle. You hang the sheet with steady hands and reach for another. This is your comfort. Your penance. Your grace. In this red-tinged womb of a room you reconstruct narratives and build cases, one damning frame at a time. Javier Peña and his big sad eyes and dangerous hands have no place here.

Except the door is opening behind you, a sliver of fluorescence creeping across the floor to illuminate those shoes. Black boots. Great. Just what you need today.

You sigh and square your shoulders.

“Something I can help you with, agent?”

You don't turn around. Focus instead on the photos in front of your face. If you ignore him maybe he'll take the hint and fuck off. But Javier Peña has never been one to fuck off when you want him to.

Instead, he steps fully into the room and closes the door with a soft snick. The darkness swallows you once more. And once more he says your name. Low and rough like the rasp of his calluses on your skin. You shiver despite yourself. Set down the negatives with fingers that tremble.

“What do you want, Javi?”

There's a rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight, and you can picture him perfectly, even with your back turned. You imagine him placing his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side. That stupid stance he adopts when he's trying to be casual. Harmless. As if a man like Javier Peña could ever be harmless.

“I want to talk.”

“So talk.”

A frustrated exhale. “Can you at least look at me? Please?”

The ‘please’ snags at your chest like a fishhook. Pulls you around to face him against your better judgement. He's haloed in the dull red glow, edges lined in shadow, and he looks like something out of a fever dream. Or a nightmare. You can't decide which.

“I'm looking. Talk.”

He drags a hand through his hair, already mussed from the humidity. Or maybe from someone else's fingers, and you stomp down on the curl of jealousy that licks up your spine, hot and bitter.

“I don't like how we left things.”

You nod only once and look down at your hands. “Well, you made yourself pretty clear, Javi. “This—,” you gesture between you, “can't happen again.”

“That's not…” He makes a frustrated noise, moustache twitching as he presses his lips together. “I didn't mean for it to sound like that.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable, in the thin cotton of your tee. "How did you mean for it to sound?"

He takes a step forward, then another when you don’t immediately back away. “I'm not good at this. Relationships. Emotions.” He says the word like it tastes foul in his mouth. Like it’s a foreign concept he can’t quite wrap his head around. “I’m fucked up. You know that.”

"Everyone's fucked up," you counter, your tone flat, unimpressed. "What's your point?"

"My point," he grits out, his jaw clenching, his hands curling into fists at his sides, "is that I care about you. More than I should. More than is wise, considering our line of work."

"You care about me." It comes out flat. Disbelieving. "Peña, I've got work to do...," you trail off, hoping he will take the hint.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, it's hard to believe that a man like you could care about someone like me. A man who could have anyone, anything, with just a flash of that devastating smile. A man who fucks his trauma into faceless, nameless women and tosses them aside like so much garbage when he's done.

But that's not fair, and you know it. Javi's not that man, not really. Oh, he plays the part well enough, all swagger and smirks and devil-may-care attitude. But you've seen beneath the mask, seen the wounded, vulnerable boy lurking in the dark wells of his eyes. The boy who's seen too much. Lost too much. The boy who's just trying to survive in a world that wants to eat him alive.

“Javi,” you start, then stop. Swallow hard. “What do you want from me?”

He's close enough now that you can feel the heat of him. Can smell the familiar mix of cigarettes and cologne that always makes you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. His eyes are intent on your face, searching for something you're not sure you can give, something you're not sure you have to offer.

"I want..." He pauses, his throat working as he swallows, his eyes never leaving yours. "Fuck. I want everything." His hands come up to cradle your face, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "I'm so tired of pretending I don't feel this," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips, his forehead pressing against yours. "So goddamn tired."

And you know the feeling. That soul-deep exhaustion that comes from holding yourself apart. From denying what you want, who you want, because it's safer that way. Except it's not safe at all, is it? It's just a different kind of pain.

"What about your reputation?" you ask, trying to be cheeky. Trying to lighten the mood, but your voice comes out breathless. Shaky. "Wouldn't want to soil that with something as pedestrian as feelings."

Javi huffs a laugh, warm and fond. “Fuck my reputation. Fuck everyone else's expectations.” He leans in, nose brushing yours. Voice dropping to a rumble you feel in your bones. “I just want you.”

It's too much. The words. The weight of his gaze. The nearness of him. It's everything you've ever wanted and everything you've ever feared, and you can't take it anymore.

You fist your hands in his shirt and yank him down into a bruising kiss. He makes a hungry noise against your mouth, a growl that vibrates through your entire body, and angles his head, deepening the kiss until you're dizzy with it. Until you can't tell where you end and he begins.

He tears his mouth away from yours, blazing a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting.

"Fuck, you feel good," he mumbles into your skin, his breath hot and damp against your flesh. "Been wanting this, wanting you."

"Javi, please..."

"Please what?" He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your shoulder. Slips his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, his fingers finding your slick heat. Circles your clit with a teasing touch, a barely-there pressure that makes you want to scream. "Tell me what you need."

You writhe against him, shameless. "You," you gasp, your voice raw, ragged. "I need you."

And then he is lifting you onto the counter, scattering negatives and bottles of chemicals. You’ll care about that later. Right now all you can focus on is the heat of his skin against yours as he peels you out of your tee. The scrape of his stubble on the tender skin of your throat. The sound of his belt being unbuckled and the rustle of his jeans. The perfect stretch and ache as he pushes inside you, filling you up until there's no room for anything else. No room for doubt or fear or the certain knowledge that this will end in disaster.

You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him deeper, your fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his back.

“Fuck—” he grits out, hips snapping into yours at a punishing pace.

You gape, unable to breathe, the cry lodged somewhere in your throat as your head rolls into his neck, your entire body surrendering to the pleasure. He doesn't stop, though. Just keeps going. Thrusting. Claiming. Filthy words in a mix of English and Spanish falling from his lips and into your ear. Words you both understand and have no idea what they mean.

Javi slides a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, finds your clit and rubs in tight, focused circles, and you keen. Tip your back against the wall as pleasure crashes through you in waves. He follows a moment later, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he pulses inside you.

You stay like that for a long moment, trading lazy kisses as your heart rates slow and your breathing evens out. Finally Javi pulls back to look at you. Smiles the way you’d never seen him smile before.

"This is probably a terrible idea," you say, only half-joking.

His mouth quirks. "Probably.

"We'll probably blow up in each other's faces.”

"Most likely.”

You sigh, looping your arms around his neck. "But you still want to try?" you ask, your voice small, uncertain, afraid to hope.

He kisses you again, slow and sweet. Rests his forehead against yours. "More than anything."

And God help you, but you believe him. Believe in this impossible, improbable thing between you despite every instinct screaming that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.

But that's a worry for another day. Right now, at this moment, you have everything you want. Everything you need.

The rest you’ll figure out together.

#pedro pascal #javi peña x reader #javi peña smut #javier peña x reader #narcos fanfiction #javi peña #javier peña x you #javier peña #pedro pascal character fanfiction #javi peña x you #javi peña x fem!reader

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 year

Text

Blow (2001) dir. Ted Demme

#Blow (2001)#blow #johnny deep #American biographical crime drama film #biographical crime drama film #Medellín Cocaine Cartel #George Jung (played by Johnny Depp)#Penélope Cruz as Mirtha Jung #00's #00s #2001 #me and who #me n who

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starry-eyes-love · 5 months

Text

Never Letting You Go

Masterlist

Pairing | Agent Javier Pena x Agent F!Reader

Summary | What starts out as a shitty Valentine’s Day turns into everything that you’ve ever wanted. Javi treats you the way you need, by never letting you go.

A/N: First time writing for Javier's character, forgot this was in the vault. Enjoy

(As a reminder I'm no longer doing tag lists, make sure to turn on notifications on my page for when I post).

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut

Language, angst, mentions of prostitution and Agent work, mentions of the cartel, mentions of cheating (from your previous relationship), grinding, mentions of penetrative sex, soft fluffy moments.

Word Count: 5.5K

“Fuck baby,” he said, grinding against your ass with a little bit more force. “Do you feel that? See, that’s what you fucking do to me woman.” Javi was now rocking harder into you, giving you slow deep thrusts. You could feel his hard outline in his pants as he was seated firmly against you. “This is what you’ve always done to me. I don’t hate you, fuck baby, I like you. I want you. So if you’ll shut up long enough, then maybe you’ll hear me say it.”

Today was Valentine's Day, and usually this was something that didn’t concern Javier Peña. He was a DEA agent that was in the middle of trying to bring down drug dealers and drug lords, he didn’t have time to be concerned about feelings or emotions on a specific day on the calendar. But yet here he was, in the files room pacing back and forth, trying to calm his nerves. Javier was never nervous when it came to the opposite sex. He usually was always so calm, cool, and collected when handling them. Well, except for today that is, and especially when dealing with you. Somehow you had gotten under his skin just enough that now he was pacing back and forth, mind racing of what to do if you didn't like the gift that he just left you on your desk. He was so lost in his own head that he didn’t hear the door open and Steve Murphy step in.

“Javi, what the hell are you-” Steve said, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Javi pacing back and forth, running his hand down his face.

“She ain’t gonna like the gift. Why did you say it was from you and not a secret admirer? Jesus. Soy un idiota (I’m such an idiot).” Javi mumbled to himself.

“You got a lady a Valentine’s gift there Peña?” Murphy said, slamming the files on the desk and causing Javi to jump. Javi just stood there, not answering his friend and fellow DEA agent’s question. Steve, seeing how nervous Javi was, continued to tease him slightly. “Who’s the lucky girl, Peña?”

Before he could answer, they both heard you marching down the hall, yelling, “Peña, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, you arrogant bastard.”

About a year ago you were transferred to Columbia in an attempt to assist in the capture of Pablo Escobar. At first, you were excited about serving your country and bringing the bad guys to justice. That was before meeting your two male DEA partner’s, however. The first time you met Steve Murphy and Javier Peña it was love at first insult. You were the head female DEA agent hired to work alongside them in helping bring down the Medellín Cartel, and subsequently Pablo Escobar. However, your transfer to Columbia somehow pissed both of them off.

Since you had arrived, all those two idiots did was piss you off one way or another. They were the biggest source of your headaches and irritations to date, and one of the biggest reasons why you hated your current job. They wouldn’t listen to you, and they continuously left you out of the loop on information. To make matters worse, when they got bored you were the target of their practical jokes, like today.

Today was Valentine’s Day, and one day on the calendar that you wished you could just completely remove. You hated Valentine’s Day with a passion, ever since you found your ex-fiance balls deep in your sister on Valentine’s Day one year ago. It was after that you found out that the man who you thought loved you had always cheated on you with your sister, from Moment. Fucking. One. You were together five years with him, and apparently all those five years he was also fucking your sister every chance he got. You were happy to hear that her husband caught them in bed and had filed for a divorce. You thought it was poetic how she lost a man who made a shit ton of money for an asshole who could hardly pay rent for his shitty apartment. So when you took the job transfer to Columbia you felt okay with the situation that had happened, as shitty as it sounded.

But then last night your sister called you and informed you that she was getting married, and that she was pregnant too. She advised you that it would be best if you didn’t attend the wedding because of hard feelings the two of you had. When you asked who the soon-to-be husband and dad was, she had informed you that it was your ex-fiance and that they both were happy they found someone that loved them deeply. As soon as you heard that, you told her to ‘go to fucking hell,’ and then slammed the phone down. Out of anger and rage you grabbed the bottle of alcohol that was on the counter, and downed most of it in one go. Yeah, you weren’t going to that fucking wedding.

When you woke up and realized it was Valentine’s Day, you seriously contemplated calling in work sick. But you remembered that you had a morning meeting with your bosses and you knew that Javi and Steve wouldn’t show up. So you begrudgingly got up and showered, swearing underneath your breath of how life wasn’t fair. You hated today, Valentine’s Day, with a passion. Six years ago you met your ex on Valentine’s Day because he was stood up on a date, a date with your sister you found out much later. Then last year, on Valentine’s Day, you caught him cheating with your sister. How did life get so fucked up?

To add to your already sour mood, when you got into work early you noticed that all the rest of the females in the office had big bouquet of flowers on their desks from Javi and Steve. Each of them had a note saying that they really appreciated all the hard work that they have done, and that they were special angels for helping them out. When you got to your desk you didn’t see any flowers or note telling you that you were special. The only note that you saw was from Steve saying “don’t fuck up this meeting” and asked if you took your “anti-bitch pill today yet.” Yeah you hated this fucking day.

The meeting that was only supposed to be an hour went on for three long hours, and you were berated for two out of the three hours in the meeting. You had to once again mop up the mess that both Steve and Javi had created, promising to get results instead of excuses. Recently, all the leads that your department was getting in capturing Escobar were cold, no one had seen him or heard of him in almost a month. Even when you went in and shook the crime tree, nothing fell out of place which made everyone uneasy, especially your superiors.

Finally when the meeting was over with you were able to return to your desk to try to let your heart and blood pressure return to normal. When you approached your desk, you saw a little basket there with a pretty red ribbon with sparkles in it. You looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed or was standing there, you also glanced quickly under your desk to make sure Steve or Javi wasn’t sitting there waiting for you to relax so they could scare you. When you noticed nothing was out of the ordinary you felt your heart flutter in your chest, especially when the tag read “to the most special DEA female agent” in Javier’s handwriting.

At first your heart fluttered, thinking that finally someone, Javi, took the time to give a shit. If you were being honest with yourself, you did like Javier Peña. He was very sexy and attractive. When he wasn’t being an asshole, he was truly sensitive and understood the female sex with their emotions. You thought that he didn’t care anymore about you, but the longer you looked at the name tag on your gift, the more you thought that maybe you were wrong at your assessment. Your heart raced and you felt the heat creep up your neck at the thought that maybe Javi did see you as something more than just an individual who worked with him each day. But when you opened the basket and saw the gift that was laying there for you, your wonder turned into embarrassment as your face fell. Then when you read the note inside you saw red with anger. That bastard took it one step too far this time.

Once Javi heard your voice he suddenly froze, slowly listening to where you were coming from. When he realized that you were getting closer, he glanced over at Murphy with wide, scared eyes. He mouthed “shh, shut the fuck up,” when Steve went to open his mouth to ask Javi something.

As Steve stood there he was trying to understand what the hell his partner had done to anger you so much. He mouthed to Javi ‘what the fuck did you do man?’ Javi just shook his head and placed his finger to his lips to silence Steve’s further questioning. He wasn’t trying to be a coward, but with how angry you were right now, he didn’t want to come face to face with you. Yes, Javi had a knack for pissing you off so much that you’d threaten to kill him. But from how angry you sounded, he figured that if he was standing in front of you right now, that you would in fact shoot him dead.

Javi and Steve continued to stand in silence together for a few minutes. Javi was hoping that you would just continue down the hallway and not stop outside of this door. For a moment it sounded like you had moved on, so much so that Javi felt himself visibly relax and let out a sigh. But that moment was short lived. When Javi heard the door knob turn he quickly said, “shit Murph, lie,” and then he ducked behind one of the filing cabinets against the wall.

“What the-” Steve said, looking confused, but for only a minute as you quickly came bursting through the door seething with anger.

“Murphy, where is he?” you said, steam practically coming out of your ears at how mad and pissed off you were at Javier Peña.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t give me that I don’t know shit. You two are practically glued together at the hip, so where the hell is he?” You bit back, standing right in front of Steve’s face.

“Woah, now wait just a second there princess, don’t be biting my head off. I don’t know where he is, or what he’s done, but you can just curb that attitude of yours and-”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what he’s done. This smells like both Peña and Murphy antics to me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well sorry cariño, I don’t know where he is or what he’s done.”

Huffing, you let out another long sigh, balling your fists up and slamming them tight against your side. “This is what he’s done,” you said, shoving the box you were holding with the card in his face. “And if you happen to see him, you can tell him that I’m looking for him.”

You went to leave, but Murphy blocked your exit saying, “wait a second here princess, don’t go and give me something like this and then take off. Let’s see what’s gotten your panties in a twist.”

“I knew it, it was your idea. I don’t get why you both have to always be so-” But before you could finish Steve had opened the box and saw what was inside it. Steve pulled out a pair of black lace panties that had a vibrator attached to them, and as he did he noticed the note at the bottom of the box. The note was written in Javi’s handwriting and said, “for all those lonely nights baby, when you’re so wound up and don’t have a man that can be inside you. Enjoy.” Signed, Javier Peña.

Murphy was shocked at what he saw and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He knew Javi loved to rile you up, and he had to hand it to his partner, he definitely got you going. It was the perfect gift to get even for all those irritating moments the three of you had. But when he looked up at you he immediately froze, his laugh dying out in his throat. Your eyes were red and puffy now as frustrated tears streamed down your face. Steve could tell that the jokes maybe went a little too far this time.

“Sweetheart, we’re-”

“Don’t, just don’t Steve,” you said, grabbing the box and throwing everything back inside, not wanting to look up at him. “I get it, it’s a joke. A really fucking mean joke, ya know. You all can have any woman that you want. And here I am, in Columbia, and I can’t even get sleazy drug lords to choose me when I’m undercover. Shit, I couldn’t even keep my ex-fiance faithful on this day. You guys will find this hilarious, last year I found my ex fucking my sister. Apparently he never wanted me, wanted her cause now they’re getting married and having a baby and I’m not welcome around my family any more, cause I guess I can’t keep anyone happy. So nice of you to give the other girls flowers, and tell them how great they are when they don’t even fucking do anything for you. Meanwhile I have five bullet wounds and several cracked ribs for covering your asses. By the way, you guys are getting a raise in pay and I’m getting a 5 dollar reduction in pay. Apparently the superiors feel that it’ll give you guys motivation or something. So yeah, you’re right, perfect joke. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to me.” And with that you left, slamming the door.

This was a joke that Peña and Murphy started with you about six months ago when you were placed undercover to go and try to extract information of the whereabouts of Pablo Escobar. They placed you at a brothel, knowing that some of Pablo’s higher up men were going to come to choose women to give them sexual favors for the night. With the help of a few informants, they had dressed you up and gave you pointers on how women acted in these places in Colombia. Javi had made a joke at you that you were the highest paid prostitute on the street, but when it came time for Pablo’s men to take you, you were the only one left behind. You weren’t ugly, you actually were quite beautiful, but that night Javi and Murphy had a hay day with you, as you were the only one that was not chosen. To make matters worse, you had gone out with them that night and couldn’t even get a guy to buy you a drink at the bar, let alone talk with you. And now the joke, you thought, had gone too far. Humiliated and embarrassed, you went and gathered your things and left to go home for the day, not wanting to see anyone again.

After you stormed out, and Murphy knew you were gone, he walked over to where Javi was, facing the back wall. “You got her vibrating panties?” Steve said, shaking his head and laughing.

“At the time, I thought it was a good idea. But something got lost in translation I suppose,” he said, still not wanting to leave his hiding spot.

“Peña, let me give you some advice. If you like a girl, don’t get her vibrating panties and then give her a card that says ‘for all those lonely nights when you don’t have a man.’ It just makes you look like an even bigger dick than what you already are.”

“Yeah, I realize that now,” he said, still not coming out of his hiding spot.

“Did ya know any of that other shit she was talking about?” Steve said, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. Javi shook his head no as he came out of where he was hiding.

“Kinda fucked up if you ask me. Fucking her own sister and then marrying her. Talk about a cold hearted son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, I never knew. Fuck Murph, what do I do?”

“You already know what you gotta do man. Or do I need to call her back in here so she can spell it out for you?”

“Fuck you,” Javi said, walking out the door to go find you. He felt like the biggest dick right now. The gift and note wasn’t a joke from him, and he hated to think that you felt like it was.

Javi eventually learned that you had decided to go home for the day, leaving your work here. “She’s taking a sick day,” is what Maria, the secretary in the front office, had told him. Javi had attempted to get some paperwork done, but he kept thinking about you and how hurt you sounded when talking with Murphy. He didn’t mean for it to come off as a joke, in fact Javi wanted you to have the panties for a good reason, he wanted you to wear them for him.

Javi had been the biggest pain in your ass from the start. He was always coming over to your desk, forcing you to work through his work, making you work in the field with him, etc. To you it felt like he was punishing you for being good at your job. But in reality, he secretly liked you and wanted to be with you. Javi didn’t know why he couldn’t communicate his feelings to you, why he always had to make fun of you or rile you up. “I’m taking a sick day,” Javi told Murphy as he walked towards the door.

Murphy, who was still at his desk, said “Connie said she’s at home now.” Connie was one of your best friends here in Colombia. Being in a foreign country was hard, and making friends was even harder, especially what you did for a job. Your friends back at home disagreed with your career choice of being sent to Colombia, so your entire support structure was no longer there. Connie was one of the nicest women you had met or seen in the longest time. She understood your career choice, and didn’t hold it against you when your plans would change.

Javi had stopped and bought a dozen flowers from a street vendor before he got to your house. When he knocked on the door he softly said, “querida, I’m so sorry. Please open up, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I-”

“Who the fuck said you made me cry Peña?” you said, opening up the door suddenly, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes, tears at your lash line.

“No one I, Jesus woman, c’mere,” he said, stepping inside and placing the flowers on the end table by the door when he saw your face. He then reached for you, pulled you tight into his chest, holding you as the dam opened up again and the tears fell. “I’m so sorry baby, so sorry. I didn’t mean how it came out, fuck-”

“What did I do for you to hate me?” you said, voice muffled in his chest.

“Nothin’ baby, I don’t hate you, I-” he said, rubbing his hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. This was not going the way that he had hoped.

“I mean, I pull extra duty, and am one of the strongest hitters on the team. Fuck Javi, I even have brought in more leads than Murphy and yet you publicly humiliate me.” You said, as a sob broke free from your mouth. You didn’t know why you were opening up, allowing Javi to attempt to soothe you. You just didn’t have it in you to fight right now, too emotionally worked up to even care.

“No, no, baby. It ain’t like that, look at me,” Javi said, pulling you away from his chest and gently cupping your face with his hands. “Querida, I got them for you and for me, for you to think about me.”

Shaking your head you stepped back and said, “what? Peña, what the fuck are you talking about for you and me? I’m not-”

“Shit, this ain’t coming out the way I wanted it to,” Javi said, pacing back and forth in your living room. Javi was mumbling to himself, unsure of how to deal with the situation and correct it. Not knowing how to place it into words, his feelings, he thought that he could show you. He immediately reached for you and kissed you hard on the lips. Javi, once again, was hoping the kiss would show you that he cared, but all you read was he was being condescending once again. You immediately pulled back and found your strength and slapped Javi hard across his face.

“Javi, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Just because I’m crying, trying to understand why the guy I have a crush on hates me, doesn’t give you the right to-”

“I like you,” he said, rubbing the sting site he felt across his cheek. Damn that woman could hit hard, he thought to himself. You continued to talk overtop of him, not realizing what he just said. You kept saying how much of an asshole he’s been to you and how much you hate men as you’ve always been taken advantage of. Javi shook his head at you, hearing words such as dickhead, asshole along with other words such as, pendejo and cabrón. You kept telling him off, not listening to anything that he had just told you.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said, “I can’t fucking believe you, you don’t listen baby.” He was now getting just as frustrated at you for not listening to him. She says I don’t listen, hell, she doesn’t listen.

All you heard was ‘I can’t fucking believe you’ and nothing else. Once again, you marched over to smack Javi hard across the face. But this time, he caught your hand mid-air saying, “I don’t think so cariño. You only get one free hit, and you already used it up for today.”

The sadness that you felt earlier had now turned into blinding anger and rage. You started fighting back. You were done with men treating you like assholes, for cheating on you with your sister, for not listening to you or even attempt at paying attention. You started hitting Javi’s chest, yelling at him and saying, “you’re an asshole,” over and over again. You were throwing a temper tantrum, frustrated about the last few days, and Javi was your outlet. However, Javi didn’t see your attitude nor behavior as enduring or even cute. Him, having about enough of you using him as a physical punching bag, decided to take matters into his own hands to calm you down. He grabbed your hand and threw it behind your back, slamming you to the ground while yelling, “Enough.”

You kept trying to kick him, to hurt him more. You weren’t part of this planet anymore, you just saw red at reliving every shitty moment for the last six years. Of taking the smacks to the face your boyfriend gave you when he was drunk and you questioned why he had red lipstick stains on his shirt and around his cock as you undressed him from a night out with his friends. What you didn’t know is that it was your sister’s lips that were around him, and not some other woman. It didn’t make those moments easier, but you always thought that maybe it was just a one night stand, not a five year long relationship behind your back.

You kept kicking Javi, yelling that you were done with people hurting you, clearly not seeing him anymore. To help calm you down, Javi maneuvered his body so he was sitting on your ass, with your arm behind your back. Your chest was laying flat on the floor, his chest then tight on your back as he snarled in your ear, “you’re gonna stop this shit, right now, stop trying to hit me.”

“Fuck you David-” you said, not realizing that you called him your ex.

“I’m not him baby. I never was, nor will I ever be him. So stop calling me David, my name isn’t fucking David.” Javi growled in your ear, leaning harder into you to get you to calm down.

You finally relaxed at hearing Javi speak to you, reminding yourself that he wasn’t your ex. As soon as you relaxed Javi released your arm, but stayed firm against you, hands on both sides of your head as he breathed hard and fast at the fight that you gave him. It was then that you remembered everything that Javi and you were, everything that you were alone.

Sometimes at night when you couldn’t sleep you’d go back into work and find Javi working alone at his desk. He’d always come over and ask you why you were showing up at work around midnight on a day where you just placed in 12 hours. Alone the two of you would always find moments where you could be soft with each other. He’d order you both greasy pizza to eat at night and he’d tease you of picking off all the pepperoni. Nights where you were scared to be home alone, he’d take you back to his house and you’d sleep in his bed when he slept on the couch. When you got shot several times, after you were discharged home, he’d stay with you in your apartment. He even slept next to you on your bed a few times.

He also bathed you when you got sick with a fever from the infection of the bullet wounds, and nursed you back to health for several weeks. If you were being honest, Javi was your best friend when the two of you were alone. But at work, he was the biggest dickhead. You were jealous when he started flirting with the new secretary that came in, Phillis, and hated when you saw him at the brothel down the street. Javi never attempted sex with you, and honestly, it upset you. You wanted him, but apparently he never wanted you. So at work you took out your frustration the only way you knew how, you became a pain in his ass like he was a pain in yours.

But when Javi didn’t move, continuing to breathe hard in and out, you knew that something had changed. You went to move your ass and immediately he hissed “don’t” as his hips stayed tight against yours, not moving nor letting you up. After a moment of submitting to him you heard him ask in a strained voice “are you calm enough for me to move or do we have to keep you like this for a little longer?”

You didn’t know why you felt like saying it out loud, but you didn’t want to play this game of not being honest with him anymore. “I’ve calmed down, but Javi, I’d like it if you stay like this for a little while, hell you can even push deeper into me if you want.” You gave Javi a little wiggle of your ass at his statement.

The air around the two of you changed, thickening with sexual tension. “Shit baby, ya can’t say that to me,'' he said, slightly leaning forward and pushing his crotch tighter to your ass. You felt him slightly rock back and forth, groaning at the feel of you beneath him.

You slightly arched your back, pushing up so he could kiss your neck. When you changed the position both of you moaned loud in unison, feeling his hips slowly grind harder into you. You never remembered feeling this good by just letting a man grind into you, but fuck, Javi was slowly making you feel feral.

“Javi, I don’t-” you said slowly.

“No,” He growled, not wanting you to tell him to stop. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold back. He wanted so desperately to be deep inside of your warm cunt that he was struggling right now to keep his composure. “Fuck hermosa, feel what you do to me.”

But you were, you felt how much Javi wanted you and you knew how much you wanted him. You laid there and let him slowly grind his hips into you again until something snapped inside.

“Javi, fuck me,” you said, pushing your ass harded back into him.

Javi immediately stilled his hips at your statement, looking down at you, trying to determine if what you were asking was what he thought. When he didn’t respond again, you said with a little more bite, “Javi, you gave me a vibrator for all those lonely nights when I don’t have a man’s dick inside of me. Please, I don’t want to use the vibrator tonight. For once on Valentine’s Day I want a man inside me that fucking cares. If you really care, please give me that.”

You felt Javi get off from you and walk away, towards the door, rustling around with something. You laid face down in the middle of your living room, tears welling up in your eyes at being rejected once again. You hated this fucking holiday, but when you let out a little sniffle you felt his hand cup your chin, turning you to the side. With the softest eyes possible he said, “come on now, no more crying. Now up you go,” as he helped you stand. Once you were standing he smiled down at you and then gave you a slow tender kiss on the lips. When he pulled back he held out the black lace panties in front of your face.

“Here, I bought these for you. Now, go and put them on, and let me see them on you. Then I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve, like a man that’s wanted to be with you from the moment he laid eyes on you. Fuck what you stupid ex did to you last year-”

“And every year before,” you said softly.

Javi’s eyes got impossibly dark, anger and lust mixing with them. He hated your ex, the man that broke you. If Javi had to spend the rest of his life showing you that you deserved more, then he would do it. Fuck his superiors, or anyone else that thought he and you shouldn’t be together.

“The fact that you say that makes me angry that any man would ever-”

“Forget it Javi, it’s-”

“No. Now pay attention sweetheart, cause I’m only gonna say it once. No man should ever make you feel like this, ever, you hear me? Now, go put them on baby, and let me see you in them. Then, I’m gonna take you to bed and show you how a man is supposed to treat the woman he cares about.”

“Oh, and how’s that Peña, what are you gonna do that makes me forget all the stupid shit other men have done?” You said, playfully nudging Javi and his cockiness that you have found you love.

Javi grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back while whispering above you, “I’m gonna fuck you so good that you’re gonna forget every man before me, baby. Then I’m gonna show you how a real man treats the woman he’s crazy over. It’s just you and me, and I’ll remind you of that every night before we go to sleep. There’s no one’s pussy I’d rather be buried in than yours. I only want to be balls deep in you, and not anyone else.” Javi then slammed his lips onto yours and gave you a kiss like you deserved.

Maybe you had to have David be in your life and screw you over, because without him, you’d never have met Javier Peña. Javi was a real man that made good on his promises, of being the man that you needed. Before the night was over, and after you came down from your intense rough sex with him, you found yourself looking into his eyes and seeing the potential for a future once again. As Javi slowly rocked into you, making slow love at the end, he whispered, “you’re mine cariño, and I’m never letting you go.” And that was the thing that tipped you both over the edge, moaning each other’s names and kissing each other like you both had just found your future soulmate.

Javi did make good on his promises, he never let you go.

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lunitawrites · 9 months

Text

Crossing Lines - a Javier Peña one shot

pairing: javier peña x f!reader rating: explicit word count: 3.9k summary: You spend your Christmas Eve interrogated by Javier Peña. TWs: power imbalance (Javi interrogates you), unprotected PiV, oral (f and m receiving), light smacking (tits, ass), pet names, cum play, cum eating, spitting, hair pulling, alcohol, cigarettes, some Spanish (see translations at the end), surprise cameo, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n a/n: This is dedicated to the lovely @milla-frenchy, hope you will enjoy, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you for providing the best prompt! Thank you for the edit and beta-read: @jupiter-soups, you are an angel! masterlist

It’s Christmas fucking Eve and you are staring at the wall at the Medellín police station. Three hours dragged by as you were confined to a dim corridor with only the sounds of the faint hum of flickering fluorescent lights. You were brought in for an interrogation, but apparently no one actually had the time to talk to you, so you are left waiting in a creepy corridor for hours. You would leave if it wasn't for the young police officer left to watch every move of yours.

“So, where are they?” you break the silence.

“Who?” he asks with a thick accent.

“The actual adults?” you scoff “The ones I'm supposed to talk to,” you add after seeing his confusion.

"They are on the field; they should be back any minute," he replies, his eyes briefly darting towards the door at the end of the hallway.

“Gracias. Señor…” you pause, looking at him questioningly.

“Mi nombre es Trujillo” he introduces himself.

“En-fucking-cantada” you say and bump your head at the wall behind you. The door creaks open and two men walk in; both of them dressed in military green shirts with tactical vests over them, hair damp with the humid Colombian night.

“Everything okay here?” the brown haired man asks Trujillo, jerking his head at you.

“We’re having the time of our lives,” you interject before he can answer.

“My name is Javier Peña and this is Steve Murphy,” he gestures to the taller, blond man “We will be with you in a minute.” he adds and starts to walk towards the stairs. “I bet you had a fun night, Tujillo” he calls back before he disappears.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. Trujillo, take her to Room 4” Murphy says and follows his partner upstairs.

–

Room 4 is a special room for interrogation with a two-way mirror on one wall, a worn out table and three chairs around it. You are sitting at the table with two empty chairs in front of you, waiting for the agents to arrive, again.

You don’t really need to think why they brought you in, you are pretty fucking sure it’s about your brother. Little do they know that you have not seen him in months, let alone talked to him since he got caught up with the cartel.

The door opens and Peña walks in with a fresh black shirt and jeans on, folders held tightly under his arms. He is handsome. Dark brown eyes, a strong jawline, a prominent nose, and a thick moustache above his plump lips that are curling up into a half smile as he greets you.

He sits on one of the chairs in front of you, lighting a cigarette and offering you one from a weathered package. You shake your head and instead raise your eyebrows questioningly.

“So, let's get started. Unless you wanted to celebrate Christmas with me,” you say.

“English or Spanish?” he asks, tired eyes searching your face.

“Los dos son buenos,” you say and lean back in your chair.

“Let's keep it in English then, so Murphy can understand too,” he says and you murmur a que mono under your breath which makes him chuckle softly.

“How come you speak such good English?” he asks.

“I grew up in the States with my dad, moved back here to live with my mom when he passed away,” you explain.

“To your mom and Andrés?” he asks, pulling out a picture of your brother from one of his folders. It's a shot of him from afar, talking to a guy known as ‘La Quica,’ one of Escobar's sicarios.

“Yes. He’s my brother. Half brother,” you confirm, staring at the picture blankly.

"The question is simple, hermosa. Where is he?" he asks, looking at you from beneath his brows, pointing at the picture. You don't miss how he tries to mask his own surprise, hearing the endearment slip out from his mouth.

“Well, the answer is just as simple,” you lean in over the table. “I don’t fucking know,” you say, emphasizing each word.

You can see his frustration as he squeezes his lips together, brows furrowing in a deep scowl. He stamps out his cigarette and blows the last of the smoke out from his lungs.

“You don't understand,” he says, voice deep and raspy. “Where we find Andres, we find La Quica, and where we find La Quica, we find Escobar. Comprendes?”

“Well, I don't think I need a visual to understand that,” you say, “but, again, I can't tell you where he is, because I don't know where he is,” you repeat yourself.

“Fine. I have time” he says, standing up. He walks out of the room just to come back with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in his other, shutting the door with a nudge from his foot on the way back. He pours the whiskey into the glasses and places one before you, holding the other glass in his hand.

“What is this?” you ask, looking at the amber liquid.

“Well, if you are going to keep me here all night on Christmas, at least let me have a drink,” he says and holds out his glass towards yours.

“Very professional” you murmur, but clink your glass against his and down the drink in one go. He does the same and rises to refill both of your glasses.

“Do you ever just shut up?” he asks as he takes his seat.

“Only if someone makes me,” you murmur, feeling yourself throb between your legs at your own implication. He raises a single brow at that, but doesn't say anything. You suddenly feel your throat dry, and you quickly down your second drink as well. “I’m sorry that you don't have anyone to spend Christmas with, but it's not nice to kidnap someone just to entertain you.”

“Entertain me?” he scoffs. “I can think of better ways to spend my Christmas, trust me.”

“If you would just let me go…,” you start, only to get immediately cut off.

“No. Not until you tell me where he is.”

“Okay. Then we’ll just stare at each other the whole fucking night,” you say while propping your legs up onto the table. You feel your skirt roll up your thighs, revealing more of your skin. “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t mind staring at that the whole night, cariño,” he says, eyes roaming over your legs, as he touches his bottom lip with his thumb.

This is wrong, so wrong, but he makes your clit twitch and you can feel your arousal beginning to pool out of you, wetting the lace of your underwear. “Staring, huh?” you press while reaching for his pack of cigarettes, placing one between your lips. You light it and blow out the smoke with a long sigh. “Is that the only thing you want to do, agent?”

He stands up, his tight jeans hugging his narrow waist and black shirt stretching over his biceps as he walks over to you and takes the cigarette from your lips. He takes a long drag before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out. You can see the shape of his cock through his jeans, his arousal evident. You start salivating just at the look of it, wanting him in your mouth.

“Why don’t you get rid of those, agent Peña,” you say, brushing over the front of his jeans with your hand. “They seem awfully tight,” you tease.

“Careful,” he warns, despite the smirk visible under his moustache. He sweeps his pointer and middle finger over your lips, making them part. You look up at him, and can’t ignore the throbbing between your legs. “That's better,” he mutters. “Let's shut this mouth, then.” He pushes his fingers inside, almost reaching the back of your throat, making you gag a little. You feel the saliva collecting in the corner of your mouth almost spilling over your chin.

“Buena chica,” he murmurs, his touch continuing gently along your chin, tracing down your throat, and reaching the neckline of your shirt. A faint trail of moisture follows his fingers.

“Let's get rid of this,” he tugs on your shirt and you follow his order, eagerly undoing your buttons and revealing your lacy bra. He reacts with a low grunt and continues to work on your body, caressing your peaked nipples through the fabric of your bra, making you moan softly.

“That's right, let me hear it,” he says and smacks your left breast lightly. “Open up for me” he taps on your legs, still propped up on the table. You lift your right leg up, holding it behind your knees, while placing your other foot on the table.

“Que linda,” he murmurs and brushes over your slit through your lace underwear. He kneels down placing small kisses on your clit over the fabric and sniffs in your smell, humming at the feeling of it.

“Mmm, let me taste you,” he breathes, lifting you slightly to rid you of your panties.

He dives in to devour your heat, parting your lips with his tongue and darting it into your hole. He moves further, finding your clit and sucking into it in his mouth. You sigh at that, feeling more of your arousal pool out of you. He hums into your cunt, leaving you with the feeling that he very much enjoys tasting you.

“Stand up for me, preciosa,” he asks and you happily obey, standing up and letting him unbuckle your bra and pulling your skirt up to your waist. After that he turns you and leans you over the table, pressing your hard nipples into wood, the edge of the table indenting your hips.

“Look at you, fucking beautiful,” you hear him say and smack your ass slightly letting it jiggle under his palm after. “Would you let me fuck you?” He asks, grabbing both sides of your waist, grinding himself to your ass, hard jeans scratching your skin, his length still in the confines of his jeans.

“Yes, please Javier,” you say and hear him grunt at the sound of his name from your lips.

“Call me Javi,” he says, unzipping his jeans, nudging your entrance with his hardness. You try to turn back to take a look at his cock, but he is pushing you down, flat on the table with the palm of his hand slowly reaching your neck to grab it from behind. You want him inside so badly, pushing your hips back eagerly, making his tip slide in your wet cunt.

“So impatient,” he says and you feel him spit down to your entrance and his cock, smearing it on himself. Please Javi, please, please, please, you find yourself reduced to begging, want taking over your body.

He enters you slowly, letting you get used to the stretch that is almost unbearable from the beginning. You let out a long sigh, and he grabs your waist again, while pushing his whole length into you at last.

You know he’s big, even without taking a glance at him. The stretch is something you never felt before. He stays still for a second, letting you adjust to his size. You’re impatient, wanting him to move already, so you push back again with your hips. You feel him easing his weight on you, trapping you against the table so you’re not able to move.

“Can you be a good girl and stay still for me?” he asks and slowly backs out of you before thrusting back into you with full force. You gasp in unison, and you let him take the lead, slamming his full length in and out of you with a brutal pace. You mewl, filling the room with filthy noises both from your throat and your cunt.

He is hitting something deep inside you that so many have trouble to find, making the pleasure tighten in your stomach as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“Right there,” you say and he slides his palm back up to the back of your neck again. You never have this, you never climax just from penetration. The feeling is so foreign to you, an overwhelming sensation causing your walls to grip him even tighter. You are almost sucking him in and he must feel it too, because he is showering you with praises, telling you how good you’re doing, how he wants you to cum on his cock, how beautiful you look pressed against the table.

And then you feel it, something snapping inside of you, overtaking your whole body, shaking under his strong warm hands. You scream, making you hope that the room is soundproof as you remember that you’re being fucked in an interrogation room by a man you met just an hour ago.

You feel dizzy, your blood rushing in your veins, making you deaf for a second, muting Javier’s grunts from behind.

Where? You hear faintly. I’m gonna cum too, where do you want it? You barely hear him through the ringing in your ears.

“Inside,” you answer instinctually, wanting to feel him fill you up, twitching from arousal. “Please, inside” you repeat.

He suddenly lifts you up from the table, holding you incredibly close to him, one hand snaking to your front, grabbing one of your tits. You hear his low grunts as he begins to place open mouthed kisses on your neck, biting gently on your earlobe. You feel him twitch, painting your insides with his warm seed, making you feel full of his load, pumping it deep inside you.

He holds you still for a few seconds, letting your breathing calm down together, while he caresses the front of your neck, down to your sternum and over your breasts, brushing your nipples softly.

“Stay,” he says and removes himself from you, immediately replacing his cock with his finger. “We need to keep this in,” he adds and you hear him searching for something in the pile of clothes. “Let's put these back on hermosa,” he says and you can feel him tapping on your ankles for you to lift them as he puts your panties back on. You finish pulling them up and sit on the edge of the table. You squeeze your legs together trying to keep every drop of his cum inside you. You see him pull his jeans up, while you stay seated on the table, bare chested, having only your underwear on and your skirt crumpled up on your waist.

“Having fun without me?” you hear Murphy enter the room. You panic and start searching for the rest of your clothes, trying to cover yourself.

“Don't stop on my account.” he says, doing a double take at your bare body. You finally find your shirt and try to cover up with it without actually putting it on and sit back on one of the chairs.

“Could you maybe give us a minute?” you ask and look at Javi for help, but he seems to be enjoying the situation, rather than sharing your panic.

Murphy walks up to the table and swipes his fingers over the tabletop. He lifts them so you can see they are coated with your slick arousal and Javi’s cum.

“You should have at least cleaned up your mess,” he says with a smirk. “Or do you want me to do it?” he asks and lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean off your shared arousal.

“What…,” you start, only to be interrupted by Steve.

“I was already jealous watching you from behind the mirror,” he says. “I like it better when Javi shares his toys with me.”

Your eyes flick to the two-way mirror on one side of the room. So he was watching all along. You feel embarrassed, but intrigued at the same time. You’ve never been the type to act so lewdly, but you find yourself enjoying it a lot

“I would have shared if you came in instead of watching us,” Javi adds with a dark chuckle and then turns to you “You would let us do that, cariño, right?”

You feel your blood rush to your face, but you nod silently. You would like that.

“I bet you’d like it if both of us took care of you. I don’t think it's too late, the only thing is, you would need to be cleaned up before. It's not only the table we left messy,” he says and jerks his head towards you.

“Let me see, baby” Steve murmurs and kneels before you, nudging your legs open. You let him open them and he pulls your underwear to the side. He grunts at the sight of your glistening cunt filled with Javi’s cum and messy with your own arousal. “This does need cleaning up. Can I do that for you?” he asks, searching your face. You nod, feeling yourself clench in anticipation, squeezing some of Javi’s cum out of you. He hums and starts licking the cum that's oozing out of you, cleaning up your outer lips first and the sensitive area between your two holes. You moan at the feeling, lifting your legs up, holding them under your knees to give him better access.

“That's our girl,” you hear Javi’s encouragement and feel his hand caressing your hair, your neck, before finally reaching your breasts to pinch one of your peaked nipples. You feel yourself pushing more of the cum out, making Steve swallow it down eagerly. He then parts your lips and starts fucking you with his tongue, drinking up all of the juices that he can reach. He’s not paying any particular attention to your clit, but you already feel close to your climax, the situation itself having you worked up.

“I can't reach everything, I need a little help,” Steve mutters as he inserts two of his fingers, slides them inside easily, curling and moving them in a way to help him reach all the cum that's left inside of you. You moan lewdly to that, feeling white hot ecstasy building up in you with an overwhelming intensity.

“I - I'm gonna cum,” you almost scream, having no control over your reaction to the sensations.

“Come on, cum for us,” Javi encourages, massaging your tits, leaning down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. You feel your walls squeezing Steve’s fingers, your pleasure rising up and breaking through you with unknown force as you feel yourself gush onto Steve’s face, covering him with your warm liquids.

“Fuck,” you breathe, vision spotty for a moment “I’m so sorry, I - I didn´t know I can do that” you admit.

“Such a bad girl,” you hear Steve laugh. “Making an even bigger mess when I try to clean her up.”

“Come on,” you hear Javi behind you and feel him tapping on your shoulders. ”Let's make it up to him.”

They guide you to the table again, helping you up on it. You lay your back against the cold wood, spreading your legs to Steve, who stands at the end of the table. You see him opening his zipper and taking out his erection. His cock is fully hard, probably longer than Javi’s, but not as girthy as his, having a slight curve towards the end. His tip is red, glistening with precum. You clench at the sight, wanting to have him inside of you as soon as possible.

“Please,” you whisper and turn your head to look at Javi. He is standing near your head, brushing your cheeks with the back of his hand. “You too,” you say and reach for the front of his jeans.

“You want me too, cariño?” he smiles and starts taking his cock out. You turn back to Steve seeing him getting ready at your entrance.

“Please, fuck me!” you plead and he enters you in one swift motion, knocking the breath out of your lungs. The wet sounds of your cunt filling the room, having him grunt in pleasure.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, turning your head to Javi to take him in your mouth while Steve continues pounding you with full force. Javi holds himself up at his base, so you part your lips and let him guide himself into you. You feel so full, having both of them moving in and out of you, Steve thrusting into your cunt, while Javi fucks your mouth. You moan around him, feeling tears collecting at your eyes, saliva drooling out of you as he continues to reach the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

“You’re doing so good for us,” you hear Steve praise you, “laid out on the table, taking us so well.”

“Do you like to be filled by the both of us, hermosa?” you hear Javi join in, brushing your hair out of your face and grabbing the damp hair at the base of your neck, holding your head in place so he has full control over how he uses your mouth.

You try to say yes, but you can’t, so you just hum around him, making him twitch in your mouth at the sensation.

“You’re so sexy, baby,” Steve mutters as his fingers find your clit, making small circles on your sensitive bud. You are close again, but you want the three of you to climax together, so you moan and tap Javi’s thigh asking him to remove himself from your mouth. He understands your sign and slides himself out of you for a second.

“I’m gonna cum, please, do it with me” you say in a raspy voice already opening your mouth for him again. He chuckles and inserts his cock again looking at Steve.

“Are you ready?” he asks Steve, placing his hand against your throat, feeling his cock through the sensitive skin there.

“Man, I’ve been ready to cum since I saw you fuck her,” he answers and pushes himself into you with quick thrusts, still working on your clit. You feel yourself grip him with your pussy, feeling so, so close, your walls tightening around him, sending him over the edge. He is painting your insides with his warm cum, filling you up to the brim, while Javi’s load is trickling down your throat. You drink him up eagerly.

You feel sheer bliss jolting through you, all of your muscles tense, your body shaking from all the stimulation. You cum while they are pumping you full with their spend, your moans of satisfaction muffled by the cock in between your lips.

You turn your head, looking up at the ceiling while you catch your breath, while both of them caress your body, leaving goosebumps on your over-sensitive skin. You did so good, such a good girl, making both of us feel good, taking us so well; you hear their praises from afar, while they help you down from the table and hand you your clothes, both of them kissing you on the crown of your head.

You get dressed slowly, having not quite returned to reality, your body tired and your mind fuzzy.

You clear your throat, looking up to meet Javi’s gaze. “You know,” you start “I really don't know where he is.”

He smiles at you, and then leans in to place a soft kiss on your mouth. “I know. I guess I really did need a little entertainment for Christmas,” he says and winks at you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

translations: Gracias. Señor - Thank you, Mr.. Mi nombre es Trujillo - My name is Trujillo En-fucking-cantada - Encantada means nice to meet you. En - fucking- cantada means that reader is fucking delighted to meet Trujillo Los dos son buenos - Both are good que mono - "mono" can refer to a foreigner (or light-haired person) in Colombian slang, so it basically means "what a foreigner" hermonsa - beautiful (used as an endearment) Comprendes? - Do you understand? Buena chica - Good girl Que linda - How pretty Preciosa - beautiful (used as an endearment) Cariño - sweetheart, darling

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honey-on-your-tongue · 5 months

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Too Sweet

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Part one

Series masterlist

Blog masterlist

You’d come down to Colombia with one thing in mind: prove you’re more.

You’d studied journalism, been the top of your class. You were made for this, born for it. Everything you did came naturally. College had seemed almost too easy to be true. And to top it all off, you loved it. You loved the investigation, the adrenaline, the fact that you could show people the truth…

You were headed down the road of your dreams.

Joining the DEA hadn’t really been your idea. Your grandpa, the DEA agent back in his time, had insisted. He’d promised he could get you good connections, told you that you’d love it.

You knew you would. The idea of working in a big, complicated, dangerous case like that…How could you let the opportunity slip? So you agreed.

With your grandfather’s help, you were officially part of an investigative team for the DEA. Nothing big at first, just small busts on local operations in Texas.

And then, word reached your grandfather that more hands were needed in Colombia. He recommended you. You were called down a few weeks later.

You had big hopes for yourself, knew that you could do this. You were determined to take down the cartels, to uncover anything and everything necessary to win the drug war. You were hungry for information and hungry for the chase.

But then, a week before leaving for Colombia, your superior had called you into his office.

You sat at his desk, wondering what this was about.

Carl was somewhere in his late fifties, a man hardened by his time in the DEA. He’d worked under your grandfather for years. You'd always thought he was a good man.

Until that day.

“Listen,” he told you, sighing softly. “The higher-ups are sending you to Colombia mostly because your grandpa requested it. But you’re a kid. You’re too young to go down there and keep up with the kind of work that’s going on with the Medellín cartel.”

You’d frowned, taken aback, but quickly recovered. “I’m not a kid, Carl. I can handle myself. I know what I’m getting into.”

He pursed his lips, pausing a moment before saying, “I’m gonna be honest with you, kid, because your grandfather and I go back. How can someone like you expect to go down there and make a change?”

“Someone like me?” you echoed.

“Graduated little over a year ago, been in the DEA less than twelve months…” He paused, as if debating it. And then he added, “And you’re a woman.”

You froze then. That was supposed to be a problem?

“So?” you’d demanded, crossing your arms.

“So a woman—a pretty girl like you should be settling down, finding a man to love her, taking care of a family. What are you doing, going to the middle of a battlefield?”

You wanted to throw up. Wanted to punch him, scream, throw things. How dare he?

But you simply took a deep breath. “I can handle myself,” you repeated and stood up to leave.

“They’ll chew you up and spit you back out, kid,” Carl warned. You knew he was saying that because of what had happened to him in Mexico with your grandfather. A raid gone wrong, three DEA agents dead, Carl was hospitalized for months. He never returned to the field and instead retreated to managing operations from behind the desk.

You gave him a long, cold glare. “And I’ll go back. Not all of us run away with our tails tucked between our legs at the slightest sign of danger, Carl.” You turned and headed for the door. “I’ll tell my grandpa you said hi.”

You think about the conversation the entire flight to Colombia.

What are you doing, going to the middle of a battlefield?

He's a fucking idiot, you think to yourself. Why else would anyone go to the battlefield? To fight, to defend…How could you just not do anything about it? If you stood by and watched everything go down, knowing that you have the ability to help even in the smallest things, you’d be just as bad as the narcos. Standing by and doing nothing is aiding and abetting the cartels.

You can do this. You know you can do this. And yet, Carl’s words cut deep. You know he’s not the only one who thinks that. Working in the middle of a field mostly ruled by men means having to deal with the fact that they all look at you like some toy thing, like just another housewife in the making.

You won’t—won’t, won’t, won’t—let that get to you. You know your potential. Even if no one else can see it, you know it’s there, you know how far you can go. And you’re going to make all of them see it too.

The first day in Colombia is a blur. You go through the airport, find a taxi to take you to the apartment the embassy has assigned for you. You settle in. It’s a simple place, simple furniture, not decorated. Just a twin-size bed, a few rickety chairs and a table for a dining room, thin curtains.

You sigh. It’s the first time you’ve lived alone. Sure, you had a dorm in college. But this is…different. It’s your apartment. All of this is your responsibility. It’s a feeling of freedom and fear all in one. Just the kind of adrenaline you need to get your mind off that horrid conversation with Carl.

You settle in. Meaning that you take your suitcases into your room and sit on the bed, the springs squeaking beneath your weight.

You start work tomorrow and you have nothing to eat, nothing to clean the house with, nothing to cook with—just nothing.

Since you’re not sure how long you’re gonna be in Colombia, you might as well make this place a home.

You find a decent furniture store not far from the apartment complex that can deliver your things in a couple of days. You buy simple things—a dresser, sofas, a real dining table with chairs, and a bed where you can sleep more comfortably. It’s a big bill, but some of your expenses are refunded by the DEA, so you allow yourself a certain amount of luxury.

And what kind of home doesn’t have decorations?

You pick out plant pots, nicer curtains, a few lamps to lighten up the place. And dishware. Simple plates, silverware, glasses, mugs. A set of four since you don’t expect to have much company. The cookware goes at the end. A single set of pots of three different sizes, a kettle, and a medium frying pan. Add some spatulas and you’re done.

You’d left your new apartment around midday. You return at dusk, just as the sun has dipped over the horizon, leaving the sky a soft purple.

You were told you’d get a car. Apparently, not until next week, according to the woman who you’d called to ask about it.

You took a cab, brought the boxes out of the trunk and left them all in the entrance hall. Now, you find yourself hauling boxes of decorations up the stairs. Up and down, up and down. Your legs grow tired, your back aches from carrying all the heavy stuff up two floors.

You’re heading back down to retrieve a box of plates when one of the doors on the first floor opens.

A man in his mid-thirties steps out, wearing a mustard-yellow button-up tucked into his jeans. His brown hair is a little tousled, his dark eyes find yours before moving to the boxes at the bottom of the stairs. A small smile quirks his lips up under his mustache.

“¿Necesitas ayuda?” he asks.

You blink. You know a little bit of Spanish. More understand it than speak it, really. You immediately become flustered, a little afraid you won’t be able to communicate with this man when he’s so kindly asked if you need help.

“Oh, uh…Yo estoy—” you cut yourself off. Can he even understand you with your accent? “The boxes, um—está pesados y—”

“You’re American,” the man says, relieving you when you realize he speaks English too. He eyes you up and down. “I’m Javi,” he introduces, holding a hand out to you.

You shake his hand. His palm is warm, fingers calloused. You’re distracted by that as you give him your name almost mechanically, your mind on the feel of his hand against yours.

His eyes flash with recognition. “You’re the new girl.”

You blink. “I—What?”

He chuckles softly. “I’m a DEA agent,” he explains. “They told me you were coming down to help with the cartels.”

“Oh.” You nod softly. “Yeah, that’s…me I guess.”

He eyes you again. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not. “I-I’m twenty-three,” you blurt, as if that were an acceptable answer.

Which is the acceptable answer? you wonder. If there even is one…

He chuckles softly, an easy smile on his lips. “That’s still pretty young,” he points out, tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “So. I’m guessing you just moved here?”

“Yeah. Just…settling in, actually,” you reply, nodding at the boxes on the floor.

“You moving all that on your own?” he asks, frowning slightly. “Here, let me help.” He reaches for a box before you can respond.

“That’s—You really don’t have to, I can do it myself,” you stutter, glad for the help but still trying to be polite.

“Come on, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help,” he insists, already starting to walk up the stairs with a box in his arms.

You follow after him, quick little steps trailing after his long strides. You lead him to your apartment, the door already open, and you gesture at the messy threshold, loaded with boxes. “You can just put it down anywhere,” you tell him, a little embarrassed about the mess.

He nods and sets the box down on the floor. He gives a quick, curious look around your apartment and whistles lowly. “Nice place. Your apartment’s got a better view,” he says, peeking into the living room.

“Not much of a view when that lamppost is out. It’s just…dark.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be able to see the sunrise,” he replies.

You turn to him, smiling softly with a little hmph. “I don’t stay up until the sunrise,” you tell him. “I can’t function properly if I don’t get enough sleep.” His eyes meet yours, dark, his gaze thick, and you feel nervous. Did you come off as weird? Are you making an absolute fool of yourself right now? Your nerves make your rambling worse. “I just—I just need at least eight hours, y’know? Otherwise I’m just stumbling through the day in a bad mood and that’s never good for anyone, especially if I don’t get my morning coffee. I’ll just be upset and bitchy all day and people get upset about it and then I get upset about that so it’s like a chain reaction and…” You trail off at the look in his eyes, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I sound like an idiot. He's gonna think I'm a fucking moron.

***

Fucked.

That’s all that Javier’s mind can come up with.

Fucked. I’m fucked.

He’s fucked. You adorable little thing, rambling on nonsensically, cheeks turning pink, eyes wide and nervous. His interest is piqued. You’re pretty, clearly smart, and you’ve gotta have guts to come down here at the ripe old age of twenty-three. You intrigue him, something about you has him thinking about blurring the boundary between co-workers and something more.

When he heard there was going to be a journalist headed down here to aid with the investigations, he’d expected some grumpy old man. Or a plain asshole who’d sit on his ass all day and do nothing. He had even thought that maybe they’d send down one of those pretty TV reporters just to get more people to watch their news.

Then he found out your name. He recognized your last name, he knows who your grandfather is. The Federico García, a good man and an even better DEA agent that controlled the Mexico cartels at the Texas border. But he never thought agent García would have a gorgeous, intelligent, gutsy granddaughter who’d end up working in Colombia.

And now that he’s seen you…

No, he thinks to himself. Come on, man. Look at her. She’s almost fifteen years younger. You can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

He shakes his head slightly to get rid of the thoughts.

He glances around again. Your apartment is bare with the evident lack of use. Javi wonders how many hours it’s been since you got off the plane.

You smile a little sheepishly. “I, uh, still got a few more boxes to get to if you, um, wanna help?”

He gives you his trademark sideways grin. “I’d be happy to,” he replies. As you two leave your apartment and start walking back down the stairs, he asks, “You nervous?”

You open your mouth to reply and pause. He glances at you, raising a curious eyebrow, and chuckles when you nod softly. “A little,” you admit. “Not so much about, like, the cartels and the narcos. Just…nervous about being in a new place where I don’t know anyone.”

“Ah.” He nods. “I get the feeling. But you’ll be fine.” He nudges your shoulder with his gently. “You got me now.”

Stop, stop, stop, his mind screams. Are you flirting with her? Why are you flirting with her?!

You give him a shy grin. “Yeah, I guess. So you’re, uh, a field agent?”

He nods proudly. “Yeah. Only way to catch these motherfuckers is to go after them ourselves.”

“Do you ever get afraid?” you ask. “When you’re walking in there with guns and bulletproof vests…Do you ever lose your nerve?”

He sighs softly. “I’m scared, sure. There’s always the risk of getting shot, killed…But if we don’t do this, who will? Someone has to stop these assholes.”

You nod. “Fair point,” you allow.

Thing is, Javier didn’t tell you the whole truth. Is he afraid? Fuck, yes, he’s afraid. He lives with the constant fear of getting caught in the crossfire. The narcos would never purposely kill a DEA thanks to Kiki, but a stray bullet…

He also doesn’t tell you about the interrogations, the tortures, the illegal shit he does with Carrillo and the Colombian army. The nightmares he has sometimes. The look of terror on these people's faces when they know they’re caught.

He helps you with all of the boxes, purposely taking a little longer just so he can talk to you. The way you speak, the way you look at him with eyes full of innocence, the way he knows what his intentions are and still can’t seem to stop himself…

Fuck, he’s doing the wrong thing. He knows he is. And yet, he’s not holding back.

Once all of the boxes of decorations and basic home necessities are placed in your threshold, Javi smiles softly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You nod. “Thanks again for your help,” you tell him for the millionth time. “I’ll be in by eight…ish. If I can find a cab. Do cabs drive by here?”

Javi blinks at you. It takes him a moment to put the pieces together. “You don’t have a car yet. You won’t get it until roughly next week.” He sighs. He remembers that, waiting for the embassy to make true on their promise to give him a car. It took days longer than it should’ve. “I can drive you.”

Your big, soft eyes widen a little. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience—”

He waves dismissively and cuts you off. “No, really. I mean, I have to go to the embassy anyway, might as well give you a lift.”

You hesitate, biting into that plump bottom lip of yours. He can already imagine himself tugging it out from between your teeth, running his thumb over it…

“Really,” he insists. “It’s no problem. I’ll even let you pick the music,” he teases.

That gets a little giggle out of you. “Alright,” you give in after a moment. “Okay. Thank you. So, uh, I’ll be ready at eight.”

Javi smiles softly, his most dashing, charming smile. “Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”

“‘Night,” you reply, a soft pink filling your cheeks when he playfully winks at you before walking away.

This is a mistake, he thinks to himself as he walks down to his apartment. I should stay away from her.

But deep down, Javier knows he won’t. He can’t. He wants a lot of things from you, but keeping his distance? It's just not one of them.

Dividers from @cafekitsune they're all amazing!!! Thank you for creating these gorgeous works!

If you guys want me to start a taglist for this fic, lmk! Ily!!! Please don't forget to comment, reblog and like <3

#javier pena angst #javier pena fluff #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javier peña smut

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adribosch-fan · 8 months

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Exnarcotraficante reveló que Raúl Castro dio luz verde a negocios del Cartel de Medellín en Cuba (Detalles)

El exnarcotraficante Carlos Lehder, ex miembro del Cartel de Medellín, arrojó luz sobre los oscuros negocios del narcotráfico en Cuba y la presunta complicidad del general Raúl Castro, quien gobernó la isla durante más de una década. Por Infobae Estas revelaciones, detalladas en el libro “Vida y muerte del cartel de Medellín”, destacan cómo el dinero y el poder de los capos colombianos en los…

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#Cuba #dictador Raúl Castro #ex miembro del Cartel de Medellín #exnarcotraficante Carlos Lehder

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pedrospatch · 9 months

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when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fluff #narcos fanfiction #javier peña one shot #javier peña drabble #12 days of pedro

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