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joelsgreys · 1 year

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Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

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

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 7.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

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

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

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

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

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

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

The color drained from his face.

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

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

Of course he knew Valeria.

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

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

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

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

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

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

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

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

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him.

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

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

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

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

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

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

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

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

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

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

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

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

“I want to make him feel good.”

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

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

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

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

“By showing you a thing or two.”

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

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

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

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

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

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

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

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

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

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

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

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

“There.”

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

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

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

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

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

God, he was fucking good.

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

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

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

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier.

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

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him.

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

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

Your mouth fell open at his request.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

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

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

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

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

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to see you come.

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

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

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

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

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

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

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

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

“J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

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

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

“Javi, I’m so close—”

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

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

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

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

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

What had you two just done?

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

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

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

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

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

Translations

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

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

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

Chismosas - Gossipers

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

Mentirosa. - Liar.

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

#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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acapelladitty · 2 months

Note

ok but,,,, Mr "the" ghoul subbing for his so/ for the first time and he's all unsure and tryna be cocky but he's actually a big softie who loves being taken care of and told what to do 💥

light me up and breathe in

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary - After some convincing, Cooper agrees to let you give him a chest massage.

(tw: heavy petting, teasing, cockwarming, threats of violence, cannibalism mention, dirty talk)

Convincing Cooper to let you take care of him was a task better suited for the great thinkers of the world, people who had the patience and the fortitude to deal with his stubborn bullshit as he dodged your every attempt. However, time was always on your side and you weren't convinced if it was the appeal of a massage or the promise that you would stop asking if he relented, but he had eventually given in.

His upper clothing had been shed quickly enough, exposing his bare torso to your greedy eyes. A shapely sight, his body wasn't overly muscular, but clearly held a core strength as it formed a solid expanse - the skin scarred and textured across every visible inch.

Reclined on his chair, his eyes were wary but heated as he watched you clamber onto his lap with a childish eagerness.

"That desperate, huh?"

"Shut up."

Rolling your hands along his chest, the rough texture of his skin left a pleasant tingle in your fingers as you follow the natural contours of his body. Patchy and pitted beyond reason, you map out the ridges with a faint smile and your fascination with his skin didn't go unnoticed.

"You staring at me like that makes me wonder if you're thinking 'bout taking a bite?" Cooper's low voice, dulled by his forced nonchalance, filled the air between you and you refuse to look up and meet his eye as you answer.

"Maybe." You tease, trailing a finger along the column of his neck. "It's about time you had something to worry about so maybe I'll cannibalise some part of you to shut you up for a while."

"If you're gonna wrap those pretty lips around a part of me then I've got some ideas, darlin'."

Gaze flitting across his body as you ignore his suggestion, you settle on his nipples and admire the deep red colour which stands free of his chest. You can imagine him in a better time, picture how dense the chest hair which would have coated him would feel below your fingers. How fun it would be to run your digits across the thick mat and pull at it teasingly, forcing him to shift up and meet your lips with a single tug.

But no.

Hairless.

It really was a cruel world.

Still, there was more than one way to get a reaction and you clamp your thumbs and forefingers around his nipples as you pinch the nubs with malicious intent.

"Maybe I'll focus on these. They're very sensitive."

A strangled gasp escapes him but he covers it quickly by curving his thick hands around the swell of your ass.

"True that, sweetie, but if you tear 'em off I'll be taking yours to replace them. With my teeth, mind."

Pulling at the nubs even more roughly, the discomfort forces a warning rumble from his throat as he arches his back against the chair.

"Not how this works, Coop. You have to say please if you want me to stop."

Scowling, he relents regardless, having alresdy agreed to the terms of the game. "Please."

"That's better, handsome."

Hands feeling dry, you get a move on with your agreement and add a healthy dollop of the unscented lotion which you had stumbled on in an abandoned pharmacy. Its discovery had prompted this little game and you can't hold back your grin as you spread it across his skin - sinking into the intimate contact with a soft sigh.

Tense as hell, Cooper is every inch a coiled serpent ready to strike out. He's subtle with it though; matching your wry comments with his own and visibly attempting to force himself to relax into the earnest touch. For a creature who was wrapped around you like a glove when you fucked, this type of intimate engagement appeared to give him more anxiety than staring death down the barrel of a gun.

"Relax." You soothe, hands running across his collarbone to wrap around his shoulders.

"I am relaxed." He lied.

"Liar." You call him out with a teasing smile. "But if a little massage is so scary for the big, bad bounty hunter then let me make you a bit more comfortable."

Dropping your slickened hand to his groin, you cup his hardened cock through the fabric, wasting no time in opening his fly and releasing him; allowing the girthy length to jut free in the cool air.

"Wow, Mr. Howard," you tease, gripping your hand around his length and stroking along it with a firm grip, "this looks painful. What are we going to do about it?"

"Cruel to play with a man's bone and not give him somewhere to bury it." Cooper rumbled, his hips bucking into your hand as you tighten your fingers around the base of a cock, denying him any further stimulation until he settles. "Might drive a man to do something dangerous, sweetie."

"Oh well in that case." Raising yourself off his lap by planting your feet on the floor, you slip further towards his body and line up his blunted cockhead with your hole - arousal making your lips feels swollen and sensitive as you run his cock along your slickened folds. "Would be a shame to waste it then."

Sinking down on his cock, you drop your head to his neck to hide the discomforting gasp as the familiar stretch of him makes your walls burn with the sudden intrusion. The texture of his cock adds an intensity that makes your legs tremble as it rubs along those sweet spots which make stars fly behind your eyes.

You adjust your hips until you're able to sit flush against his groin, the angle a little awkward but fucking delicious as every slight jostle sparks fresh pleasure. His eyes pin you with a greater ferocity than his cock as his head tilts up to keep line with your gaze.

"Tight as a drum." Cooper growls, the feel of you wrapped around him making his hips move of their own accord as he fucks himself deeper; each small rut leaving your cunt wanting more.

But no.

That wasn't the game.

Slapping a hand to his exposed chest, the skin there still moist from the lotion - you cupped your other hand around the back of his neck and scowl at him with a playful anger.

"Hey! Did I tell you to fuck me?"

Stilling his hips, Cooper curled his lips into a smirk.

"That you did not, darlin'."

"Then stop moving and let me have my fun. You focus on keeping that big ol' gun of yours holstered somewhere I know it likes, and I'll focus on what I want to do."

"You drive a hard bargain, missy." He replies, amusement playing across his harsh features. "But a deal's a deal and, hell, I'm sure there's gonna be a reward of some kind for such agreeable behaviours."

"Keep dreaming, handsome. I'm letting you warm your cock in me. Isn't that enough?"

"From you?" Flashing his teeth with an almost feral grin, Cooper's arm snapped around your waist to pull you flush to his chest as his rough lips brushed your ear. "Never."

Squeezing your cunt around him, the action netting you a muted groan, you push him away and roll your hips as your hands return to his chest.

"Nice try, buddy. But no amount of, admittedly, great cock is going to stop me from rubbing every inch of you."

"Stubborn bitch."

Cooper mutters the words without heat, his hands returning to their original position around your ass as you edge yourself on his cock; determined to explore every inch of him before allowing him to get his rocks off.

"Yours."

#sooo hot want to touch the hiney awoooooooo #fallout #fallout 2024 #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #ghoul x reader #ghoul x you #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard fic #ghoul smut #ghoul fic #walton goggins

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tropes-and-tales · 2 months

Text

Ten Months as Yours

Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

CW: Angst (reader is CIA and has feelings about it; failed first marriages; talk of Catholicism); smut (oral, m! and f! receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 10,951

AN: This was from an "Arranged Marriage" prompt list. An anon asked for it, and it was supposed to incorporate dates where the couple gets to know each other. I, an idiot, didn't remember that until nearly the end, but if you kind of squint, you can see it.

AN2: Not edited. Not even a little bit.

AN3: Sigh. I dunno, folks. It's whatever.

Horacio Carrillo’s first marriage was standard Catholic fare: the reading of the banns beforehand, then the long wedding Mass. Heavy on the incense, crowded church, a red-faced priest droning through the Gospel. Juliana, his blushing bride in a heavy lace veil, clutching a bouquet of lilies already wilted and brown at the edges in the Colombian heat.

Then, years later, the dissolution of that marriage. Papers signed separately in the presence of lawyers after an ice age formed between the couple. Then more years of Horacio being single again, but the time slipped by like water. He was so busy with work, he hardly registered the empty house he returned to every evening.

Horacio Carrillo’s second marriage is something else entirely.

It’s not, strictly or spiritually speaking, a real marriage. It’s a bit of maneuvering on the part of the U.S. government, logistical choreography as part of a larger plan. To the world at large, Horacio Carrillo is dead: murdered by Escobar’s men in a trap. Only a handful of people know the truth—the doctor and nurses at the American hospital who healed him under a temporary alias. And this man, Johnson, a U.S. Marshal and handler for the U.S. Witness Protection program

Johnson is the sole witness to this so-called marriage, if one could even call it that. It happens on the cargo plane from Bogota to Atlanta. Johnson sits in the jump seat across from his two charges: Horacio…and you.

Horacio doesn’t even learn your real name. There’s no exchange of vow and certainly no incense or bouquet of lilies. Instead of a blushing bride, there’s a silent one. Your mouth is set in a thin, straight line as you listen to Johnson’s rundown of your new life, and every time Horacio chances a look at you, he only sees the tension in you. Grim-set mouth, clenched jaw…and the white edge of a bandage on your temple, mostly hidden under the sweep of your hair.

Horacio wonders if you’re dead to the world too. You aren’t DEA or CIA, at least not in the Colombian theater, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t nearby. The U.S. agencies have their sticky fingers all over South America.

The broad strokes of the situation: you and Horacio are newlyweds. You met in Spain and are returning to the U.S. Horacio is dead, but he’s been replaced by Davide, and Johnson hands over a thick packet of official documents—Spanish birth certificate, Spanish passport, U.S. green card.

You are also dead, but you’ve been replaced by Gwen. Another thick packet of documents detailing your fake life as an ex-pat American in Spain.

Each packet also contains a simple gold band for each of you. Horacio turns it over and over in his hand, contemplates the little twist he gets in his gut to put a ring back on his finger after years of being divorced.

You slide yours on too, but you fuss with it the rest of the flight, twisting it around and around your finger.

“You’re going to Vermont, of all places,” Johnson tells you. “There’s a mid-sized college there with a lot of international folk coming and going, so you’ll blend in. The house is handled, and you’ll get a stipend every month, but we expect you to find jobs as quickly as you can.”

Johnson doesn’t even attempt to say how long it will be. Horacio knows he has to wait out Escobar before he can return to Colombia. You? Who can say?

The rest of the flight is silent except for the low roar of the engines and the creak of the netting holding the cargo in place. Once you land, you stand and follow Johnson and Horacio off of the plane to transfer to a smaller passenger plane that will take you to Vermont.

The final leg of the journey is silent too.

When you deplane in the small regional airport in Vermont, you stumble on the step down from the fuselage. Horacio catches your arm, keeps you upright.

“Watch your step,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” you reply.

It’s the first words you exchange, and his hand on your clothed arm—that’s the first time he touches you.

-----

Horacio has never been to the United States before, but when he thinks of it, he thinks of what he’s seen in the movies: New York City, perhaps, with the traffic and skyscrapers and Statue of Liberty. Or Miami with its white beaches and turquoise water and neon-tinged nightlife.

Vermont is something else.

It’s green. Everything is so green. The rounded mountains in the distance, the old trees with huge, spreading branches. The grass of the lawns in this college town. Even though it is near twilight, even the shadows are green-tinged as the sun sets.

“At least we arrived in the spring,” you say. You glance at him, explain that New England winters can be brutal.

The house is small, trim. It’s a simple ranch but well-built. There’s a fair amount of land, and the nearest neighbors are far enough away that there’s privacy.

Of course it’s awkward. You don’t know each other at all, and you’re both in hiding. Horacio is out of habit with living with another person, and he has to guess you are too.

That first night, the first moment of awkwardness: when you arrive at the house, there’s two bedrooms, and you both hesitate in the hallway that leads to both. You’re married on paper (kinda) but who would expect you to share a bed? But you’re also both exhausted, and Horacio takes in the dark circles under your eyes. The larger room has a full-sized bed, but the guest only has an uncomfortable-looking daybed.

“Take the master bedroom,” he says. “I’ll take the guest room.”

“You sure?” Your words, Horacio notices, are slightly accented, like you’ve been around people like him who speak English as a second language. He wonders about your past and what landed you here with him.

“Of course. Take the room. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod, and he glances down at where you twist that gold band over and over around your slim finger. It’s here, he’ll realize later, that he starts to feel something for you, but at the moment, it’s only sympathy. You’re trapped in the same miserable situation as him, so sympathy is an easy emotion to access.

“I appreciate it…Davide,” you reply, and you give him a nod, then turn in for the night. He hears the quiet click of the bedroom door as you shut it, and he turns in too. The daybed is cramped, and he can’t stretch out completely, but he’s so bone-tired that he’s asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.

-----

The first month, April.

It’s awkward. It’s more awkward for Horacio; everything in the U.S. is familiar, but just different enough to make it seem like he’s dreaming. You’re already an American, and life in an idyllic New England college town is easier for you to settle into.

Living with another person is strange. Horacio finds that the two of you engage in a civil, stilted dance each day that first month. You each tiptoe around the other, defer to each other in a painfully polite way. When Horacio catches you singing along softly to the radio one night, you snap the music off and go quiet. When you walk in on him in the bathroom once—he was only brushing his teeth, so it is hardly salacious—you apologize and refuse to meet his eyes for the rest of the week.

The two of you don’t really talk, not that first month. You aren’t supposed to share details about your real lives with each other, so neither of you know how to converse in the weird liminal space you find yourselves. Your conversations are limited to menial topics. The weather, the house and yard, what you each want for dinner that night. You trade off chores, you drift around each other, and it’s like living in purgatory with another ghost.

Sometimes, Horacio swears he can hear you crying softly through the wall that separates your room from his, but you never offer any insight into your feelings and he doesn’t ask.

-----

The second month, May.

Johnson told each of you to find work, and you land a job first: you get a position at the college. You ask him, a bit shy, if you can take a certain portion of the monthly stipend to buy some new clothes for your office job, and Horacio’s gut does that twist again. Of course you need new clothes. You left wherever with nothing, the same way he left Colombia with nothing.

“Of course,” he says. “You don’t even need to ask.”

That makes you smile a little, and you make a weak joke about not wanting to be the sort of wife to spend frivolously. It makes Horacio chuckle. It breaks the uneasy tension in the house a bit, and he ends up going to the mall with you that weekend as you shop.

There’s nothing like a mall to encapsulate American culture, and Horacio tries to play it cool at the conspicuous consumption on display. The giant building, the icy air conditioning, the cacophony of sound echoing around the marble floors and walls. There’s so many people and only a handful of security guards. When Horacio studies them closer, he sees that they don’t even carry guns—they only have walkie-talkies as they saunter around at a lazy pace.

His life now is a far cry from his life as the leader of the Search Bloc. And when he glances over at the woman walking beside him, he realizes how far this second marriage is from his first.

But the thought leads to him ruminating about his first marriage and all the little ways he failed Juliana. This situation with you isn’t a marriage, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to be better.

So once you are done shopping, he pulls you into the Sam Goody and insists that you buy an album to celebrate. He catches you singing all the time in the house, listening to the radio, humming or singing along. When he imagines your mysterious life before now, he imagines an apartment filled with a big stereo and shelves of albums.

“Seriously?” It makes you smile again, and Horacio thinks you have a nice smile, though he wonders how often people ever get to see it.

“Well, it’s our stipend,” he clarifies. “It’s not like I’m treating you, really. I guess it’s not really a gift if it’s ours.”

Another smile, and he stands back and watches as you rifle through the stacks of vinyl records and CD’s, as you pull one out and read the list of songs, then replace it. You finally settle on one, and the two of you check out, and Horacio pulls out his wallet and pays.

And even if it’s your shared stipend, you thank him and smile again, and it feels like something that he can’t quite name.

-----

The third month, June.

You leave the house every weekday for work. Horacio finally has some firsthand knowledge of what Juliana must have felt when he left each day. He had always prided himself that he was able to provide for both of them, that she never had to work.

He had never considered how bored she must have been.

He wakes up early out of habit, but you do too. In the soft pre-dawn light, you go out for a run every day. Part of him remains Search Bloc; he stands at the living room window and watches for you until you return, panting, your t-shirt ringed with sweat. He finds he can breathe easier once you’re in sight.

While you shower and dress, Horacio makes you coffee. The two of you sip at your coffee in companionable silence, and then you’re off.

It leaves him with a full day with little to do.

He cleans the house, but that takes no time at all because both of you are fastidious and neat anyway. He maintains the lawn, trims back the unruly rhododendrons. He bought a weight bench and a set of free weights from a yard sale a few weeks after you moved, and he spends some time lifting in the garage.

That takes him to noon, if he’s lucky.

His afternoons are when he thinks of Juliana the most. Is this what her life with him was like? Back then, he used to scoff at the claim that women needed a life outside of the home. His mother had seemed happy to be a housewife and mother, and he had always assumed that Juliana was the same. Except the children never came, and Juliana had a degree in fashion design from the university—yet when she broached the idea of a job or even an internship, Horacio had dissuaded her.

He had thought he was being a good husband. Now, as he sits and drowses to “Days of Our Lives,” he wonders how he had missed the obvious.

But if he’s Juliana in this situation, you are no Horacio. For one thing, you return home in the late afternoon—he’s never left to eat dinner alone in a too-quiet house. For another, you immediately kick off your shoes and pad over to where he’s cooking dinner, and you fall into an easy rhythm of helping him finish it off.

Halfway through June, you get comfortable enough to start calling out, “honey, I’m home!” each time you return.

Which makes him smile, every time.

And he’s only a passable cook, but you praise every meal he puts in front of you. You joke once, say “I should have gotten a husband a long time ago,” and that makes him smile even wider, and it is easy to fall into the fantasy that this easy domesticity is real. The fantasy only falls apart at night, when you each retire to your separate rooms, as you do every night.

-----

The fourth month, July.

The easy domesticity cedes to something deeper and darker right at the start of the month.

Horacio has never been to the U.S. before, so he hasn’t experienced the usual Independence Day celebrations. When he asks, you grin and tell him that a good old-fashioned U.S.-style barbecue might be nice, and that’s what the two of you plan. You and Horacio as Davide and Gwen: patriotic Americans.

The day starts off great. The weather is hot and humid enough to feel like Colombia, and Horacio will admit that you look nice in your cut-off shorts and cotton tank top. He will admit that if you were really his wife, he might never even make it to lunchtime before taking advantage of a quiet house set apart from its neighbors.

The barbecue is nice. It’s all-American fare: hot dogs and hamburgers, corn on the cob steamed over hot coals. You buy an apple pie from a nearby farm stand, and you also make some trifle type dessert, and the two of you wash it all down with ice-cold beer. By the time dusk rolls around and lightning bugs start to flicker across the lawn, Horacio is pleasantly buzzed.

The town puts on a fireworks display, and as the sky turns a velvety black, the light show starts. Your house is in the perfect place to see it, slightly set on a ridge, and blossoms of red and white and blue sparks explode across the sky. Horacio, tipsy, watches the first few minutes, completely mesmerized…but when he turns to say something to you, he finds you missing.

He finds you in the house. More specifically, he finds you in the bathtub, hugging your knees to your chest, forehead pressed to knees.

“Gwen?” he says, and he feels stupid saying the obviously fake name, but he doesn’t know your real one.

You don’t answer anyway, and he steps into the bathroom. Studies you closer. Sees that you are shaking, and between the muffled booms of the fireworks, he can hear your panting breath.

He moves without any real thought. He knows—or can guess, at least—at what is happening to you. Horacio has led enough men through enough battles to recognize a panic attack when he sees one, but you aren’t one of his men and this is no battle, so he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to alert you that he’s there. Then he climbs into the bathtub with you.

“Scoot forward a little,” he orders softly, and you do. He maneuvers himself behind you, then pulls you closer to him. Your back pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, he holds you close despite the heat and humidity of the day.

“Just breathe with me.” He takes a deep, slow breath, feels his chest push against you. He does it again and again, and after a long while, you start to mimic him.

The fireworks end, and eventually you stop trembling. Tucked this close to him, Horacio can see the edge of a thick scar disappearing under your hair, and he remembers the bandage on the plane from Bogota.

He wonders if the moment that caused that scar is linked to this moment now.

After you calm, and after you sheepishly untangle yourself from him, he urges you to do whatever you need to. To take a cool shower or go to bed. That he’ll clean up. You gaze back at him a long moment, like you’re trying to decide something, and then you nod. You leave the bathroom and disappear into your bedroom, and he hears that quiet click of the door closing.

The rest of the month is uneasy. The panic attack seems to have dredged up the muck in your past, the trauma of a life that has resulted in you being in Witness Protection, injured enough at some point to have a thick scar on your head.

Something about this feels like an echo from his first marriage. Juliana went silent on him too, but for different reasons. Your silence is driven by an inner turmoil that he can only guess at, and he feels powerless to help.

So he only does what he can. He makes you coffee each morning before work. He makes you dinner each night. He asks gentle, tame questions about your work day, and when you don’t have much to say in that quarter, he tells you that day’s drama on “Days of Our Lives.”

“Stefano DiMera is back,” he tells you one night. “And Marlena is possessed by el Diablo.”

That’s the sole smile he is able to coax from you all month. You pick at the dinner he made, pushing it around with the tines of your fork, and repeat, “the Devil?”

Horacio nods.

“Like, Lucifer the Devil?”

“Yes.”

You smile. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He nods again, smiles back at you. “It really is.”

-----

The fifth month, August.

Horacio finds a job with a state nursery, and when he applies, he nearly despairs at the cliché of it: a South American immigrant becoming a landscaper.

But it’s not landscaping at all. It’s a quiet, peaceful job. The summer interns have already left for the year, so Horacio is hired on to help the old-timer, Lawrence. Lawrence has a thick Yankee accent, says little, but Horacio finds the job a revelation. He walks the rolling grounds and checks on the saplings that will one day be planted across the state. They’ll go into parks and line city streets, and it knocks something loose in him. A job where he’s nurturing life that will potentially live on long after him. The oak sapling he waters and feeds today could live hundreds of years when he’ll be long forgotten.

With him working now, you and Horacio switch off on meals. You teach him how to use the most American of small appliances, the slow cooker. You make him the most American of working class meals, the one-pot dish. He makes you the comfort food from his childhood, and together you find an egalitarian balance.

But something about July and your low mental health…it makes Horacio want to do better. Who knows how long the two of you will end up living like this? He wants to understand you better, and he wants you to know him, because the two of you exist as the sole inhabitants of this weird, unlikely life as Davide and Gwen.

“Let’s each say one true thing about ourselves,” he proposes over dinner one night. He’s bone-tired from work—he spent the day mulching rows and rows of tender little Eastern Hemlocks (and he knows the difference now between them and a balsam fir and a spruce). You look tired too, but at his suggestion, your eyes light up. Maybe you’ve been wanting some familiarity with him too and just were waiting on him to suggest it first.

So August is this: getting to know each other. Dumb stuff, usually. Favorite colors, favorite songs, favorite foods. Most embarrassing memory. Best memory. Age of first kiss.

-----

The sixth month, September.

The weather starts to turn. The nights grow cold, and the leaves transform from all that green to a riot of reds and yellows and oranges. Work at the nursery slows way down, and Horacio spends long hours following Lawrence’s lead, which means an hour or two of paperwork, then lunch, then quietly reading a book at his desk.

You’re busy with the new academic year, but the weekends are spent doing day trips. You’re six months into this, and you’re both braver, more willing to travel afield. You go into the mountains to look at the leaves from a different angle than what you see from your house. You go to pick apples, and you spend a weekend cooking them into pies, cobblers, and apple sauce.

The dinner-time “one true thing” game ends, and it turns into natural conversation. It’s so comfortable now. You chat and laugh and joke, and sometimes he teases you, and it makes you duck your head to hide your pleased smile. You like being teased, Horacio finds. You like being the butt of gentle jokes, so he obliges you as often as he dares.

It’s a revelation to find that he has a sense of humor after all.

Over one dinner, he mentions his first marriage, his first wife. You ask him questions, and he answers them honestly, and then he asks if you’ve ever been married.

“No.” You shake your head to emphasize the point.

“Ever engaged?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yes. A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

You shrug, lifting one shoulder up before dropping it back down. “Life. Expectations. It’s hard to say.” You take a sip of your water, then settle your gaze somewhere past Horacio, like you’re looking at the specter of your failed engagement.

“I was young and very career-driven,” you add. “And not many men want that in a wife.”

“I’m sorry.” He is, of course, and he’s doubly-sorry because he was arguably one of those men. He kept Juliana at home, stifled her own career aspirations. A flush of shame courses through him at the memory of his own failings.

Another shrug. “It was for the best.”

“And now here you are, married to me,” he teases, and yes—you duck your head, but he catches the shy little grin, the curve of your cheek as you smile at the joke.

-----

The seventh month, October.

It’s the first time you’ve actually ordered him to do anything, so Horacio finds himself busy each weekend, decorating the house for Halloween. There’s ghosts strung in the trees in the front yard. Fake gravestones jut from the lawn like rotting teeth. Purple and orange lights are strung around the windows and banisters of the porch, and the two of you set to carving more pumpkins than Horacio thought possible.

But it’s worth it, because your town goes all out for the holiday. You bought him a costume weeks ago, and when he dresses after dinner, he’s surprised to find you openly checking him out. Your gaze sweeps from the hair on the top of his head—longer than Search Bloc reg, curling at the nape of his neck—to his shoes, and you take in his vampire costume.

“You look handsome,” you tell him, and he tries not to ogle you in turn and utterly fails, because you’re dressed up like a witch but the black dress hugs your curves, and the ridiculous hat, complete with a floppy brim, does nothing to detract from how sexy you look.

Horacio finds himself sitting on the front porch with you, handing out candy to the children that come by. And it charms him, how much you get into it, how you guess at what each child is supposed to be. You read the kids perfectly—you’re sweet with the scared little ones, but you play up the witchiness with the older ones, crooking your fingers and cacking at them.

When there’s a lull in the crowd at one point, he catches you as you shiver, so he pulls you close to him and wraps his cloak around your shoulder. He never touches you much, but this is blatant, and the moment feels heavy with intent.

You lean into him. A moment later, he feels your arm wend its way around his waist, under his cloak, so he holds you closer.

The evening continues like that. The two of you play it up more and more, comfortable with pretending. Not you and Horacio, and not Davide and Gwen, but a vampire and a witch, and the more you cackle and scare the children, the more Horacio flashes his fake teeth and hisses at them.

Who ever knew handing out candy in a cheap drugstore costume could be so fun?

When another lull happens, he pulls you back to him, and the motion takes you off balance a little. You hold him back but lean away from him, searching for your equilibrium, and it bares the smooth column of your neck to him.

Horacio forgets himself. Davide forgets himself. The vampire he’s pretending to be dips his head, and he presses the plastic points of his fake teeth into your pulse point, and you give a squeal of surprise, but when Horacio lifts his head to study you, he sees you staring back at him, your eyes wide and dark with obvious desire.

“That’s a good way to get a hex on you,” you warn, but there’s a smile on your red lips, and you don’t release your own hold on him. You don’t shove him away.

“I enjoy a good hex,” he replies.

The stream of children eventually dies off. The bowl of candy has been replenished multiple times, but you fill it one last time and set it on the porch for any stragglers.

Inside the house, you go from room to room and check the locks on the doors, turn off the lights. Horacio lingers near the hallway, and when you turn to make your way to your room, he stills you. He puts his hand on your waist, lightly, and he doesn’t say anything. The moment hangs suspended as you both stand there, silent.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to take you to bed?

He has always tried to be a good Catholic (the killing of narcos aside). He’s never been with anyone other than Juliana, and he feels a tinge of doubt. Guilt, too. He’s always prided himself on his fidelity, and post-divorce, he took a perverse pride in the fact that he never took a lover. That he still honored his vows despite the legal fact that he was no longer married.

He doesn’t mourn Juliana anymore, and he knows that something is growing between the two of you now, but what does it mean? Would it be right to sleep with you, knowing that this is just circumstantial? That it may end at any moment? That if you both weren’t in WitSec, you’d have never met, and might have never liked each other if you had?

Is this thing growing between the two of you only the result of being flung together by circumstances out of your control?

All of those questions rapid-fire through his head, and you seem to see the doubt in his eyes because the moment deflates. The energy and anticipation sour, and he sees it on your face. Your soft smile falls, and then you nod to yourself, as if you knew it would happen like this.

Then you smile again, thank him softly for his help handing out candy. You stretch towards him and brush the lightest of kisses against his cheek, and you step around him to go to your room.

When Horacio goes to bed, it takes him a long time to fall asleep, and he swears you must be awake too, separated only by the wall between you.

-----

The eighth month, November.

Your department at the university puts on a wine and cheese social, and spouses are encouraged to attend.

“We never really practiced our cover story,” he says as he bends over to tie his dress shoes. “Do you remember all of it?”

“I have a eidetic memory.”

“Yeah?” He glances up at you. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s a bunch of tenured professors. They love to talk about themselves and nothing else. They are all narcissists of the worse variety.”

But you aren’t entirely correct. The party is at the house of the department chair, and Horacio finds himself cornered by a pair of fellow lecturers. They are older women, charming and gregarious, and they sing your praises…and his own.

“I can see why she’s kept you hidden away,” says the taller of the two. “She said you were handsome but—”

“You make a gorgeous couple,” the shorter one cut in. “And she’s brilliant, you know, she planned out this—”

On and on they go, cutting each other off, redirecting each other, not letting Horacio get a word in edgewise. It’s not far off base from how you explained it would go, and when he catches your eye from across the room, you smile but mouth, “you okay?”

He nods, smiles back at you.

The evening is halfway over when he realizes with a start that he hasn’t cased the room once.

He hasn’t counted the exits and windows, hasn’t studied the egresses and any obstacles to them. He hasn’t scowled at each face to try and determine what dirty secret they held, if Escobar or one of his men had compromised them or their family. He hasn’t studied the lines of their clothing to see who might be hiding a piece.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to lose his edge?

It’s another question he ponders at night, since the minor disaster of Halloween. He knows he hurt you by hesitating in that moment in the hallway, but it’s a subtle hurt. He can see it in your eyes each morning, the way they study his face as if you could perhaps read his thoughts if you watch him closely enough.

More and more, these questions plague him because there’s no easy answers. Horacio is used to solving problems, but he’d be the first to admit that many of his solutions were just brute force. Displays of power. The Search Bloc has a problem? Send in men, armed men, men with guns and night-sticks, men with flint in their souls, men with hearts cased in granite. Send in Colonel Carrillo himself to a clandestine meeting place where a suspect is strung up. What’s a little light torture and murder when the fate of a country hangs in the balance?

That man is dead now. Horacio Carrillo received a state funeral, and his empty coffin lies in the mausoleum. Davide, his replacement, spent the week wrapping tender saplings in burlap in anticipation for the coming snows—all the while considering his place in the greater world and what his legacy may be.

At the end of the evening, Horacio finds you, brings you your coat, holds it out while you shrug your way into it. When the two of you leave, you pass the pair of lecturers who had cornered him, and their exchange is like a Greek chorus that follows him home.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” says one. “She’s a lucky woman.”

The other one scoffs lightly. “He’s the lucky one.”

You must not hear them because you don’t react. You only let him lead you to the car, and when he brushes away the light dusting of snow with the snow brush, his eyes find yours through the windshield—and you smile at him.

-----

The ninth month, December.

The university shuts down for most of the month, and Horacio is on an abbreviated schedule a the nursery.

The two of you have so much time together.

Horacio has seen snow before, but never like this. Vermont, so green when he arrived, is swaddled in thick layers of white like cotton batting. It absorbs and reflects sounds in weird ways, and a hush falls over your little home.

Being Colombian, he should hate it. He should curse the cold and the snow and the quiet, but it does something to his soul. It soothes him in a way he never would have guessed. True, the cold is difficult at first, but you take him to the mall one weekend and load him up with sweaters and thick woolen socks, and he’s better after that.

Everything is so calm. Peaceful. Horacio has never slept so well in his life, bundled under layers of blankets, even on the uncomfortable daybed. He sleeps, he doesn’t dream, and he wakes up naturally, in slow measure, to a soft light creeping across his bedroom floor.

Being on break, you still wake up early. Earlier than him, some days, and when Horacio wakes to the scent of brewing coffee and something delicious baking in the oven, he wishes sometimes that this was the afterlife. He wants to freeze the moment in time and never let it slip past him. He wants nothing more, in this moment.

He’s always half-asleep those mornings, but the smell of food draws him out. One morning, he pads out to the kitchen in his thick socks and startles you when he grumbles “good morning.” You shriek, then swear, then lightly try to swat him with the spatula in your hands, but he’s still half-asleep, still incredulous that this is his life at the moment, and he takes the spatula from you and pulls you into a big bear hug.

“What’s this for?” you ask. Your words are muffled against his chest, but after a beat, you wrap your arms around his midsection and hug him back.

“Just because,” he replies.

You spend your days doing puzzles, reading, listening to music. You watch “Days of Our Lives” with him and you both laugh at the bad cosmetics and even worse acting on the demonic possession storyline.

Your evenings are spent cooking dinner together. You make the trip into town every few days, and you rent movies and watch them too. You watch everything together—old Hollywood classics, campy horror, meandering romances. The two of you sit on the couch side by side, and it takes all of a day before you’re tucked in against his side, his arm firm around your shoulders.

Sometimes he glances down at you and sees your face in profile lit by the flickering light of the television. Sometimes he can make out the edge of your scar, but he doesn’t linger there. Instead he takes in the whole of your face—the curve of your cheek, the sweep of your lashes as you blink. When something funny happens on the screen, you smile, and it makes Horacio’s heart stutter in his chest to see it.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to fall in love?

Another question to ponder. Another riddle to solve. He’s losing sight of the man he was. Maybe that man is completely lost already. The thought doesn’t unnerve him; he thinks he likes the man he is here. He likes the man he is with you, the job that coaxes life into being instead of snuffing it out. He likes wearing cable-knit sweaters and thick socks and eating the banana bread you bake on mornings you don’t have to work.

He likes sitting on the couch with you and watching a rental VHS of “Beetlejuice.” He likes the feel of your body pressed against his, and he likes looking down to see you smile.

That’s the night he dares ask for more.

After the movie, you do your usual pre-bedtime sweep of the house—locks, lights—then brush your teeth and go to your room. The usual quiet click of your door closing. Horacio, as usual, goes to his room, peels back the layers of blankets, prepares to tuck himself into the cramped bed….then doesn’t.

Instead, he returns to the hallway. He taps a finger on your door, a soft staccato, and he hears you call out, “Davide?”

“Yes.”

You tell him to come in, and you’re sitting up in bed. Your eyebrows are furrowed together.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He shakes his head. How can he begin to explain it? He’s fluent in English, Spanish, and Portuguese, and his Italian is passable, yet not a single language he knows can capture the maelstrom of emotions roiling through him. He loves you, he wants you. He’s afraid you don’t feel the same for him. He’s afraid you do feel the same for him. Is this just situational or are you truly the woman he was meant for all along? Has he gone mad? Is this some tame mental breakdown, the result of coming close to death and then finding himself, improbably, in Vermont with a woman who also was near death?

From your “one true thing” game, he knows you’re a polyglot too—English and Spanish and Russian—but that shake of his head to your question seems to transcend the need for language. You seem to read it exactly, the turmoil in him, and you climb out of bed slowly, make your way over to where he stands by the door.

You reach down and take his hands in yours, and the touch bolsters him. Reassures him. He’s Horacio and Davide both, and you’re both Gwen and yourself, and he doesn’t need to parse the two. He can be both with you. You’re both complicated people with complicated pasts, but none of it matters right now because the world is swathed in layers of snow, and the two of you are the only two who exist in it.

Neither of you say much else for the rest of the night. When you turn your head to peer up at him, Horacio tilts his head to kiss you, and it’s like a bolt of lightning when he does. Maybe he fell in love with you by small moments, but this is the moment that seals it forever: this first kiss, his mouth on yours, writes your name—your real name, even if he doesn’t know it—on his heart like a line of fire.

You each lead the other back to bed; you tug him, he pushes you, and you fall gracelessly back on the rumpled covers, but each kiss, each searching touch peels back another layer of reserve. Horacio slides his hand under your shirt and cups the softness of your breasts, pinches lightly at your hardened buds. You slip your hand under the waistband of his flannel pajamas and grasp his growing erection, stroke it into full hardness as he groans into your mouth.

There’s no art to it. No seduction. You’re both starving for each other, ravenous, and you both kiss the other as you each strip out of your layers. He kisses down your neck, nips at your pulse point like he did on Halloween. He licks against the hollow at the base of your throat, draws the sweetest goddamned moans out of you, then returns to kiss you, to lick against the inside of your mouth so he can feel the sounds you’re making too.

If he’d known how vocal you were in bed, he would have summoned his courage months ago.

Your mouth is on him too. It’s another line of fire, each press of your lips on his bare skin. He finds himself on his back and you astride him. He reaches up to touch your bared breasts, but you don’t even notice because you lean down, focused only on him. Your mouth on his neck, along his stubbled jaw. You kiss his collarbones, his chest. You bite lightly against his nipples, your teeth making him huff at the sensation, and then your warm tongue laving him. Further down, a trail of kisses across his belly, which is less firm than it was in his Search Bloc days but you make a pleased noise as your mouth places wet, lingering kisses there.

Then even lower, and this is uncharted territory. Love-making with Juliana was only ever for the purpose of making children, and while Horacio had convinced her a time or two to go down on her in the interest of foreplay, he never has received head in his life. Juliana had called it dirty, and he had left it at that.

He doesn’t even register it until he feels your hand grasp him at the root of his cock, then feels the smallest, most kittenish little lick of your tongue against his leaking tip.

“Dios,” he groans out, and then he feels the rest: your tongue tracing a pattern along the length of him, then a teasing rhythm where you work him into your mouth. First just the tip. You lavish him with attention there, suckling against the most sensitive part of him, lapping up the pre-cum that leaks from him. Then more and more and more; you work him into your warm, wet mouth, and he feels your breath tickling against his groin, feels you breathing carefully through your nose as you take him as far as you can, and then you swallow against him, you hum against him, and it’s nothing like he’s ever felt before. You press your tongue against the underside of him and you hollow your cheeks, and when your warm palm reaches up to lightly fondle his balls, Horacio’s orgasm breaks around him like a tidal wave. His hips judder once, twice, and he thinks he warns you, but you don’t move. You only hold yourself there, and when he comes, you swallow every drop of him, and he wishes he could explain this feeling to Juliana: that it doesn’t feel dirty at all. It feels like a sacrament. That it feels like love.

It's only fair that he shows you his love for you in turn.

Once he recovers, he flips you onto your back and repays you in kind. He kisses his way down your naked body, makes a note of all the spots that you moan at. Make a note too of all the scars that speak to a life a lot like his was in Colombia. He kisses your scars, presses his lips to each raised ridge as if he can take away any lingering pain.

Then he settles between your legs. There’s no shyness he can detect; you spread your thighs eagerly for him. You allow him to put a pillow under your hips to tilt your pelvis into a more agreeable angle.

He’s not especially skilled at this. The handful of times with Juliana had been a race against the clock—a sprint to coax her to orgasm before she gripped his hair and made him stop. There’s no clock now, so he takes his time. He settles your legs on his shoulders and he bends his head to your gorgeous pussy, and he takes his time.

He licks against your folds, then reaches down to part them with his fingers. Licks a slow, tortuous route from the firm bud of your clit to your entrance. Over and over and over until you squirm underneath him—then he slides a finger into your clenching heat, then another, then a third, and he feels how your pussy twitches against the intrusion, how you grab against his fingers like you’re trying to pull him deeper into you.

He fingers you in a lazy rhythm, and he circles his tongue against your clit. That does something for you; you whine out a curse, and a moment later your hand is on his head, your fingers tugging against his hair, so he purses his lips, suckles against your clit, and that turns your whine into a wail.

He wishes he could tell Juliana this too, that this isn’t dirty either. When you come, he feels a flush of pride at drawing pleasure from your body—your thighs tight against his head, your pussy clamped down on his fingers, and the slick cum that pulses from you, that coats his tongue and lips in the taste of you.

He’s hard again, but he wouldn’t press his luck. This is more than he ever dared hope for. He’d be happy to curl up with you now, to fall asleep beside you, but when he lifts his head from where he’s perched between your thighs, he sees you gazing back at him.

“Please,” is all you say, and he knows what you’re asking for because he wants it too.

If there’s an argument about this being two people pushed together because of circumstances beyond their control, there’s also an argument about the two of you fitting together so well. Because you do. Your body seems like it was made for his; you fit together like two jagged puzzles pieces. Horacio settles over you, lowers his body onto yours, and it’s like magic: his cock bumps against your inner thigh, but he moves half an inch and he finds your wet heat, and then he’s pushing into you, feeling your feverish flesh part and mold to the shape of him, and then your legs are around his waist, holding him to you as he bottoms out inside you.

He stills for a long moment. He’s unable to move. It’s not because he’s afraid he’ll come too soon but because he’s afraid he might cry. Horacio Carrillo is not a man who cries (maybe Davide is), but gazing down at your face, seeing the stunned love written in your expression, he nearly cries at how lucky he feels. How blessed. That shootout in the Medellín alley should have killed him, yet here he is.

Eventually, you give him the faintest of nods, and he starts to move. He’s gentle at first. He warms you up to the feel of him, and him to you. You lay one hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek as he thrusts into you, but the other hand settles over his heart.

He could love you like this forever. He coaxes a second, then a third orgasm from you, and he watches your face during each one—the way your eyes go wide, then close tight, the way your mouth takes a hitching breath then goes slack as you breathe through it. The look on your face as it ebbs away, your eyes shiny with tears, and happy little smile curving your lips.

“I want you to come,” you whisper to him. You must feel the tension in him, and you bear down on his pistoning cock to urge him along.

“Where?” he pants out.

“Inside me. Please. Come inside me.”

He knows you’re safe. He’s lived with you for nine months now, and he’s run enough errands with you to know that you have that little plastic compact you pick up from the pharmacy once a month. He sees you swallow the same pill each morning with your vitamin. But still—he’s a man with his history, so he doesn’t register your contraceptive use in this moment. The thought comes to him that if he comes inside you, he may make you pregnant, and Horacio is surprised by how quickly the thought urges his orgasm forward.

“You sure?” At your words, he’s amped up his thrusting, driving forward in deep, strong strokes until he swears he can feel the crown of his cock nudging against the end of you, and the thought takes hold: you round with his child, the two of you in this bedroom with a child in the guest room converted into a nursery. At this moment, it’s the tamest of breeding kinks, but in the morning, he’ll realize it’s just more of this perfect life extrapolated. You not as his pretend-wife but as his real wife. A child as tangible proof that this isn’t just an incongruous moment in time.

“Yes. Please.” You lick your lips, blink up at him. “I-I want to feel you coming inside me.”

It’s only fair that he obliges you. You ask so nicely, so he does: he thrusts three, four times more, then feels his pleasure snap and spark up his spine as he fills you.

Then he collapses on top of you, and a moment later, he feels your fingers combing through his hair, lightly running over his back.

“You can sleep here, if you want.” You say it shyly, like you think this might just be a physical release for him, so he lifts his head to kiss you and reply that he wants that very much.

Horacio never sleeps in that cramped daybed again.

-----

The tenth month, January.

What does it mean to Horacio Carrillo for the lines between real and pretend to blur?

It means that through Christmas and into the new year, you live as husband and wife. You live as newlyweds. You make love in every room in the house, and you spent lazy days tangled up together. It means you draw straws to see who has to drive into town for provisions, and it’s all a joke anyway because you always go together. It means your world collapses down into the most basic of human needs: feeding and fucking.

It means that between love-making, the two of you share more about your real lives. Horacio learns about your family life. He learns that you’re CIA, and you’ve been stationed in Panama post-Noriega. He learns that it was an explosion, a car bomb outside of your headquarters, that left you with that scar on your head.

You learn about the Search Bloc and Escobar. You learn about his childhood as the son of a great military leader, and how that legacy shaped his own life and career.

But what does it mean when that line blurs?

It means that when Johnson returns to your lives, everything ends abruptly.

“Everything is all clear,” he tells you when he turns up one Saturday in the middle of January. He sips at the cup of coffee you made him, and if he notices the stunned silence of both of you, he doesn’t remark on it.

“Escobar was gunned down early today. It hasn’t hit the wire yet.” Johnson glances at you. “And the group that bombed your HQ has been cleared out too. You’ve been safe for a few months, but we didn’t want to upset the situation here.”

“So now what?” you ask, and Horacio feels sick to his stomach as Johnson explains that your old lives are waiting for you and that it’s time to go.

-----

The end comes that day, but not the way Horacio thought it would.

You gesture to Johnson after he gives the rundown on the logistics, and the two of you go outside. Horacio watches from the kitchen window as you cross your arms against the cold. You talk, Johnson listens. Then Johnson talks, you listen. Back and forth, and by the end Johnson shakes his head, shakes your hand, and returns inside.

“Okay, so change of plans,” he says, and he rubs his hands together briskly to bring the warmth back to them. “It’s just you and me now. Go pack and say your goodbyes, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

He leaves, and Horacio watches him pull out of the driveway, and when he turns back to the interior of the house, he sees you standing there. Crying openly, tears cutting tracks down your face.

“I can’t go back,” you explain, your voice thick with tears. “I won’t.”

Then you break down into sobs, and it’s second nature to stride over to you, to pull you into his arms. He tries to soothe you—rubs your back, holds you to him—as you choke out the words. That you have had a crisis of conscience. That you wonder if your work in the CIA did more harm than good. That you think it’s the former, and how you want to spend the balance of your life not doing more harm than good. That you want to live in a quiet town that is green in the summer and swaddled in white in the winter. You want to teach, you want to come home to a house with….and you catch yourself at the last minute. You don’t say it, but Horacio can guess it.

You want to come home to a house with him in it. You want to come home to him.

“I love my life here,” you amend hastily, but you push away from him, aware he’s leaving and that your life won’t be exactly the same either way. You mumble something about not wanting to say goodbye, about wishing him the best, and then you disappear down the hallway. He hears the click of the door and your crying, and it doesn’t abate while he packs.

When Johnson returns, Horacio taps on the bedroom door, but you don’t answer and he doesn’t push it. He’s sleepwalking through the moment, numb, so he leaves. He doesn’t say goodbye. He only climbs into Johnson’s rental car, and each mile that Johnson puts between you and Horacio only makes the numbness grow.

“Women, huh?” Johnson says as they near the airport. “That’s why I said they should never take field work. They don’t have the stomach for it, in the end.”

Horacio grunts a non-reply, but he thinks Johnson is off the mark. It’s not that you don’t have the stomach for it. It’s that you don’t have the heart.

-----

February.

He goes from Vermont to Miami, this time around.

Horacio is given a hotel room, and he’s given the orders to just chill for a bit. Johnson has extricated him from his fake life as Davide, but his old life as Colonel Horacio Carrillo isn’t quite ready for him yet.

There are mountains of paperwork to bring a man back from the dead. There’s talk of giving him a cushy role in Madrid. There’s talk of commendations, medals, a comfortable pension to retire on. He’s done a lot for his country of Colombia, and Colombia wants to reward him.

He sleepwalks through this liminal space. The not-Davide, not-Horacio time. He wanders the streets around the hotel and picks at the food he orders in restaurants, and each time he hears a woman speak, he looks up expecting to see you.

I don’t even know her real name, he thinks.

Gwen, his one-time pretend-wife. Gwen, who had a panic attack on her country’s birthday. Gwen, who questioned the harm she may have caused to another country, another people. Gwen, who only wants the chance to do a little good now, or at least to do no more bad. It wasn’t Gwen at all, but he has no other name to use, so he runs through all the lovely little moments he had with Gwen.

Watching for you to return from your daily jogs. Walking through the falling leaves of autumn with you. Making you coffee, pressing the steaming mug into your hands each morning. Handing out candy to the children at Halloween, tucking you under his cloak at the autumn chill. Watching movies with you as the snow fell outside, then curling up in bed with you, slotting his body against yours, giving you pleasure and taking pleasure from you in equal measure. Threading his fingers through yours as he arched over you, his eyes falling on the glinting light in the gold band in your ring finger, it’s twin on his own.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to finally make a choice?

Of course he’s made choices before. Every day, he made a million choices, large and small. But the big stuff, the giant stuff, the life-shaping stuff—did he have much choice? His father’s military career pretty much guaranteed his own career in the Search Bloc. His family’s status pretty much guaranteed he’d marry a Catholic girl from a family of similar standing. And when Juliana chose to leave him, he really had no choice then, either.

Same with his pretend life of ten months. He had no choice in being paired with you, no choice in ending up in New England, little choice in working as a man who tended trees.

He imagines you in your shared home, alone. Johnson explained on the plane that you’d be able to buy the place, that WitSec only rents homes across the U.S. He explained that this has happened more than once, and that it’s actually not too difficult to let a witness slide into their pretend-life permanently.

The choice comes down to the most mundane thought. Horacio stands in his hotel room in Miami and wonders, who will make her coffee in the morning if I’m not there?

*****

Winter always loses its charm by the time February rolls around. The fleecy white snow turns into grey slush, and everything is cold and soggy and depressing.

Davide leaving doesn’t help at all.

You knew it would end eventually. You didn’t have much insight into his situation, but you knew that the cartel targeting you would be easy enough to neutralize. They were only there because of the power vacuum left behind by Noriega, and they were poorly organized.

You just thought when it ended, you’d have more time. Which is one of your fatal flaws, always thinking you’ll have more time. Your father died from a heart attack when you were in high school, and your mother died from a car crash when you were in college. You, more than anyone, should realize that time was never a guarantee, yet you always think you have a surfeit of it.

It's not your proudest moment, those final minutes with Davide. Not falling apart in a wash of tears, and not fleeing to your room. You should have committed to one extreme or the other. You should have either calmly explained your decision and bade him farewell…or you should have given in to the emotion of the moment and spilled everything.

Why do you never learn your lesson? You never had a chance to tell your parents that you loved them before they died. Why didn’t you tell Davide you loved him before he left to return to whoever he was before?

You know you could find him. You’d caught his lightly accented English and guessed at South America. Colombia, if he was hiding from Escobar. He told you about the Search Bloc. You knew some people in that theater. You could find him and tell him that you loved him, but would it do more harm than good? Doesn’t he have the right to return to his previous life without any baggage from this one?

February, then: grey, cold. You go to work. You teach your classes and hold office hours. Political science can create real monsters, so you gently try to steer your students towards the path of diplomacy and not war. Maybe this is how you make amends, if such a thing is even possible.

You go home each evening and pull together a sandwich for dinner. Sometimes you get take-out, and you eat over the sink. Sometimes you watch T.V. and sometimes you read, but you always sleep alone with Davide’s pillow clutched to your chest, the lingering scent of him fading away within days.

-----

Then March. The snow starts to melt a bit, and under some of the trees in your backyard you start to see the little purple and white jewels of budding crocuses.

You resume your runs in the mornings. The campus shakes off its doldrums too and the students seem livelier.

You made the right choice to stay. You go to the bank with your real name and get a mortgage. You buy the house under your real name, and you go to the university human resources and hand over the paperwork Johnston gave you, and it’s weird at first, explaining why you’re not really Gwen, but it shocks you how quickly people adapt to using your real name.

-----

March is still fresh when there’s a knock at your door one Saturday morning.

Your first guess is that it’s a delivery. Johnson promised to ship all of your stuff from your apartment in Panama City. Not that you have anything valuable, but it would be nice to have your record collection back. You don’t want to have to rebuild that from scratch.

You’re already out of practice from your prior life. You don’t bother to check who it is, don’t look out the window before you open the door, and so it’s a shock to see Davide standing there, his fist lifted like he’s about to knock again.

He drops his hand and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You are speechless too, but you don’t need words to because as he drops and unfurls his hand by his side, you see the way the gold ring on his finger catches the morning light.

He’s still wearing his wedding ring, you think, and your body moves towards his, you leap into his arms and he’s there to catch you. You breathe out his name, but he chuckles, pushes you gently away from him.

“No, cariño,” he replies, shakes his head. “Not Davide.”

“Well, no. I mean—”

“I’m Horacio,” he interrupts. You reply with your own name, and he repeats it, almost to himself.

“Everything else was me,” he adds. “Everything but the name. What we had…” He trails off, fixes you with that dark-eyed stare of his.

“Everything else was me too.” All of the bare facts of your fake life as Gwen hold little weight to that nebulous everything else: every joke and shared laugh, your Fourth of July panic attack. The feel of his hand on your waist when you went apple picking. The way his hair curled after a shower, and how you loved to run your fingers through it when he fell asleep beside you. All of it. Every stupid little moment that most other people would have already forgotten.

Horacio holds up his hand to show you the ring you’ve already noticed. “I never took it off. It didn’t even occur to me to.”

You hold up your own hand. “Me neither.”

He looks away, squints his eyes as he looks off into the distance, but you swear you can see tears there. He clears his throat, but his voice comes out rougher than usual.

“I’d like to see if I’m as good a man as Davide was,” he says. “I’d like that chance, but only if you…” Another cough as he clears he throat, then continues. “Only if you’ll have me.”

You reach out and take his hand in yours. You touch the warm metal on his finger, then the thought comes to you. You slide the ring off, and you feel Horacio watching you. On the plane, you each put your rings on yourselves, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it?

Now, nearly a year later, you take his wedding ring off. For a long beat, you study it—it’s a simple thing, nothing elaborate. WitSec wasn’t going to waste money on an expensive ring for a fake marriage, and it already has a shallow scratch in it, likely from his job at the nursery.

Then you lift your head and gaze at him, and without breaking eye contact, you slide the ring back on his finger. The smile that spreads across his face when you do is enough of a promise as any vows recited in a church, and he repeats the motion with your own ring—takes it off, then slides it back on with intention.

And then, because there’s no priest there to give the order, Horacio bends down and kisses you for the first time as himself, and the first time as yourself, and perhaps you learn your lesson about time after all because the moment you part, you whisper, “I love you” to him.

And perhaps he needed to learn the same lesson because he sighs, pulls you closer to him, and whispers “I love you too.”

#colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo x reader #narcos #tropes and tales

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chaotic-mystery · 5 months

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Mr. Peña

Pairing: Boss!Javi Peña x assistant!f reader (technically the photo is not from season 3 but I fully see season 3 Javi and his stressed ass needing an assistant.)

Summary: you stop by your boss’ house to drop off intel and he’s persistent about how you got said intel.

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI, this is an 18+ blog only. Power imbalance, boss/assistant dynamic, flirty work relationship hinted at, pwmp, oral (m receiving) gagging, choking, spit, sassy Javi calling you cute but not like that, dirty talk, talk of posing as a call girl, smoking, specifically Javi smoking while you suck his dick. No use of y/n! If I missed anything let me know!

Authors note: this is my submission to @iamasaddie and her Pinterest challenge with the moodboard she made for me! I love this idea and I’d love to do one soon. Thanks @pedgito for beta reading as always, here’s a cookie 🍪 wc: 1k

“Here’s what you missed today, Mr. Pena. We’re not sure where the other friend is at right now but a couple of guys are going through phone call recordings to see if they mentioned anything.” You say as you toss down the file to the current case you’d been going over all day to help Javier with. Just starting at the Embassy as an assistant wasn’t your goal but at least it got your foot in the door, to one day be a DEA agent.

Javi was standing on the other side of the small kitchen counter with a glass of scotch in his hand, tucked against his chest. He never made it back to the office after lunch time due to checking leads but he called just a little while ago to let you know you needed to swing by and drop everything new that you and some of the other DEA agents found while he was gone. Even though you were just an assistant, he made it very clear you’re his number two while he’s not in the office and to treat you with respect.

“So who found this one? He was someone we could never get a ping for the cellphone records.” Javi holds up the photo of the scumbag drug dealer and looks at you.

“Oh, that was me, Mr. Pena. I blocked caller ID and I pretended to be a um…a call girl?” It came out as more of a question but how were you supposed to confidently tell your boss that you got a drug dealer's goon on the phone while you posted as a phone sex worker.

“A call girl? Remind me what that is.” He squints at you and takes a sip of his drink as he waits

for you to clarify.

“It’s when you pose as a uh..sex worker.” You gulp awkwardly.

Javi chuckles. “What did you say to him to make him stay on long enough to get a ping?”

“I was just telling him the stuff I think you’d normally hear if you were on the phone to a call girl. Ya know..” You look away from him and your face grows warm.

The ice in Javi’s cup clink around as he sets it down on the counter to his side.

“Like what?” He persists and you finally give in, hoping he’d drop it.

“Just about how needy I was and I was looking for some fun, stuff about how I’m sure his dick is big…how he’d make me scream until the sun came up…” The lump in your throat becomes more apparent and Javi breathlessly chuckles, hand coming to his hip while he smooths his mustache. A small part of you didn’t mind talking like this to Javi, he would tend to stare at your ass when you’d walk away from his desk, or something so small as giving your hand a squeeze if he’d have to slip past behind you.

“I knew you’d figure something out, you’re so smart. You must’ve had him going good, but where did you learn to talk like that? Never pegged you for a dirty girl like that. What else did you say to him?” Javi picks up the file one more time as he leans on the island, mindlessly flipping through sheets and sheets of intel. With the dim lighting you notice his face was a slight shade of red, probably thinking about what you just said.

“Think I could suck your cock so good your head would spin?” The confidence in your tone makes you stand a little taller as Javi’s eyes keep going over papers, a small smirk on his lips.

“What’d he say to that?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you…sir.”

The folder lowers and Javi’s eyes meet yours, the room falling silent but your heart beating in your ears.

Javi gets close to your face and he cocks his head to the side.

“You think you could handle me? That’s cute.”

Reaching out to grab his belt buckle, you give it a tug to show him you mean what you say.

“There’s only one way to find out, Mr. Pena.” You innocently say as you lower yourself to your knees. Javi sighs deeply as he grabs his pack of cigarettes off the counter and lights one, putting it between his lips while you tug down his pants.

You waste no time getting his cock into your mouth and Javi groans loudly at the feeling of your tongue swirling over the head.

He takes a puff of his cigarette and pulls it from his mouth, looking down at you. “How long have you been wanting to suck your boss off, hm? Look at that cock in your mouth, fuuuuck.”

You don’t answer with words but you shove his cock deeper down your throat and hold it there as long as you can before you gag and release, pulling back slowly.

Javi moans as he runs his hand against your head, jaw clenching at how good it feels before he puts the cigarette back in his mouth.

You jerk him off as saliva spills down the corners of your mouth and your mascara starts to run.

“Every time you’re on the phone in your office yelling at someone I can’t help but get excited. I love when you’re aggressive, Mr. Pena. So fuckin’ sexy.” You whine and slap the tip on your tongue before taking all of him in your mouth once more. The way your dirty words flow from your mouth catches him off guard, causing him to toss his head back in pleasure. More curse words with your name wrapped in the mix come out from him in moans and you grab his hip to hold him steady as you bob your head back and forth.

Javi leaves the cigarette between his pink lips while he steps out of his skin tight jeans and ditches the half buttoned shirt. “Get up, because I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you around and puts your arms behind you, guiding you in the direction of his bedroom.

“Walk.”

#javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javi peña #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña #Pedro pascal javi Peña

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aphroditelovesu · 8 months

Text

Yandere Rhaenyra Targaryen/Alicent Hightower Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ 🐉— lady l: This is really long but I started writing and couldn't stop, so here's a poly headcanon!! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes!

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, implied murder, mention of mutilation, very slight nsfw and polyamorous relationship.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!rhaenyra targaryen/alicent hightower x female!reader.

Rhaenyra and Alicent have always been close, best friends and even sisters. They always enjoyed each other's company immensely and had a mutual trust between them.

Secretly, they had romantic feelings for each other but never had the courage to act on their feelings. Rhaenyra wasn't sure what she felt and Alicent considered what she felt wrong, even if she didn't quite understand what those feelings were.

Their relationship grew stronger over the years, especially when they met you. You were the daughter of a Lord of an important house in Westeros and were sent at a young age to King's Landing to learn how to be a proper courtesan. Rhaenyra immediately took a liking to you, sticking to your side like gum, while Alicent was more skeptical.

Rhaenyra adored you immediately, she found it adorable how confused and innocent you were in the face of court politics and she wanted to be your friend. It took Alicent a while to get used to your presence, to your intrusion into her friendship with Rhaenyra, but once she did, she couldn't live without you anymore.

Because they had feelings for each other before your arrival, they couldn't help but feel a little jealous of you. Alicent swallowed hard and bit her nails when you were too close to Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra became anxious and even irritated when you spent too much time with Alicent. Over the years, this changed and the jealousy was directed from one to the other.

The three of you liked to spend your days reading, gossiping, eating cake, and, depending on the situation, flying with Rhaenyra on Syrax or waiting for her to return with Alicent in the carriage.

It wasn't easy to admit the romantic feelings they had for you and each other, but when they finally did, it was like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders.

The first kiss with each of them was shy and awkward, as they had no practice. Rhaenyra's lips against yours were sloppy and dominant, possessive. Alicent's were, although clumsy, soft and gentle, hesitant.

It was an experience and one that they would remember forever. You kissed for a while, with some silly hands there, but nothing more than that. Until one day Rhaenyra decided to move on.

You were in her room, lying on the bed and exchanging caresses and kisses, when Rhaenyra touched you in a more intimate way. Both Alicent and you were surprised but excited at the prospect of going further. Alicent was a little reluctant, but she wanted you and that was a way to seal your love.

Rhaenyra's touches were strong and dominant, wanting to mark you as hers. She sucked your skin hard and her fingers entered the dress you were wearing, touching you in parts that not even you had dared to touch and bringing you to your first orgasm. She would be gentle and warm, her kisses and touches would fill you with warmth.

Alicent was no longer as innocent as you and Rhaenyra, but she still had doubts. But they all disappear the moment you touch her in her private place, your fingers moving and pushing her to the edge. She came with your name on her lips, her breathing labored and her face red.

They were both extremely possessive and overprotective of you. Any talk of marriage that involved you was quickly brushed aside. They would never let you be tainted by anyone other than them.

Rhaenyra is a dragon and her jealousy is the most intense, she will be filled with rage and will never forget an offense. Without caring what others think, she would tear you away from whoever is talking to you and make sure you know who you belong to.

Alicent is calmer, she deals with her emotions by repressing them, even though this is not healthy. She feels very jealous, but she will try to hold back and pretend that she is not bothered, but she will be brooding inside. Alicent will be sure to remind you who you belong to throughout the night.

The three of you loved each other deeply and were sure that nothing and no one would separate you. Needless to say, you were very wrong.

Your relationship was tested when Alicent married Viserys and Rhaenyra married Laenor. Although it had already deteriorated by the time the announcement of Viserys and Alicent's marriage was made, you still had hope that they would be friends again and be together.

For a while that was even possible, but when Rhaenyra married Laenor, you knew it wasn't. And the birth of Alicent's firstborn son will test Rhaenyra's claim to the Iron Throne. What followed wasn't good, with the birth of Rhaenyra's children and Alicent's disdain for them, you knew there was no going back.

And you were sure of it when you were summoned to Driftmark's main hall after Aemond was mutilated by Lucerys. Both women wanted your support and there was no way around the situation anymore.

You couldn't have both anymore. You need to choose one, knowing that you will hurt the other and that the one you will be rejected will never accept.

Your fate was sealed the moment your father sent you to King's Landing and you accepted the company of Rhaenyra and Alicent. What seemed like a true friendship that would last forever became full of intrigue and struggles for power and for you.

#a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #asoiaf #yandere hotd #hotd #yandere alicent hightower #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere alicent hightower x reader #yandere rhaenyra targaryen x reader #yandere rhaenyra x reader x alicent #yandere rhaenyra targaryen x reader x alicent hightower #yandere headcanons #rhaenyra x reader x alicent #rhaenyra targaryen x reader x alicent hightower #yandere poly #polyamourous

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crumbledcastle28 · 7 months

Text

Javier Pena: Blowing Off Steam

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: During one of the most important meetings of his career, Javier is relentlessly distracted by the drive over.

Excerpt: "That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

Warnings: making out, heavy touching, smutty smut smut, dirty talk, my attempt at Spanish, unestablished relationship, swearing, italicized=flashback/past, I am positive this doesn't actually work with canon, Javier is a simp.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I don't really know what to say besides I missed this with every part of me. Please enjoy this brain rot that has gotten me through the last three months.

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

General Masterlist

(gif from pinterest you cannot convince me that isn't a hickey on his neck bfibrifbiri)

Javier's taste buds were coated with a delightfully devilish mix of Cheval Blanc and red lipstick as he sucked in your heated breaths.

Your thighs fit so fucking perfectly in his hands as he gave them a squeeze. Your bare, sweaty skin squeaked against the leathered seats in response.

"Javi," you whined, and he shushed you gently. The streetlights passing by illuminated your smooth skin like music, and he was tempted to pull away only to stare at you.

Another whimper from your swollen mouth persuaded him against it.

He moved his teeth down your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. He could feel the heat of your core against him as you began to grind into him slightly, god did it make his lower stomach pulse.

He switched to the left side of your neck, pushing you against the car door ever so slightly as he cut his vision to the driver. The man's bald head had remained facing forward, his skin a deep tan. He figured limo drivers had to deal with this sort of bullshit all the time. A part of him enjoyed the fact that another man was learning just how liquid you were for him.

A bigger part of him fucking hated it.

It was this millisecond of inner turmoil that gave you the upper hand - pulling his mouth from your throat and bringing it to your own, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, sliding your hand down his pants, tracing his happy trail as your fingers cupped him so fucking flawlessly -

"Agent?"

Javier sucked in a breath. His palms had practically soaked through the menu in his hands.

"Ye-yes?" he said, clearing his throat.

The Colonel scoffed. "Your head is not where your heart is, Peña."

"Fuck off," he whispered back, and stuck his nose back into the menu.

Carillo had called a meeting about a possible promotion for Javi, suggesting he was "too acquainted" with the night life of Colombia to be sitting at a desk all day. He felt Javi was needed on the ground, working within the system than around it. A true DEA agent, rather than a glorified secretary.

Hence whatever the fuck this dinner was.

Javi was surrounded by his superiors, men and women he had never seen nor met before, as well as what had to be hundreds of dollars in booze. The menu before him had words he had never even heard of before, as well as prices that seemed to stretch off the page if he unfocused his eyes.

He was the furthest out of his comfort zone that he could have ever imagined, while consecutively borderline emotional at the favor Carillo was doing for him. He was dealing with more emotions than he had allowed himself to in years.

You had looked too pretty that night not to blow off some steam.

-he could have come right then and there. He felt your smile against his lips as he jumped at the feeling, before practically melting into your hands. He could barely kiss you through his panting.

"Sensitive," you whispered as you dragged your teeth down his jawline, paying particular attention to the crease between his bone and his neck. The two of you had done this enough for you to know all his weak spots.

He gripped the fabric of your dress as you did before sliding his hands underneath it, resting his hands on your ribcage. You sighed at the feeling.

"I'm sensitive?" he whispered, moving his hands all the way up to cup your breasts. You tucked your face more into his neck as he did, but continued to trace his head and dick. This flipped the switch on him once again, chills etching themselves down his spine, and a renewed heat boiling his organs -

Javier came back to a woman whose name he had long forgotten asking him a question he absolutely did not hear.

But, he flashed his charming smile anyway.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and despite the woman's efforts, a faint blush crawled up her neck.

"And what makes you say that?" she said in reply.

He could feel Carillo's smile.

"Just a gut feeling," Javier said, and to his surprise, she smiled.

-that finally caused something in him to ignite. He felt out of body, watching himself as if from he was a fly on the ceiling remove his dominant hand from your breast and bring it between your legs. He only took a few seconds to enjoy the wetness that had culminated there before he teased your opening.

Your jaw fell open, giving him ample opportunity to stick his tongue down your throat as he finally fingered you up to the knuckle.

Your body convulsed against him, any and all air escaping your lungs the very second he began to pump in and out of you. It was messy, it was desperate, but god was it everything -

"And how exactly was that handled, Agent...." the man paused, before snapping his fingers in recognition. "Peña. Agent Peña."

Javier swallowed. "Well, we could never have pulled it off without the Colonel, as well as our other agents."

Javier had never spoken so out of his ass in his life.

"I was just a puzzle piece," he said before taking another sip of his bourbon.

The man appeared partially pleased, but unconvinced.

"And how exactly do you plan on being less of a puzzle piece going forward, Mr. Peña?" The man said this as he leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands onto the table.

Every eye at this goddamn table was on him, and for some reason, it made him think of you once again. The way you would whisper in his ear. Your unwillingness to appear afraid. You had told him once you couldn't afford to look afraid in a city like Bogotà.

"It's better to look stupid than afraid. It would eat me fucking alive," you had said.

He decided to take a page out of your book for once.

"I plan on being the person placing the pieces, sir," Javier said. "I can only do that by being more active in the streets. Fieldwork, groundwork, whatever you want to call it."

Javier leaned forward, mimicking the man's position almost exactly.

"How else can I see the full picture?" he asked.

The man's skin was as red as his wine, while his colleagues were as shined as gold.

-and more, prompting Javier to do what he seemed incapable to avoid doing whenever he was with you: lose complete control of his mouth.

"That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

You rocked up and down onto his fingers, whining into his ear as he used his middle finger to pump, and his thumb to caress your clit. He took the one he had around your neck down to your thigh, tracing the muscles, invigorating what you were already feeling between your thighs. It rose up and up to your breasts, forcing you to cup and play with them.

He smiled again, removing the hand from your thigh to bring it up to one of your breasts. He fondled one, while you fondled the other.

"Didn't know you could get this bothered from just my ha-"

"Shut the fuck up," you said and kissed him so hard your teeth clashed -

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Peña," said the blushing woman from before. "I look forward to working with you in the future."

Javier was no dummy. He could very easily read between the lines of what she was implying. However, due to how much he could not get his mind off of you - despite the fact that he finally got the job he had been dreaming about since he was a little kid - he had a feeling that he would only disappoint.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and shook her hand firmly.

He said his goodbyes to his superiors before following Carillo outside the restaurant. The two men sat there, waiting for their individual limos to arrive.

Where the DEA got the money for shit like this, Javier had no idea.

Carillo patted Javier on the back in congratulations, which was more affection that Javier had ever seen the man give to his own wife, and Javier gave him a nod in return.

It was then that Carillo began to chuckle.

"Cual es tu problema?" Javier asked, slightly aggitated.

Carillo shook his head. "You could have at least attempted to hide your way of blowing off steam, Pena," he said, gesturing to his own neck.

Javier must have reddened, because Carillo only laughed harder.

-so hard he was shocked one didn't chip. The two of you stayed that way for some - grinding and kissing and pulling at each other - before the limo finally pulled up to his destination.

You pulled away from him as you felt the limo lurch into park. You looked behind him, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the restaurant Javier would be dining at. You then smiled at him, wiping at his face and his hair, as well as straightening out his lapel.

"You should have warned me," you said to him, "I would have gone easier."

He smiled. "No, you wouldn't."

You smiled back, giving him one last kiss. It was deep, but deep in a way that meant more than goodbye. He couldn't afford to look more into it than that.

"Good luck," you whispered, and he nodded before exiting the vehicle. He saw you wipe at your own face through the window, as well as give the driver your address.

He watched you drive away, his heart shifting from a delightful flutter to an anxious one.

He watched his limo pull up behind Carillo's, sucking in the last of the chilled night air.

"Good luck, Peña," Carillo said as he walked to his car, a slight slur in his voice from all the bourbon. "Go and fucking celebrate."

Javier grinned as he opened his limo's door, exhaling in relief at his prayers of having a different driver being answered. The driver didn't even turn around as he said in a thick Colombian accent, "Where to?"

Javier knew exactly where he was headed.

He was going to fucking celebrate.

Tag list: (if you would like to be added please let me know :)

@lovesbiggerthanpride @paintlavillered @xocalliexo @c4psicle @joelsflannel @thesmutslut @untitledarea @daphne-turner @queerponcho @leahkenobi

#javier pena smut #javi #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #din djarin x reader #the last of us fanfiction

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pascallatte · 1 year

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Y/n and Lina’s memorable Narcos scenes (season 1)

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader

Summary: Narcos BTS part 3, a little throwback, more like a compilation of Y/n’s funny moments on set, for the se 1 of Narcos

Date: December 2015

Taglist: @benonlinear, @t-stark35, @heyitsme-2, @elleeeee21, @holmesstrange, @tagakalat, @flyestvenustrap, @oldermenaremyreligion, @cherryred444, @avengersheart, @guacala

A/n: this will be in both reader’s view and what can be seen during the episodes. Hoping you guys won’t get confused.

Episode 1: Descenso - chimney with a moustache

Seated next to Pedro, you were holding your own fake drink waiting for the camera to cue.

“La Dispensaria?” Maurice said as soon as the cameras started rolling. “Listo." The camera signalled to both of you before the lens focused.

“Adivina quien era” stating his line as he gestures to you and Pedro. Raising your eyebrows, you tried to keep your look as serious as possible.

“Tu companero,” you shoved a couple nuts in your mouth as you shook your head, chuckling. “Me acaba de dar un regalito,” Maurice continued to say his lines while you tried to not be bothered by the way Pedro’s ‘smoke’ was directed at you.

“Pois-“ he was interrupted by your cough and wheezing, making both males turn to you.

Pedro cracked a small smile,” what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” looking around at the staff, “ The smoke just got too much I was like inhaling everything this chimney with a moustache was producing,” pointing to Pedro who broke into a laugh before pushing your face to the side.

Episode 2: The Sword of Simon Bolivar - Stumble-lina??

“And action!!”

You watched from the entrance as Boyd and Pedro shook hands for the hundredth time for their supposed meeting.

“Javier?” Pedro only gave a nod in response, before he walked closer to you, hand still raised, “Catalina?”

“Yes,” shaking his hand. Raising his eyebrows. “American?” He asks.

You only stared at him and didn’t give him an answer, before looking behind him at Pedro. Nudging your head to the side as a signal for him to lead "Steve" inside the embassy.

—

“We’re going to Medellin?” Boyd asked Pedro as both walked in front of you, at a quick pace might I add.

Trying your best to keep up, you just focused on staying in character. You cleared your throat speeding up as you see the door you were supposed to enter to.

“Jarheads..” You walked inside, “this is-whoa!” And of course, you didn’t see the mat on the floor making you stumble down.

“Ok cut!” Screamed the director

Sitting on your knees, you looked up at them before crossing your arms. “Can I walk before you guys the next time we shoot this,” your scene partners both hid their smiles when they understood what you mean.

“ Guys, I can’t keep up, and if you want this part to finish, better put me in front.” You said getting up and breathing out a laugh, noticing the red faces of your friends as they stopped themselves.

Episode 3: The Men of Always - Pedro cam mess

“Hello, Pedro cam! I’m supposed to enter that scene behind me in a minute, I think, but in the meantime, I'm gonna hold on to this,” turning the camera back to them, they were seen sitting inside the small restaurant about to talk about the dead cat if you weren’t mistaken. You zoomed in on their faces, stifling a laugh when you got a clear view of Pedro.

Boyd who noticed your position, let out a subtle smirk before going back into character.

“Ahhh, look it’s Javier Penaaaa, the stupidly, hot, and annoying DEA agent who loves his moustache so much, but that might just be P himself”

Zooming in a little bit more, you tried to trace his moustache with your finger in front of the lens. Chuckling, you didn’t notice that a cut was called out, making Pedro look at you as you audibly gasped.

“You!” He pointed at you while you tried to run away.

“No, I didn’t do anything OIII”

“Get that camera away from me,”

“ What do you mean, there are cameras all over you, why won’t you stop them,”

“I won’t be explaining myself,” he takes the camera before facing it towards himself. “Ok ‘Pedro cam’ is no more.”

What you didn’t see in the back was Boyd stalking closer to the two of you, and as soon as Pedro finishes talking he scoops you up and places you on his shoulder running away.

Episode 4: The Palace in Flames - The blooper that was included in the episode

You were once again seated in a cafe with Boyd opposite you and Pedro on the right of you. Breathing out a sigh, you leaned on his shoulder, zoning out.

In spacing out for a few seconds, you didn’t notice the director yelling action. Which made you make a confused face when Boyd stood up to give Joanna a kiss, looking around you saw the cameras rolling.

“Your girlfriend?” Ana asks Pedro while gesturing to you who was still processing what happened.

Figuring out that she was in character you cleared your throat and shake your head, “uhh No, I’m also CIA.”

“And cut!!”

Groaning you leaned your elbows on the table, covering your face with your hands, “I think I spaced out.”

“You think?” Pedro said laughing, before reaching out to ruffle your hair. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was muffled when you moved and planted your face on his chest making your scene partners and staff laugh.

Episode 5: There Will be a Future - the scene that proved the slow burn watchers was theorized when Netflix announced your character, Catalina, was to be Javier’s love interest.

“Was with my buddy, John. He was my best man. We were late,” sighing, Javier takes a sip from his beer, before turning to look at Lina through the mirror.

“It was fucking blazing outside, 110 degrees,” She was seen taking a long glance at him before looking out the window.

She listened the whole time Javier was telling his story, and never once did she interrupt him like she used to.

“Please don’t tell me you left her at the altar,” Steve grinned towards Javier.

Javier turns to look in Catalina’s direction only to see that she was already looking at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, as if communicating through their eyes, before Javier breaks it responding to Steve, “I….don’t know if she actually made it to the altar.”

“Well, you saved her a lifetime of hell.”

“Yeah, she forgave me. Eventually, married a stockbroker from Dallas”

“Hm,” Lina lets out finding this part of his story funny.

Glancing at her, “Trust me, she’s better off,”

“What if Father Sabrino talks?” Steve asks Javier as soon as he sees a car coming their way.

Sitting up, Lina checks her gun, before leaning on the centre console letting out a shaky breath.

Javier turns to her, answering Steve’s question but maintaining eye contact. As he slowly places his hand on top of hers.

Navegante enters their car eyeing Lina up and down before looking front. Noticing the exchange, Javier tells Steve to take Lina’s seat making her sit in front.

“Sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t came before.” Navegante’s broken English broke through the tense air.

“What’ve you got,” Lina asks him with a slightly shaky breath. Javier’s hand was on her knees by then softly stroking the part, trying to calm her nerves.

“Gacha’s going tonight to Cartagena,” the dealer says making all three agents look at him.

——

“Gacha….is in Cartagena. Tonight.” Lina repeated as soon as they arrived at Javier’s room.

The thoughts in her head kept her pacing around the room. And all Javier can do is watch her.

“I-.. if gacha’s there that means, he’s there too right? Escobar? W-which means we can catch him, right? Now?” Turning towards Javier who was now standing behind her to her surprise.

Without waiting for a response, she takes her gun and checked if the mag is full, patting herself to see if she’d brought anything that can reveal her identity.

Lina kept mumbling to herself seemingly close to panicking because this was the closest they’d been to Escobar and his group since she’s arrived, close to a year ago.

Looking at him, “J-javi, check your gun, you have to” her rambling ceased as soon as Javier’s hands had cupped her cheeks tilting them upwards.

Shushing her, “Catalina, Lina, Hermosa. Calm down, nothing will happen ok?” He reassures her. Slowly breathing in and out, he guides her to follow his breathing.

“That’s it, it’s ok, yeah? Nothing will happen tonight, nothing will go wrong, you have to calm down,” Javier says softly, which is something he himself was unfamiliar with. He then leans his forehead on hers as he stared into her eyes to soothe her.

Nodding, she reaches up to hold his wrists and exhales before closing her eyes. Leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest instead.

Episode 6: Explosivos - that was hot

“So I just push him right??”

“Yes Y/n, cameras rolling in five, four, three..”

You stand in position, getting in character.

“Get the fuck back, the fuck back,” you aim your gun at the person to your left. Before turning back to the actor you’ve thrown to the ground.

You kicked him once, before straddling him and inserting the tip of the gun in his mouth. Shouting, “Usted trabaja para mi, maricon!” holding the man by his hair. Hitting his cheek a few times, as you angrily stared at him.

“Si! Claro? Esta claro?” the actor nods shakingly. You let go of his hair and stand up. Spitting on him, “Fucking bitch,” you finished with a kick.

“Aaand cut!!!”

Running back to the actor, you asked if he was ok and if that was too much, you only received an appreciative nod for asking and a resounding no it wasn’t too much cause it was what was needed.

A large smile erupted on your face as soon as you turned back around, fanning yourself, “oh my gosh.”

“That was hot,” Pedro said standing up from where he was watching from the side before taking you in his arms.

Episode 7: You will cry tears of blood - y/n shenanigans

The camera zooms in on you is laying on the ground with a water bottle on your neck. You were seen fanning yourself, as you’ve just finished the chase scene for this part of the episode.

Pedro walked towards you, offering a hand to pull you up. Accepting it, you slowly stood up before resting on the wall behind you. You were seen conversing with each other but the camera was too far away to get something, the next thing you see was Pedro getting soaked and you running away from the irritated stylist, who was also seen laughing.

Episode 8: La Gran Mentor - behind the scenes of y/n’s disheveled look as Catalina.

Standing in the room, wearing a robe. Make-up smudged, hair messy, and with a look-of-content, the camera moves to show the room you were in.

“Hello Netflix, well, this is the look of my character, Catalina, after uhmmm- the scene” you looked behind the camera

“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say what scene and who I’m with, but this is the look, the room, and the vibe. And let me tell you, I am loving it.”

The view cuts to you in bed being fixed up by your stylists, waving to the camera. You joke a little, by slightly pulling the blanket down your chest which made the stylist slap your hand making you laugh.

Episode 9: La Catedral - we are all simps for Catalina

“Bueno, que piensa?” Javier asks the person behind the desk. Before looking around to see if Lina had followed them to the room. Well, what do you think?

The man takes a closer look at the pictures. Assessing them carefully before nodding to the three agents waiting, “Vale la pena revisar estas fotos. Investigarlas, y créame que lo voy a hacer.” Placing the photos back in the envelope. These photos are worth checking out. Investigate them, and believe me I will.

Lina stood up from her chair leaning closer to the desk in front of Javier, “¿Cuánto tiempo?” She asks looking at the man. How long?

“¿Disculpe?” Excuse me?

“¿Cuanto tiempo antes de que lo termines?” She said dragging her nails on the desk. how long before you finish it?

He thought for a moment, looking at his desk, “tal vez unos días o una semana?” Looking out to see Steve leaning close to the windows. Maybe a few days or a week?

“Pero no podemos esperar unos días, es urgente,” Lina said looking at her partners who were seen nodding at her comment. But we can’t wait a few days, it’s urgent

“Bueno, lo siento, todavía tenemos cosas que priorizar, esto puede esperar,” the man insisted suddenly growing nervous as soon as her gaze was locked on him. Well I'm sorry, we still have things to prioritize, this can wait

Slowly walking towards him, Catalina takes the folder from the table before pushing it to his chest, “Oh, vamos, por supuesto, puedes priorizar esto. Quiero decir que somos nosotros los que pedimos tu ayuda,” she said slyly. Oh come on now, of course, you can prioritize this. I mean it’s us asking for YOUR help.

Leaning backwards, he moves his head from side to side taking a look at the two other agents who were avoiding his gaze. Gulping, “Quiero decir, lo sé, pero como dije, no puedes hacer nada por ahora” the shakiness of his voice was evident making her smirk grow wider. I mean I know, but as I said you can’t do anything for now.

Reaching to run her hands on the collar of his button-up, she leans closer before whispering, ““Estas seguro”. Are you sure?

“Seguro de que?” Sure of what?

“¿Que no puedo hacer nada? Estoy seguro de que me conoces, ¿verdad? Haré cualquier cosa por ti, entonces, ¿qué tal si primero haces este archivo antes de hacer cualquier otra cosa? ¿Sí?” Lina locks eyes with the man leaning closer to his face. That I can’t do anything? I'm sure you know me right? I will do ANYTHING for you, so how about you do this file first before DOING anything else? Yeah?

“mhmm si,” he nodded quickly, taking the envelope in his hands.

Quickly moving back, Lina clasps her hands with a wide smile, ¡Genial, gracias!” Great, thank you!

“Uh, Vuelvo enseguida.” Lina nodded as she waved goodbye to the man who sped right past her. uh, be right back.

Javier and Steve look at each other in disbelief watching Lina take a seat, smirking. Laughing, Steve walks to you and massages your shoulder a bit.

Sitting back Lina uncrosses her arms high giving Steve, “damn this girl can do things right.” He said shaking Javi on the shoulder and walking out of the room

"Uh..nice going Lina,” "

"that’s all?" she asked peering up at him from her chair.

“Huh? What do yo-"

“What I mean is, that's all you can say after I gave you a hard-on, no offence boss but you’re gonna have a hard time hiding….that, smirking Catalina slides her hand from his chest up to his neck before following Steve out the door.

Episode 10: Despegue - take 100??

As soon as you heard a knock, you reached for the door. Expecting it would be a serious scene you put on your game face. Opening the door, instead of facing a “scared, disheartened’ Javier Pena, you were met with the “teasingly, goofy” face of Pedro Pascal.

Bursting out in laughter you hold you stomach leaning on the wall, “Pedro, you’ve got to stop doing” you told him out of breath.

“Oh please, I don’t even know why you’re trying anymore y/n. He’ll never stop as long as you’re the one to answer the door.”

“Alright, come on up!” He said, arms under your pits helping you up, as you recovered from laughing.

Playfully hitting his cheek,” I’m serious though, this is like our 10th take, I don’t wanna be stuck opening doors the whole episode.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x actress!reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x ofc #javier peña

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acewritesfics · 14 days

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I don’t want you to leave | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: From Anon

Warnings: Mentions of assault and drunk abusive father. Angsty.

Word Count: 1,058

Stranger Things Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Eddie!” Y/N yells, slamming her fist against the door to Eddie Munson’s trailer. She had no idea if he was awake, but she knew he was home because his van was sitting out front of the trailer. “Eddie!”

The door eventually swings open, nearly knocking her off the step.

“Y/N?” His voice is sleepy, confirming her suspicions of him being asleep. It wasn’t uncommon for the two to hang out, smoke weed, listen to music, and talk about anything and everything until the early hours of the morning. What was unusual was her showing up at almost 2 a.m. banging on his door as if her life depended on him opening it. “What’s going on?”

He notices a large red welt shaped like a hand on her right cheek and a small cut on her left cheek with a bruise forming around it. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks are stained with tears. The thought of someone hurting his best friend (and childhood crush) filled him with rage. He gently takes her hand in his and pulls her inside, closing the door behind them. He goes to the freezer, takes out a bag of frozen peas, wraps them in the towel, and presses them against her cheek, causing her to wince slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, hating seeing her like this. As much as he wanted to hurt whoever did this to her, she was his number one priority right now. She needs him more than a jail cell does. “Did your father do this?” He asks her, his big brown eyes boring into hers, wanting to know every detail of what happened so he could help her as best he could.

It was well known that her father was an abusive alcoholic. It was only recently that the public became aware of it. After her mother left, her father made no effort to cover up how much of an asshole he really was. With Hopper gone, the town’s police force had spiralled into a shit show. Her father was arrested several times for being drunk and disorderly, and he always blamed it on his wife leaving and fabricating lies about her disappearance, which gained sympathy from a majority of the people.

“I have to leave Eddie.” She confirms his suspicions. “I can’t stay any longer.”

“Do you mean leave Hawkins or your house?” He asks her, his heart pounding as he struggles with his conflicting feelings.

She confirms, “Hawkins.” she confirms. “He’ll continue to make my life a living hell if I stay here. I can’t be here as long as he’s alive.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says truthfully, even though a part of him wants to tell her to leave so he can be sure she’s safe. But the selfish side of him came out and didn’t want her to leave. He prefered that she stayed with him so that he could protect her. He never saw himself as a hero outside of Dungeons and Dragons, but he wanted to be her hero.

“I don’t want to, but I have to,” she sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. She did not want to leave him. She loves him in ways that words cannot express. He was the one person she cared about more than anyone else. He had been her home since they first met in middle school. He wasn’t a freak to her. He was just Eddie, her best friend, and her first and only love.

“Stay with me tonight, just tonight,” he pleads. “Give me that much. And I’ll take you wherever you want to go tomorrow.”

She nods and embraces the young man. If she could stay in this moment for the rest of her life, she would. Eddie moved them to his bedroom after a few minutes. He helped her change into one of his shirts and climbed into bed. Nothing was said as they settled in and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The two awoke shortly after 9 a.m. Eddie was preparing their breakfast while she sat at the counter watching him. They hadn’t spoken about the early hours of this morning because they were both unsure how to bring it up.

“Have you made any recent deals?” She asks, noticing the lunch box that didn’t just carry his lunch was now sitting on the counter close to him.

“Just the usual amount,” he replies. “Do you want to tell me about what happened last night?”

The mood around them changed instantly as Y/N sat up straighter, thinking about last night. “Dad came home drunk, woke me up to make him something to eat, and when I refused, he called me an ungrateful and useless bitch and did this,” she motions to her bruised and cut cheek. It wasn’t as bad as she had anticipated. “After he passed out, I packed a bag and came here.”

“To say goodbye,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll go with you.”

“What was that?” She asks, not quite hearing him.

“I can come with you,” he says a little louder.

“No, no you can’t, Eddie. This is your year, remember? ‘86 is your year. You’ll finally graduate, and you have the Hellfire Club. You can’t just leave those kids. They love and adore you.” She moves behind him and turns him to face her. “You also have your uncle to consider. He needs you too.”

“I’d give it all up for you,” he says sincerely.

“Why?” She asked, surprised. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I love you, god dammit.” He admits suddenly becoming a little timid and bashful, a side of Eddie that only a few people got to see. “I’ve loved you since middle school. And I simply can not imagine my life without you.”

Y/N’s heart skips a beat and begins thumping loudly against her chest. Instead of saying anything, she cups his face and pulls him into a passionate kiss, letting him know she feels the same way.

When they break the kiss, she tells him, “I’ll stay. If it’s okay with your Uncle, I’ll stay with you because I can’t go back to that house.”

“You don’t have to go back there ever again,” Eddie reassures her and pulls her into another kiss.

“And I love you too,” she says softly against his lips.

#acewritesfics repost #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader

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dearbraus · 1 year

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Vol.1 ─ Jealousy Jealousy

⊹ Details. 18+ only minors dni, gender neutral reader, semi public (they’re in the tavern when its empty), jealousy, teasing, dry humping, heavy petting, light praise, making out, reassurance.

⊹ Run time. 0.6k

⊹ Note. Written for Arlo @tinie as a part of a my milestone event with the specifications of praise + the prompt ❝you looked like you were jealous.❞

Diluc's eyes remained trained on your disgruntled figure as the last patron of the evening swiftly saunters out of the tavern. The glass he had busied himself with polishing clinks against the bar top when he sets it aside. The frown you wear grows deeper as you stare into the murky depths of grape juice you asked for nearly an hour ago. Flipping his cloth cleaning rag over his shoulder, Diluc hums— you’re upset.

Your gaze begins to follow him as he steps around the bar, your body twisting on the stool when he settles in front of you.

Calloused fingers catch the tip of your chin, tilting your head upwards so you’d meet his gaze. Diluc dips his head down to meet your pouting lips with a swiftness that has your breath catching. His hips slot between, to bring his devilishly warm body even closer to yours.

“What was that for?” You ask, brows furrowing as you dig your fingers into the heavy material of his coat.

Shrugging his shoulders, Diluc hums, “You looked like you were jealous,” he has always been a straightforward man but the cool air that surrounds him now makes your lips drop even further, “Were you?”

“No!” you whine a bit too quickly.

“Would you like me to kiss you again?”

Diluc chuckles, his hands falling from your face to your waist. His fingertips dance along the hem of your shirt, daring to slip underneath and caress your supple skin when your words falter.

“I wasn’t jealous,” you pointedly mutter, turning your nose up, “But ... I won’t say no to another kiss ... if you’re offering.”

Hooking your legs over his hips to invite Diluc back in, your tug on his coat until he takes the hint to kiss you. The hands beneath your shirt slink further beneath the fabric as his crotch is pressed flush against you. His teeth tugged on your bottom lip, it elicits a slight whine from the back of your throat.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” he states, rolling his hips against yours, “I want you to say it, say it and I’ll kiss you.”

Dragging your hands down his chest to where his shirt is tucked neatly into the waistband of his pants, “The were flirting with you the entire night,” you snip, tugging his shirt free, “Excuse me if I’m a bit displeased.”

“I told you-”

“I know,” you cut him off, he shudders as you gently tug on the thatch of dark red curls that slip beneath his waistband, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get annoyed when other people flirt with you.”

Giving your waist a squeeze, Diluc hums, “I know,” kissing the tip of your nose, he rests his forehead against yours, “And, you’re allowed to feel upset if that's what you are.”

“I know you only have eyes for me.”

Your lip perks up into a small smile, teeth aching to sink into the taunt skin of his neck. His freckled flesh is laid bare for you, so tantalizing that you fear you may go mad with need if the two of you spend a moment more talking. Your feelings for him and his equal adoration for you were far greater than the little spark of envy that threatened to consume you.

“Good,” he says, bringing his hand to cup your chin, “You’re so good for me.”

His thumb skims along the slightly chapped flesh of your bottom lip, dragging it down before pressing the digit into your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut when he roughly rolls his hips against yours, the wobbly bar stool you’re perched upon would threaten to send you to the ground had it not been for the warm sturdy body and sharp bar top you’re trapped between. Your nails press into the smooth expanse of his abdomen in search of purchase as you move your body with his.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me, hm.”

#diluc smut #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc ragnivindr x you #gi smut #gi x reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 29 days

Text

Excessive Force : a Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE AMAAAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘) - Chapter FOURTEEN ---> (all chapters)

trigger warnings: mention of police shooting, child trafficking, past childhood trauma, abuse, etc. plz take care!

“Are you serious?!” You have to move the phone away from your ear to avoid a blown drum from Sheila’s screech.

“Yup.”

“Okay, why don’t you sound as excited as me?”

“I’m nervous. He’s really forward. And, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” That didn’t end horribly… You’ve decided not to count the fiasco with Julian. You’re in your room, fingering through the limited collection of nice clothes in your closet. You briefly debate wearing a turtleneck and thick linen pants just to piss him off. But, also, there’s that little sundress you bought at the mall that you’ve never gotten a chance to wear… The pretty, soft color would pair very nicely with your silky cream bra and panty set—that you also have never worn. You’re starting to re-think the whole not being a prude thing.

Plus, it’s hot outside.

Sheila pulls you from your search. “Listen, if he tries anything, just kick him in the dick. Works every time.”

“He’s like eight feet tall. I don’t know if I can reach his dick… with my feet.”

You both giggle.

“That’s why they make step stools.”

“Like, for that exact reason?”

Sheila’s one of those people that has proven to be supportive. You met her on a bus tour your first week in LA and have been buddies ever since. It works perfectly since you both have hectic work schedules and don’t really expect anything from the other one. She calls you for drinks, you call her for lunch. Sympatico.

“Obviously. So, he’s tall. Is he hot?”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth when you think back to his bare, bruised body on your exam table, those mile long, strong thighs that caged you in and felt more like they belonged to an Amazon Boa rather than a man.

“Okay, that silence either means hell yes or hell no, so which is it?” You hear the grin in Sheila’s voice.

“First one.”

You end up telling her about his persistent hospital visits, him pulling you over, maybe omitting some—okay, no, a lot of the details just so she doesn’t want to kill him just yet. You also haven’t told her about the Julian debacle–or that Tom basically rescued you.

You also leave out that he just happens to be the new superhero on every news channel right now. You’re still processing that yourself, and it’s not boding well for you keeping your cool with this man.

As it turned out, it was the news that informed you of Officer Tom Ludlow’s whereabouts those lonely night’s you’d missed him harassing you on that lonely stretch of highway. He wasn’t ignoring you. He was rescuing two teenage girls who had been kidnapped and trafficked by a gang. According to the report, Ludlow had entered the house after hearing a cry for help, alone, and gunned down every single one of the gangbangers before setting the girls free.

Parts of this story should have alarmed you, but there had been a time in your past when you would have given anything for a person of authority to ride to your rescue, red tape be damned. How many times had the cops come to your house for a domestic disturbance between your parents, and left you in a bad situation because of some legal technicality or another? How had they seen you, scared and dirty, cowering in the doorway, and left you behind? The horrors you could have told them, if only they’d cared to ask without your parents there to overhear and threaten you, but every time until the last time, they’d just left you in the hellhole that had been your childhood home.

How different your life—your sister’s lives—would have been if you had a Thomas Ludlow back then.

The twin girls’ MISSING posters and billboards were all over the city. Most anyone with the power to do something had given up on them as a lost cause, just another sad story, written them off as tragically probably dead in a gutter, but not Ludlow. Ludlow had risked his neck (and possibly his badge, because you’d heard of the old “I heard a cry for help” trick to gain entry, and it was almost always code for “I didn’t have a warrant, what are you going to do about it?”, to get them out, and goddammit if that didn’t just warm you to your toes and soften your heart.

Worse yet, you feel like the biggest asshole for calling him a fraud, to his face, the night after it all went down. He’d just taken it on the chin, and he still asked you out.

Ok, he technically extorted you, but it just doesn’t feel as sinister now as it had last night. He’d been bold, and borderline needy for some human tenderness, and fuck if you didn’t understand all too well why now.

Now, rather than having to keep yourself from tearing him a new one, you were afraid you were going to have to restrain yourself from crawling into his lap at the first opportunity, and fucking his brains out for being such a goddamed hero.

“Oh, he’s a freak!” Despite saying this, she sounds like she’s twirling her hair and kicking her feet.

You snort. “He’s got..uh…nice hands.”

You decide on the sundress and the bra-panty set, but you don’t bother laying them out in preparation, because you’re still telling yourself that this isn’t that big of a deal and you’re not that invested and that if Tom Ludlow kisses you, you won’t burst into flames.

You want to take a bath, leave some scent of those seldom used lavender lemon oils lingering on your skin, but decide against it.

No. Actually. You’re doing it. Taking a nice, warm, spiced soak, rubbing lotion over every piece of you except the very sensitive bits, shimmying into the undergarments. The panties end up being cheekier than you like, but your butt looks cute, and the dress covers everything pretty good, anyway—well, everything that matters.

After putting your hair up in a messy bun and throwing some mascara on, you’re ready for—actually, who the fuck are you kidding, you are the opposite of ready. Borderline panicking at the thought of this man coming to pick you up and taking you out and putting on his lewd charm and ruining this cute underwear.

By the time he buzzes downstairs, it’s too late to decide on another pair of shoes. You have to live with sandals—with the fact that he might just look down and get a full, unfiltered view of your toes curling when he opens his pretty mouth.

You’re totally fucked, here.

You think it again when you open the door, finding his lean form all in black, leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets and his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s already thinking about eating you up. You literally feel it as his eyes look you up and down, from your messy bun to your pink painted toes. It’s been two seconds, and already you are soaked between your thighs.

Doomed. You are just fucking doomed, and a part of you is just ready to surrender, because it takes so much goddamn energy to fight your attraction to this man. You can feel it like live electricity crackling over your skin.

Of course, there’s that other part of you that wants to run right back up those stairs and lock yourself away from this gorgeous devil.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Your mouth opens to reply, but your brain takes a few seconds to catch up, utterly short circuited by how ridiculously handsome he is in his black button down, his dark pants belted low on his hips, those big feet in black boots. It’s a little strange, seeing him without his badge or his gun on his hip–but you can work with this.

“Hi,” you answer, scathingly clever as ever.

“Ready to go?”

You’d brought down your purse, to avoid inviting him into the private sanctuary that is your little shoebox of an apartment, but now you almost regret it.

“Yeah. Where are we going?” You step out the door, but he doesn’t move back, relishing your close proximity with a smirk. But there is a new softness in his brown eyes as he looks down at you that makes you a little weak in your knees. He reaches up to touch your cheek, feather light, and it boggles your mind how this man can be such a beast, and yet so gentle when he wants to be.

“You’ll see.” You narrow your eyes at him, but for once, it’s more playful than fueled by annoyance. “Relax,” he says, his shapely mouth dancing as he suppresses a smile. “You’re in good hands, honey.”

You don’t even flinch, as he drives this final nail into your coffin, the wave of desire inspired by the thought of those oh-so-capable hands and what they just might do to you tonight buzzing down your spine. This is how you die–you are strangely, almost, ok with it.

When he has you safely ensconced in the passenger seat of his sleek black Charger you look over at him, his long arm draped over the wheel as he navigates the hostile environment of LA traffic like a shark patrolling a reef. “So…I saw you on the news last night.”

He lifts one of those dark brows, though his expression remains otherwise unreadable. “Haven’t really looked at what they’re saying,” he admits, like he’s used to the media getting the details wrong towards their own ends.

“They said that you saved two underaged girls that were being traffiked?”

His mouth turns down, and you wonder if you’ve killed the happy vibe of the evening so soon with your nosy questions. But then again–you need to know. It’s a gnawing curiosity in your gut not just for the events that transpired, but the man who orchestrated them. Who you are currently alone in a car with, so you reason you have a right to know.

“Yeah,” he simply answers, not keen to crow his own praises.

“And you…killed all those guys?”

He gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his soul. You sense a weariness in him that he’s never shown on the outside before.

“Yeah.” A long silence draws out between you, before he adds, “They were very bad dudes, y/n. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You can’t exactly say that you’re not–but ironically, the news of him shooting down those gangsters really has nothing to do with it.

“I’m not. I mean–if they were abusing those girls, then they deserved it.”

He looks you over then, an appraising look as though you’ve given him some new information about your character. Maybe information you didn’t exactly mean to give away, but it’s out there now. He’s going think you’re a kindred spirit–or a blood thirsty gremlin.

Either way, you don’t really want to discuss why you sympathize with those girls, and with him.

“Are you okay?”

This question seems to take him aback, like he truly wasn’t expecting it. He’s surely used to being a pillar of stoic manhood, but you know this shit takes its toll. “Yeah. I’m fine, sweetheart. Thanks.”

You eye his hand resting on the center console, and a part of you very badly wants to reach out to him and take it. Almost as though he can sense it, or maybe because he wants it as badly as you do, he holds out his hand palm up in invitation. It’s possible you stare at that hand for a beat too long, his wide calloused palm and long blunt fingers. Long enough that he tries to play it off, starting to take it back, before you quickly lace your fingers with his. The way he smiles to himself sends warmth blooming all the way to your toes, and you’re glad he’s driving because they do, indeed, curl in your sandals.

You give him a little squeeze, relishing the way your hand feels so tiny and protected in his own, and say, genuinely, “I’m sorry. For calling you a fake cop.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’ve heard worse from people that aren’t half as pretty as you.”

You want to fight with him on that—scoff, roll your eyes—but you just can’t, because as much as that small, whiny part of your brain tells you he’s lying, the bigger, rational part absolutely knows just by the sincerity in his tone that he thinks you really are a pretty, sublime creature.

“But I still kinda think you’re a jerk,” you half tease.

“Mmmm, what happened to that feisty little thing I know? She change into a cute sundress and suddenly become sweet?”

You are loathe to admit the real reason for your change of heart.

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “Bet I can make you sweet.”

You’re a total idiot for what comes out of your mouth, and your underwear is the one that will more than likely end up paying for this mindless insolence. “How?”

He brings your hand up to his mouth, lips brushing over the thin skin of your knuckles, sending a spear of desire through your arm and into the rest of your body. You make a tiny choked noise when his tongue peeks a taste of your skin, going unfocused and fuzzy, radio static and full throttle cavewoman.

He kisses the center of your hand, then murmurs, “With sugar, silly girl.”

It's not only the panties that pay a high price, but also your throbbing heart, pleasantly tense and hot and full of desire.

He must find your slack jaw and blank stare immensely entertaining, because he’s laughing low and soft, rumbling in delight.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine.” There has never been a more heinous lie uttered in this entire state.

You’re fairly new to LA, but you soon realize from your surroundings that he’s taking you to the Santa Monica Pier.

You are thanking the universe and the gods when you arrive at your destination. Five more minutes—hell, seconds—trapped in that car with him and you would have climbed into his lap and started barking.

When he swings into a parking space designated just for Law Enforcement you turn to him with a lifted brow, as though to say, Abuse your authority much?

But you already know the answer to that. This date is a product of it. And so far…it’s not so bad.

“Do you like fish tacos?” He asks, keeping your hand and massaging that bulky thumb over your wrist.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you made a reservation?” you taunt him.

“No reservation,” he informs you with a quirk of his mouth. “But the manager owes me a favor.”

He waves around the busy avenue and beach walk bustling with people, peppered with colorful shops and restaurants of every kind. “Pretty sure we can find you something you like, if Mexican food with an ocean view isn’t your thing…” He says it with a smirk, and you’re seriously not sure if you want to kiss this man or smack him. Maybe both, but save it for later, sings out the little devil on your shoulder before you can tell it to shut the fuck up.

Good lord.

You’ve heard of the restaurant–and that it’s famously hard to get into. You wonder if his connection is a product of a favor for a good deed, or a bit of blackmail. Maybe a little bit of both. You’re finding more and more that it’s hard to put this man in a single box.

“Honestly…?” You make him wait for it, and you can tell your effort to put this confident man on the spot only half succeeds, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “That sounds pretty amazing.”

This evil, evil gentleman. He opens your door for you, helps you out of the car, stands patiently while you fix your dress, only half looks at your exposed thighs before you pull the hem down and cover them up again.

Then, he threads his arm with yours and leads you onto the pier. You can’t believe you’ve never taken the initiative to come here before. It’s beautiful, lit up like a modern carnival of neon lights.

“Oh, can we go on the Ferris wheel?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Let’s get some food in you, and then we can do whatever you want.” He really needs to stop being so…caring. It’s seriously starting to mess up your insides.

You turn into a fascinated kid as you walk down the salt coated slice of wood built out over the ocean, looking this and that way, pointing things out, mentioning possible after-dinner activities. You feel like you’re getting annoying, but Tom just seems amused by your sunburned tourist behavior.

You pass by a little shooting booth with huge stuffed bunnies hanging from the rack, and he must see the way you’re ogling them, so he leans down close to your ear. “I could win you one of those?”

You grin back up at him. “I can win you one.”

“Oh? Little sharpshooter?”

It sounds like he doesn’t believe you, so you stick your tongue out at him between smiling lips.

He pokes your forehead in retaliation. “Anybody ever tell you how fucking cute you are?”

The restaurant lives up to its popularity and then some. It takes a while to get here, but you just know it’s worth every foot blister when they sit you down and immediately serve a popped bottle of iced sparkling water and delicious, warm salsa and chips.

You made it just in time to catch the purple orange sun sinking below ocean level, and the front row seats really just make the view that much more spectacular. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if a dolphin jumped from the water, illuminated by the dying sun, just like in the movies.

“This is… amazing.” You grab some tortilla chips to munch on while he pours you both glasses of the fancy water. “Have you ever been here before?”

“Once.” He doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t want to push the issue, but you can tell there’s some kind of ache behind that simple word.

“Okay, so you’re obviously not from LA—where are you from?” He leans over the table a bit, curious.

“Kansas.”

He opens his mouth, but you stop him because you already know what he’s going to say.

“Don’t do it.” You point a warning finger at him, giggling like an idiot.

“God, but I really want to,” he groans.

“So,” you say, taking another bite of chip. “Why did you become a cop?”

“You start with the heavy questions, huh?” he teases you. “Thought I was the one who was trained in interrogation?”

You suppose he’s right, considering your earlier line of inquiry in the car. But you shrug in response. Considering how you ended up here, you see no reason to tiptoe around things. “Just curious.”

He offers up an easy smile, letting you know you didn’t offend him. “Well, I actually always wanted to be a dentist.”

You snort with disbelief, trying to imagine this man’s bedside manner. But then, dentists do get to cause people a lot of pain… “Ok. Maybe that tracks.”

“I’m fucking with you,” he informs you with a smirk.

You do your best to appear annoyed, and fear you fail at it badly. “Guess it’s not hard to imagine you pulling teeth, is all.”

He huffs at that. “I always wanted to be a cop, since I was a kid. My old man was a detective. Killed in the line of duty. I guess I felt like I needed to pick up his unfinished business.”

You blink at that. You and your big fucking mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for his hand across the table. He curls his fingers with yours, playing with your aqua painted fingernails with his thumb.

“It’s alright. Happened a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, saying nothing.

“What about you? What made you want to be a nurse?”

You don’t really feel comfortable enough to tell him your whole coming-of-nurse story, so you give him the cut version: “when I was young and felt like I had no one, a nurse comforted me.”

“How young?”

“Ten.”

He winces. “Maybe I’ll get the full version of that story one day?”

There’s an epiphany, here, in this little restaurant with the comfy blue chairs, and it’s that Tom Ludlow scares you because he makes you feel something deep, deep inside your chest that you can’t even remember being there before he came along. Julian was easy, child’s play; although it stings, you’re writing him down as just another failed fling. You know if Ludlow gets his hands on your little sensitive heart, it will be a very different story.

You take a big drink of water to wash down the salty crunch. “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Being so…cold.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you are so cold. Gonna have to make it up to me.”

Warmth floods the top layers of your skin. “I already said I’d win you the bunny.”

You’re amazed at how easily he can transition back into a smooth, carnal beast. “I don’t know if that’s enough for me to forgive you.” The fake hurt in his tone should not make you squirm in your seat.

You bite like a dumb, good little fish should: “okay, then, how do I make it up to you, Officer Ludlow?”

You’re hoping to faze him with the sultry innocence of your tone, but it just fuels his devilish aura instead. “We can start with me turning you over my knee.”

You don’t have a retort, but your vagina absolutely does, and she gets you squirming in your seat.

He leans forward, knowing smile sure to be your undoing one way or another. “Would you like that?”

“Thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You challenge, trying to keep cool despite the blazing Ludlow heat.

“Who says spanking has to hurt? Dr. Bitch?”

You can’t help the giggle that rolls out of you, and he seems to find it entertaining that you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “No, Tom, believe it or not, I am a grown woman who has lived an experienced life.”

“And how was it?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“You know, when you asked one of your vanilla boyfriends to swat that gorgeous, plump ass a little bit? Just to see how it would feel.” He leans his chin on his palm, listening intently for your answer, and you think you might be on your way to spontaneous combustion.

How in the fuck can he just hit the nail right on the head like that? Know about parts of your life that you haven’t shared with anyone—not that there were many to share with. Are you really this readable?

Once again, he has your sharp tongue dulled with arousal and embarrassment, and you shift in the chair. “He did it, like, once and then stopped.”

“And did you like it?” He presses.

“Yes.”

He takes a little sip of his water, raising both dark brows over the glass at you. “Good to know.”

Tom recommends the margaritas and fish tacos, so you let him order for the both of you while admiring the view. You can’t decide which one you like better, his handsome face or the ocean scape.

As you are finishing your delicious dinner the last rays of the sunset are putting on a five star show for you, the sky painted that impossible deep blue and purple, the water shimmering like color-changing opals.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sigh, and you catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye with a softness you haven’t seen from him before. You get up the courage to meet his eyes, and he smiles at you, but for once not like he intends to eat you.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.”

“Goddammit.”

He laughs at that, a real belly laugh that makes you warm all over even without the aid of your two nursed margaritas. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to out shoot you for that little bunny now.”

This wins you more genuine laughter. “Alright, Annie Oakley. Lead the way.”

#tom ludlow #street kings #tom ludlow x you #excessive force street kings fic #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow x y/n #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #julian mercer x reader #julian mercer x you #keanu reeves x you

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chaotic-iguana · 11 months

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Any or all of your characters washing readers hair for the first time.

yes yes yes please this is so good. let’s do it. lemme know what you think.

din djarin/javi peña/joel miller x reader.

masterlist.

washing your hair ficlets:

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Javi:

angst, violence, hurt/comfort, allusions to sa

“Lean your head back for me, hermosa. That’s it.” His fingers run through your hair gently, untangling it before reaching behind you for the soap, lathering it in his hands before bringing them to your scalp. Your eyes are lined red with tears, the adrenaline crash leaving you with crippling fear. You’d gone after a lead blind, without waiting for backup, and the sicarios who cornered you had made it too clear what they had no fear doing to a female DEA agent. Choking on a sob, you watch Javi’s eyes soften in concern before pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay now cariño, I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Stroking the back of your head under the shower’s spray, he washed the soap out while soothing you softly.

Joel:

angst, near death experiences, hurt/comfort

Too close. It had been too damn close with that clicker, and you both knew it. It had barely been an inch away from biting your arm when you twisted a blade into its neck. Back in Jackson after rushing back from the patrol, he practically ripped your clothes off of you, overwhelmed by the need to make sure you were okay. Safe. He pulled you into the shower, his hand never once leaving your body - grasping at your hand, shoulder, your waist. His hands were so gentle, even when running the soap over your body, as if he were afraid you would shatter under his touch. Like a mirage; an illusion flickering away to mock him, once again, of what he had lost.

But you didn’t falter for a second, standing solid. Unyielding. Turning to face the faucet, you passed him the shampoo and let him card it through the matted, tousled tangles running down your back. The act of service, of monotony and repetition: detangling the hair, spraying it with water, rubbing soap into your scalp and rinsing it out - Joel needed this, and you knew. So you stood silently, letting his touch ground both of you.

Din:

fluff! din tries doing the nicest things for his wife and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Din could die a happy man. He’d rented a room at an inn, dropping Grogu off with Karga for a few days alone with you after your riduurok, and here you were, chest-to-chest in his arms as you both lounged lazily in the bathtub. Such a mundanity - a luxury to him, but a mundanity to most. One that had quickly become the favorite part of both your routines.

When he’d revealed his face to you, you were so overwhelmed you’d broken down sobbing; making him panic and spiral immediately. It wasn’t until your face scrunched up mid-cry and you mumbled something about it being so unfair that he was this beautiful and no one would know that his mind halted its panicked ramblings and he just stood to stare at you for a while. Beautiful? At the questioning look on his face, you’d sniffed and practically chastised him for being confused. At his amused, “I’m not beautiful, mesh’la, you are.” you’d frowned and said you’d prove it to him. Which involved many, many activities in various locations, one of them being washing his hair for him.

Din couldn’t understand it from a practical point of view alone at first. Why would someone else wash your hair when you could do it yourself? It was the most menial part of his routine, one he barely gave any thought to, before you shushed him sternly and told him to turn around, Mandalorian, before I make you. Of course, your threat held no weight - you were a whole foot shorter than him, and you thought twice before hurting flies, but he’d obeyed it all the same.

When your fingers first grazed his scalp, he’d nearly purred and leaned further into your touch. The way you tugged so softly on his tousled curls to pull them apart with a level of care that nearly brought tears to his eyes only made him fall deeper in love with you. And the adorable look of complete focus on your face, tongue poking out from between your lips as your brows furrowed in concentration made him want to kiss you, too. And he did, until you were both breathless and giggling in each other’s arms. It was the best thing anyone had ever done for him. And so today, he manouevered you into his lap and rested your head on his shoulder. Reaching down to peck at your lips, your nose, and your fluttering lashes, he could melt, beskar and all, at the sight of the smile you blessed him with now, followed by a giggle that made him feel a little dizzy. He brought his hands up to the loose braid you’d tied your hair into, and tenderly smoothed it out, wetting your hair and stroking it with such love that couldn’t help but reach up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Very few would classify your riduur as a creature of comfort. What they wouldn’t know was that after long hunts or tough days, he’d take care of you with the most loving act he’d been shown - washing your hair.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings

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squishytenya · 2 months

Text

semblance of touch - part three

prologue - part one - part two

pairing - bakugou x gn!reader

warnings - cursing, training fights, descriptions of pain (but not injury), mild angst, mild arguments (title from sedated by Hozier), this one's a long one guys!

The days after the conference had proven quite boring for the both of you. Since you had been hit by the quirk, you and Bakugou had been understandably banned from patrol. Effects from the girl’s quirk had proved too much of a liability to allow you two to risk your lives or health on the field.

Stagnation wasn’t something Bakugou enjoyed.

Something you could tell, because the man had been non-stop bitching for the past 24 hours. If he talked in his sleep, you were sure he would be complaining then too. He had exhausted all of his hobbies apparently (even though said hobbies consisted of gym work, studying and cooking - and that was being generous), and had resorted to sitting on the couch, watching your classmates go by. Not only that, he had been embellishing his people watching with foul mouthed commentary.

You watched as his red eyes danced over where Midoriya and Ochaco were snuggled up on the loveseat opposite you two. You were sure, if you squinted, you would probably be able to see the cartoon steam bursting from his ears.

“Fucking Deku and his fucking girlfriend, do they have to do that shit in public?” he grumbled, bitterly.

You rolled your eyes.

“They’re not in public, they literally live here”

“Still, get a fucking room”

You sighed, lifting yourself off of the couch. As much as the couple were slightly heavy handed on the PDA, you recognised that Katsuki was experiencing a weird off-brand cabin fever. And, to be honest, his complaining was pissing you off.

“C’mon shithead, you need to get out of the dorms”

You punctuated your instruction by running your fingers through his blonde locks and giving them a brisk tug. Bakugou sucked in a breath, one which you attributed to him trying to keep his anger under control.

“Kirishima!” you called for the redhead across the common room, “wanna come spar with us?”

The redhead in question immediately perked up at your suggestion. Patrols had been slow for everyone the past couple of weeks, ever since things with all for one had settled down it had mainly been low level criminals. Such criminals had proved consistently easy to deal with. Unfortunately, this also meant that it was not only Bakugou who had begun to develop that itch under his skin of wanting to do something more.

Sero poked his head round the corner.

“Uh, you mind if I tag along?” he questioned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Bakugou growled. A swift elbow to the ribs from you cut off his emerging protests before they had the chance to bubble over. The amount of time you had spent together had caused you to develop an effective balm to his sharp tongue, even for others.

“Absolutely, we would love that” you smiled at the two boys in front of you.

Sero cast an amused glance over to Kirishima, the both of them shared a small smile and nodded back to where you and Bakugou were standing.

“Right, we need to get ready so move it or lose it, asshole” you sang and pulled your roommate along by his collar.

—

The training room was a welcome sight when you entered. Due to the nature of your incident, you and Bakugou had been without training for the past couple of days. The two of you rarely trained with one another, and hadn’t for the past three years of your schooling. Now that you were adults, and almost done with your education all together, you still had yet to be in a one-on-one sparring session with the loud blonde.

Obviously, this wasn’t something you had taken much issue with, having seen the way he treats others during training. Unlike Kirishima, you didn’t have the non-metaphorical thick skin to be able to deal with those blows. There was no doubt that Katsuki was a force to be reckoned with in every aspect of his life. If you had to deal with the personal side of it because of your unfortunate situation, the training side can keep to itself as far as you were aware.

The flow of aircon in the gym caused your loose tee to flutter around your torso as you stepped into the room. All four of you had elected for casual gym clothes rather than the more formal training uniform. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but let your gaze travel over your three companions. Sero, despite his deceptively lanky appearance, had elected for classic black gym shorts and a tank with obnoxiously wide arm holes - showing off not only his defined arms, but the lithe muscles of his torso too. Kirishima’s tight black training tee stretched over his defined arms and chest in a way that had you reminiscing of many conversations during girls night. He paired this with loose fitting red sweats that cupped his strong thighs nicely. Both of the men were impressive, and if they weren’t such good friends of yours, there’s no doubt you may have ogled longer.

In Katsuki’s case, ogling couldn’t be helped. He had managed to wear more clothing than the other two combined, and yet show far more off. The neck of his tank was stretched obscenely wide, showing off the peaks of his collar bones and muscled chest. Muscle wraps were smoothed over his forearms, providing the stability his gauntlets would have usually provided if it was any other training session, and bright orange KT tape tangled around the muscles in his upper arms. The shorts he had on were almost sinfully short, the orange piping up the side of them shifted like silk over his wide thighs whenever he took a step. Under the shorts were a pair of compression leggings so tight they looked almost painted on. The leggings had teasing mesh cutouts on his lower thighs and in triangles up from his ankles - displaying heavily muscled calves. The tank bunched up at the waist of his shorts, which only proved to further accentuate his tapered waist that was so often on show in his hero suit.

You gulped dryly.

What was it that Mina had said last time you were watching the boys spar? Sluttiest thing a man can do is have a tiny little waist. Your brain helpfully supplied the quote, causing the skin of your cheeks to flush warmly.

“Oy, why did you stop?” a gruff voice questioned.

“Oh uh sorry” you excused yourself, traipsing through the open gym door, “just thinking that’s all”

You didn’t miss the arched eyebrow you earned from Sero as you walked into the gym, he had obviously caught her staring. Their redheaded companion snickered slightly through a poorly hidden smile and you threw a dirty look his way - only furthering the man’s giggles.

“What are you two chucklefucks laughing at?”

You froze up, spinning on your heel to pat at your companions' clothed chest.

“Nothing for you to worry about blondie, let’s get to training” you hurried.

After an annoyed tut, it seemed you had convinced him good enough for you four to get on with what you actually went to the gym to do. As always, Kirishima and Bakugou paired up with each other for sparring which left you and your raven-haired friend to partner up with each other.

“They’re so well matched i’m almost jealous” Sero mused at you, both of you observing your friends immediate start into training.

“He’ll never say it outloud, but Bakugou really does love training with him” you whispered back.

Sero snorted.

“Emotional walls are up so high he can’t even tell his bro he’s a good sparring partner”

“He can’t even tell Sato he likes his baking dude, just grunts like a caveman”

Sero chuckled from his stretching position, peering up at you with humorous dark eyes.

“He’s nice to you though”

You double took, avoiding eye contact with the man next to you. Instead, you focused on your calf stretches and tried to still your beating heart. That didn’t seem at all true in your mind. Bakugou had never particularly been nice to you. Of course, he didn’t treat you like complete shit, you were definitely higher up on his mental nice list than Todoroki and Midoriya, despite how far they had all come in terms of friendship.

“I wouldn’t say that” you muttered, “if anything these last couple of days have proved it”

“Oh really? We all saw the press conference”

You cringed at the reminder of the blunder.

“He doesn’t talk about everyone like that”

“Please, he was pissed cause that woman insulted our hero work, he probably wouldn’t have said anything if it was just me”

Sero rolled his eyes, gracefully tumbling up off the floor.

“If you say so” he conceded, “maybe you’ll see it the way we do someday”

You snorted, standing and pushing his shoulder away.

“Okay Socrates, are we sparring or what?”

Within moments the two of you were at blows with one another. Both of your quirks, unlike the two men next to you, were more long-distance friendly so you had taken up the majority of the space in the gym. Sero’s tape had become all the more powerful after years of training at UA, as well as apprentice placements at agencies. Because of the range of your quirks, you two were even placed at the same agency for one of these - meaning not only were your quirks evenly matched, but your training capabilities too.

You veered sideways, dodging a bolt of tape coming straight for you. The side of the tap had caught your lip slightly, causing a rivulet of blood to drip down your chin.

“You’re getting rusty Hanta” you sang.

Using the spare bolt of tape to swing round and land a kick to his shoulder that sent him reeling across the floor. You landed down on the soft mat of the gym floor, pounced up on one foot and sent yourself flying through the air towards your target. The training may have been casual, and therefore not very high stakes, but Sero had been your friend since first year and you two had developed a friendly amount of competitiveness when it came to winning fights. Apparently, even playful ones.

One of your feet came crashing down just an inch from his head, the other below his spread arm. The raven haired man looked up at you from the floor and he was obviously slightly dazed at your quick movements. Reaching down, you placed a hand on his chest and smiled up at him.

“One, two, three” you counted, drawing out the three.

“And he’s pinned, I win! Ding ding ding first round goes to me!”

You stood up and withdrew yourself from above your sparring partner. Said man grumbled as he watched you dance around, caught up in the glee of your victory.

“Yeah yeah, rub it in my face why don’t you”

The tape-hero grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his sore back from where you had planted him on the ground. You beamed at him.

“Don’t get salty cause you lost dude,” you teased, “I’m just the best, you never had a chance really”

Snickering from the other side of the gym caught both your attention. Kirishima and Bakugou had evidently taken a break from beating the shit out of one another and had apparently seen the end of the fight between you and your butt-hurt sparring partner. Which meant they had also seen the gloating and victory dance you had been performing just moments prior.

Bakugou glanced up at you through blonde lashes. His gaze was never soft, so to say, not like the way Midoriya looks at Ochako, or even the way Kirishima looks at a good meat skewer. But there was something light and airy in there this time, akin to amusement you would say if you didn’t know any better.

“You really let them beat you?” grumbled Katsuki to the man on the floor.

Sero’s sputter was undignified. He waved his hands in protest, before the words actually managed to find their way out of his mouth - you interrupted.

“What do you mean ‘let’, asshole? He didn’t let me do shit, I beat him fair and square” you huffed, squaring up to the blonde.

He chuffed, standing up and strolled over to where you were standing. There was less than a foot between your faces now. Still, you were unphased. Defiantly, you poked a finger onto his solid chest and stood even straighter.

“Go on, if you think i’m so easy to beat,” you challenged, “you and me, sparring, right now - let’s go”

A chuff of amusement hit your face, the minty fresh breath of your future opponent did nothing to quell the butterflies in your abdomen.

“I’ll squish you, princess, don’t even try”

You raised a brow, leaning on one hip and crossing your arms rebelliously.

“Try me blondie” you snarked, “or are you too much of a pussy? Surely you’re not scared I might beat you”

That seemed to hit the right target. A growl emitted from the man in front of you, one that you weren’t even going to pretend wasn’t attractive. There was pretty much steam emitting from his skin at the challenge. Whoops.

“Fine, but don’t cry when I win”

“I’m not Sero”

“Hey!”

Said man's indignant cries of protest were ignored as you followed your challenger onto the training mat once again. Sure, Katsuki was a formidable opponent and sure, you had never actually sparred with him. But you were all best of the best for a reason. You deserved to be here just as much as he did. Plus, you knew your training was good and that you were an amazing fighter, this would be a piece of cake.

Kirishima counted you both in but neither of you broke eye contact with the other. The soft glint from earlier had all but disappeared, replaced by the harsh determination you knew to expect from Katsuki - whether it be from the past couple of days or the last three years of being in class with him.

Still, you tried your best to seem unphased. Katsuki was the type to find and exploit any opponent's weakness, as he had done several times in the past with actual villain encounters. And you were all too aware he wasn’t shy of using the same tactics during in-class training.

“2-1, Go!”

Without a moment's hesitation, the blonde leapt at you from across the mat, giving you little time to dodge. You knew from training that he moved quickly but Jesus, that was a little much. There was hardly time to catch your bearings before he spun seemingly in midair and swung a crackling hand towards your face. You managed to doge again, grabbing the man's arm and using his momentum to swing him towards the training mat.

Unfortunately for you, Bakugou grabbed the back of your tee as you pulled him over, slamming you onto the mat along with him.

You felt the thin fabric of your t-shirt tear straight down the middle of your back, the rest of the fabric fluttering off of your body in torn rivulets. Not one to be precious, you tore the rest of the scraps off - leaving you in a tight training vest. The sweat dripping down your forehead was quickly wiped away and you steeled yourself for the incoming blow from Bakugou.

Ever the opportunist, he had used your momentary distraction to swing his popping, crackling fist towards your stomach. Within the split second of seeing it coming, you knew there was no way you’d be able to dodge it. Instead, you tensed your stomach muscles the best you could and prepared to swing your own elbow into the side of his face. But as his fist and your elbow made impact - there was a blinding golden light that illuminated the entire gym.

When your vision came back to you, excruciating pain emitted not only from your stomach, but also your jaw?

The wind had been thoroughly knocked from your chest. Laying, gasping on the mat, you could only blink up as Kirishima’s concerned face popped into your field of vision. There was an attempt to communicate with him yet all you could manage was a pitiful whimper. The pain flowing through your body, pulsating from your stomach and jaw was overwhelming. Despite your excessive training having desensitised you to a lot of pain, this was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was like molten lava was flowing from the impact spots on your stomach and jaw. Tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes. How embarrassing.

Katsuki seemed to be in a similar situation if the pained groans echoing from across the training mat were any indication.

“Shit, Sero get Mr Aizawa, you’re quicker than I am” you heard Kiri’s concerned tone over your own heavy breathing.

“I’ll get recovery girl too”

You were full on sobbing now, wracked breaths forcing their way out of your chest. It felt like every cell in your body was burning up at once, exploding into themselves like a collapsing star.

“Katsuki” you whimpered, reaching towards the man across the mat.

“Kirishima, bring him here”

Kiri looked concerned at leaving you in this state, but it was clear what you needed at that moment. For some reason, your body was yelling at you to be closer to Katsuki, even if him beating you up had resulted in this in the first place.

Rustling could be heard across the room from you and you found yourself thanking the gods for Kirishima and his strength. The view of the redhead cradling his friend's writhing body in his arms made your heart race slightly, hoping that Bakugou wasn’t in as much pain as you were. His teeth were gritted and his eyes seemed hazy, unable to focus on anything in the room. It looked to be exactly how you felt, but he was handling it slightly better it seemed. You sniffed some of your tears back.

Kirishima laid Bakugou next to you and you felt the pain in your body let up slightly. The tugging in your cells didn’t cease until you managed to drag yourself to curl sluggishly into the crook of the blonde’s arm. His body smelt like it always did, slightly muskier maybe but the subtle aftershave and bonfire smell stuck around through almost anything. Your body was screaming at you to make some kind of contact but you couldn’t bring yourself to move an inch. The pain radiating from your body pulsed and writhed through your muscles like scalding water, twisting your body into a painful shape on the mat.

A muffled screech escaped from between your gritted teeth but you managed to pull yourself half on top of Bakugou. Your head hit his chest and he grunted slightly at the impact. Incessantly, the pain throbbed on through your muscles. Stupid fucking Bakugou in his stupid nun-ish exercise wear. He may as well have gone all out and worn a habit.

You grasped weakly at the tank covering his torso, only to find your grip not strong enough to move it any considerable distance. A groan echoed above you. Katsuki had seen your struggle and was moving one of his outstretched arms to curl around your bare shoulders.

As soon as his skin made contact with yours it was like a cooling water poured through your body, soothing the intense ache and burning it had been feeling. You were finally able to draw a proper, painless breath into your aching lungs. Never again would you take that ability for granted. The pain hadn’t yet fully left your body, still sore like an old bruise. There was no way of telling what the damage actually looked like but you were sure it wasn’t good.

The door of the gym slammed open, your capture-weapon clad teacher marching his way towards where your two bodies collapsed on the floor. Coughing weakly, you flitted your eyes up to meet his. The older man grumbled, sitting on the floor next to the two of you.

“Why can’t you two go five seconds without getting into trouble?”

You chuckled weakly, still under the hostage of Bakugou’s arm. The man himself grumbled underneath you in a weak attempt at protest.

“You think we do this shit on purpose?” he snapped, half-heartedly.

“That or a cruel trick of fate,” Aizawa muttered.

“A solid possibility,” you groaned, “but i’d rather it not be that”

The ensuing argument was interrupted by the arrival of recovery girl and a very out-of-breath Sero. The small woman pursed her lips at the two of you. Obviously, you were a sight to behold - a tangled pile of limbs and fabric breathing heavily on a training mat. It still felt like all of the energy had been zapped out of you, even if the pain was lessening more and more by the second. The tear tracks on your cheeks had dried out by now and were uncomfortable crusty on your face. You would definitely need a shower after this.

“There’s nothing I can do here”

Katsuki’s arm tensed around you and you could feel the snarl bubbling up his chest from where your head was laid.

“What do you mean there’s noth-”

“You’re not injured” she stated, quite promptly, “there is nothing physically wrong with you for me to heal”

“Recovery girl” began Kirishima, “what happened then?”

It was clear seeing two of their close friends in pain had shook Kirishima and Sero up slightly. The taller man was leaning into Kirishima’s hold, gnawing at his lip. Kirishima, meanwhile, had wrapped one of his strong arms around Sero’s shoulders and was rubbing his hand up and down his arm comfortingly. You reached up to pat at Hanta’s leg, the closest attempt at comfort you could scrounge from your fatigued body.

“Despite their quirk incident earlier this week, these two thought it would be smart to try and train with each other,” recovery girl explained.

She sounded sick of your shit. Not that you blamed her.

“And in doing that, they caused a quirk reaction”

You groaned. The explanation seemed so simple when it was laid out in front of you like that but it hadn’t even occurred to you not to spar Katsuki. The quirks' effects weren’t exactly wearing off, but the ache in your wrist where the girl had grabbed you had disappeared completely as you two had been staying close enough to one another. You supposed it was odd to forget about it but you only wanted to get back to training.

“And in doing so, have shortened the distance allowed between them”

“Oh my god” you groaned, thumping your head down onto the mat this time.

“This would never have happened if you didn’t get so cocky,” Bakugou complained.

You shot him a look as best you could from face down on the mat.

“If you weren’t such a prick, I wouldn’t have responded like that in the first place, would I?”

Aizawa leaned forward and pinched both of your ears.

“Stop whining, you’re both at fault. Now go back to the dorms”

Both of you huffed like children being scolded by a nursery teacher. With Aizawa, it still felt like that sometimes, despite the fact you were now all technically pro heroes. Still, you rolled out from under Katsuki’s arm and tried your best to stand.

In doing so, you leaned too far away from him and your wrist started flaring with the familiar burning sensation. You hissed and gripped the appendage, bringing it and yourself closer to Bakugou.

You looked at your wrist in disbelief.

“That was barely three feet” you whispered, meeting eyes with recovery girl.

She tutted.

“You made your own bed dear, time to lie in it”

taglist - @yizhoutv @champagnetvstes @lexmarine @shadowsingers-redhood @h0nestly-though @bby-chloe1999

sorry this one took so long! I was doing uni exams but I should be pretty much free (apart from work maybe) for the rest of the summer soooo! comment or send me an ask if you want on the taglist for the semblance series

I've also completed the first chapter of Kirishima's section of the choose your own path series so lmk if you want to be tagged in that! replies and reblogs are much appreciated muah >3<

#bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #bakugo imagine #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugo katsuki imagine

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honey-on-your-tongue · 2 months

Text

Too Close

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Part two

Series masterlist

Blog masterlist

Eight o’clock sharp, you’re standing in the small apartment lobby, staring at the faded paint on the walls chipping. Your outfit of your first day at your new job is simple and classy—or you hope so, at least. A short, white, plaid pencil skirt combined with formal but comfortable shoes, and a plain white button-up blouse that shows your midriff. Your hair is down, just washed, styled in that way that makes you feel most confident.

You’re still nervous. Nervous off your fucking ass. And the prospect of seeing Javi, of having him take you to work, of spending time with him…It makes you flustered. He’s handsome, he’s witty, he’s kind. From what little you’ve met of him until now, he’s just your type.

But…

But he’s older. He’s much older. He must be what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? Thirty six? Somewhere in between, you guess. And why would a man like him even glance at you? You’re a kid to him. He’s almost twice your age. What are you thinking?

You hear a door opening and keys jingling. A moment later, Javi walks to the lobby in a red button-up tucked into his jeans, a belt holding them up. He’s wearing a jacket and a tie, and he looks…

Fuck, he looks hot, you think, trying not to think about it.

“Mornin’,” he greets, those dark eyes taking in your outfit.

You feel yourself growing a little uneasy, shifting your weight around a tad. “Is this okay?” you ask of your outfit. “Does it get too cold here?”

He shakes his head. “Your outfit’s fine,” he tells you. “But I might need to take you out into the field with me sometimes, and it would probably be better for you to wear something that’s comfortable in case we need to stay out all day.”

You pause. “You're gonna take me into the field?” Your voice should be afraid; instead, you're delighted.

He chuckles. “No where too dangerous,” he promises. “Just little meetings with sources. Nothing for you to worry about. Besides, I'll be there to keep you safe.”

You smile softly. “My grandpa never let the other agents take me out onto the field. He was too afraid of me getting in harm’s way, I guess.”

“Dealing with sources isn't really that dangerous,” he tells you as he places a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the underground parking lot of the building. Tingles brush up your spine. “Worst parts are when we burst into coke labs or hideouts, stuff like that.”

“They're also the most exciting, I bet,” you say. “I mean, dangerous, obviously. But the adrenaline…”

He chuckles. “It's only exciting if you survive,” he points out. “Usually there are more funerals than celebrations after those kinds of raids.”

You're silent for a second. “I…Yeah, you're right.” Your voice turns soft, pensive. Of course it's not some game. What are you thinking? You're seeing it from a journalist’s perspective, not from a DEA agent’s. Raids make great stories, sure. But having to participate in those raids…

You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re now a member of the DEA, not a journalist. The world isn’t only about telling stories now, it’s about living them.

Javier leads you to his car and opens the passenger door for you. Immediately, you're blushing again, nervous and flattered. You stutter out a thank-you and Javi chuckles smoothly.

He gets in the driver's seat and, oh, God, if you thought he was hot, watching him drive just about sends you hurling over the edge. The way his aviators give him a mysterious hue, the early-morning sunlight shining through the window as he drives you through Colombia…

His nose, his lips, his jawline…Oh, you want to kiss it all. Kiss his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips. Oh, those lips…

You realize you're staring when Javi glances at you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You alright there?” he chuckles.

You blush, snapping your head away, glancing out the windshield. “Y-yeah. Fine. I'm just…trying to get a bearing of my surroundings, y'know. I'm gonna have to drive to the embassy myself eventually,” you say quickly, hoping your voice doesn't quiver as much as you think it does.

“I wouldn't mind driving you every morning,” he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. “We leave the same building and get to the same place. Problem would be when we each gotta go our separate ways.”

“Yeah.” You nod. “You work late?” you ask, out of curiosity more than anything.

He chuckles, a sound somewhere between amused and endeared. As if you were a child asking some silly little question. “You…could say that.”

You bite your lower lip, wanting to ask more, but you don't want him to think you're a naïve little girl. You're twenty-three. Not a child.

He's almost twice my age, you think, of course he sees me as a child.

Javi glances at you, noticing the slight pinch between your eyebrows. Did he say something wrong? Did he make you uncomfortable? He has the feeling you want to say more, to ask more. What's holding you back?

“I usually don't have a very regular schedule,” he tells you, hoping to ease your nerves. “It depends a lot on the narcos since we gotta take ‘em by surprise and we never really know where they're gonna be. So we gotta seize any opportunity we get.”

You nod. “Right. It's…Is it stressful? Always guessing where they're gonna be?”

“More than stressful, it's frustrating,” he responds. “Every time we think we're close, they vanish like thin air. Especially Escobar. He's a real tough motherfucker. Careful, ingenious. It's like chasing shadows. Every time we go after him, it's as if he already knows it.”

You pause, turn to him as he stops at a red light. “Every time?” you question.

He nods. “Yeah. We've barely even been close.”

“And you've made sure there are no leaks within the DEA? Or the Colombian military? Because it's a little odd that he can always predict your next move.”

Javier's eyes widen. Of course. How could he not think of that? There's probably someone playing for both sides. A mole filtering information to Escobar. But it would have to be someone close, someone who knows all of their plans.

It's not Carrillo. Carrillo is fully trustworthy, Javier is sure of that. But maybe someone on the Search Bloc, someone new…

He gives you a little smile. “Smart thinkin’,” he tells you. “It would've never occurred to me.”

You shrug as if dismissing your great idea. “I'm a journalist. My work depends on sources and info leaks.”

Smart, gorgeous, witty, humble…

Javier tries to keep himself in check. You're everything a man would want.

But not him. He shouldn't want you. You're so young, there are so many guys out there who would be better for you. He knows that. But, God, what he wouldn't give to get a taste of you…

The day flies by—no, the weeks fly by. Between doing your investigations, adjusting to the new work environment, getting used to living on your own, learning Spanish, and trying not to think about Javier, a month passes in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly you have an established routine, suddenly you're settled in. Suddenly you understand more Spanish and your accent decreases slightly. Suddenly, Colombia is becoming a home to you.

But the deeper you fall into Colombia, the deeper you realize it's a war zone. A small-scale kind of war zone. Sicarios—hitmen—make people disappear without anyone noticing for days.

Only reason you know is because those people are usually your sources.

Javier was right about the work being more frustrating than stressful. It's like sand, slipping right through your fingers. No matter how hard you try to hold onto it, it just seeps away.

You make progress. You know you do. But most days, it doesn't feel like it. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy, they both respect you. They appreciate you and your contribution to the team. Carrillo, the Colombian coronel, does too. But other men…they're a little sensitive about having a woman working with them.

They doubt you. They catcall you. They assume you got the job by sleeping with some higher-ups. And it pisses you off. You wanna punch them all, curse them, call them out for the disgusting pigs they are.

But you don't. You keep your calm. You're better than them and you know it—they know it. That's why they're anrgy with you. You threaten them. Your presence, your abilities, make them feel insecure. And that brings you a very much deserved wave of satisfaction.

Every new piece of information you bring in, the prouder you are of yourself. Until you realize Escobar keeps getting farther and farther away from the DEA. He buys and kills his way through life, opening himself a pretty little path, a red carpet rolled out at his feet.

Some days, you're upbeat. You feel you're moments away from catching the drug lords. But other days, you feel like you came down to Colombia for nothing.

Today is one of those days.

Late afternoon, everyone leaving the office after yet another failed raid. The warehouse had been emptied even before the DEA team was on its way there.

There's a mole, you think as you put away files with months’ worth of information. There has to be a mole. Someone is talking. Someone is ratting us out. But who?

You exhale thickly, a dull ache spreading behind your eyes. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fuck,” you mutter, stressed, annoyed, frustrated.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You grab a file with a big, red stamp on the front that reads deceased—one of your sources just recently killed by sicarios—and aggressively toss it in the trash can. As if that would solve all your issues.

You don't realize he's standing in the office until he sighs. “Tough day, huh?”

You turn around, jumping a little, to find Javier there. He looks almost as pissed as you must look. More, probably. He's already been here for years and Escobar is still running free.

“Understatement,” you mutter, turning away from him. You grab another file, open it. You read the name. Some Francisco something. You grab a large stamp and press it onto the front page so the word deceased is now there in big, bold letters. You toss that into the trash too.

Javier approaches you slowly. You can feel his presence burning behind you, like warm sun on your nape, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Some of us are going for a drink,” he tells you, voice light and casual. “Just in case you wanna join us.”

You turn to him. “Who's going?”

Me and you, Javier thinks. Just us.

“Alright, fine. I'm going,” he says, chuckling softly, smoothly. “There's a bar downtown that I like to frequent when I don't have the best days. And you—no offense—but you look like you could use a drink.”

A small smile appears on your lips. He wants to kiss the corner where your mouth curls.

He can see it in your eyes, you're thinking it through. Weighing the decision. Maybe if he tips the scale a little…

“On me,” he adds, giving you a little smirk. “Y'know. Just a little something to take the edge off.”

Your smile broadens and he knows he's succeeded.

“Alright,” you agree. “You're driving.”

You don't have to say it. It's become the default. Even though the embassy finally delivered your own car, Javi keeps driving you to and from work. Unless he knows he's going to have to stay out later or go through with a raid in the middle of the night, he always insists you let him drive you.

You always politely tell him it's fine, that you can do it yourself, but he doesn't want you to do it yourself. He wants to drive you. Wants to have you sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Wants to hear you hum along to the songs on the radio. That's become the highlight of his day—you have become the highlight of his every single fucking day.

And he hates himself for it. What is he thinking? You're half his age, you can do so much better than him. He's broken, tarnished. He doesn't need to drag you down with him.

But the way your eyes light up when you see him. The smiles you give him. The way his name rolls off your tongue.

Good God, how many times has he spent too long in the shower, one hand braced against the cold tiles as the water falls onto his back while his other hand fists his cock? Head down, hair wet, eyes shut tight as he thinks of you, of the way you say his name. Your little skirts and gorgeous eyes. Your soft, sweet lips…

Over and over, he spills his release onto the shower wall, thick white ropes that trickle down the drain. He does it until it hurts, until the warm water runs cold, until there’s no more of his come to spend. And yet, no matter how much he does it, it's never enough.

Nothing is enough. Not cold showers, not jerking off for hours, not sleeping with his usual hookers and imagining you. Nothing does it.

If it's not you, it'll never be enough.

He takes you to a small club. A private, luxurious little place. Both of you are still in your work clothes. He watches you remove your blazer and are left in a pretty top and a skirt. You let your hair down, untuck your blouse from your skirt, and suddenly you look different. You look free. And Javier's heart skips because he now feels like he has the opportunity to take you home. To lead you to his bed. To spread your legs and let himself finally taste you, feel you, fuck you…

He leads you to a booth in a corner, comfortable and a little more private than other tables, and you sit across from each other.

He watches you, saying nothing as you look around, studying your surroundings. Music is playing softly in the background, people are talking, glasses are tinkling. But he can only focus on you.

You turn to him, a small smile on your face, those beautiful eyes almost shining. “So, as a regular here, I bet you know the menu by heart. What drink would you recommend?”

He chuckles. “I like to take my whiskey. Not a big fan of fancy, elaborate drinks.” He eyes you for a second, purposely letting the tension grow. “But I'd suggest you order a piña colada. Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.”

Javier notes the blush that forms on your cheeks and he feels proud of himself. He didn't take it too far, just a small flirtatious comment. And already you're all flustered.

God, the look on your face if he were to fuck you in front of a mirror, if he'd spread your legs to see your wet pussy, if he'd touch you, kiss you…

Fuck.

He starts getting hard, his cock bulging against the seam of his pants. He slightly adjusts his jeans to relieve the pressure a little.

A waitress comes over and takes your order. Your drinks arrive not long after.

“How are you adjusting to life down here?” he asks you, sipping his whiskey. Bitter, cold. Just how he likes it.

You sip your piña colada, removing the little umbrella on it. “Well enough,” you reply. “Only thing I still struggle with is the language a little.”

He nods in understanding even though he speaks Spanish fluently. He grew up with both languages, he hadn't been forced to learn from zero.

“You'll be able to get it,” he assures. “You're a quick learner. If Steve was able to learn, you're certain to nail it.”

You laugh and he chuckles. He likes that too, he realizes. Your laugh, the way the corners of your eyes crinkle, the shine in your gaze, the way the sound resonates from your mouth.

Suddenly it's a little hotter in the club and for the first time in a really long time, Javier feels nervous around a woman.

You like the way he looks at you. Those dark eyes taking you in as if he can't afford to miss a single detail about you.

Smiling a little coyly, you take another sip from your piña colada. It's so sweet.

Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.

Butterflies burst in your stomach. You gaze back up at him. He meets your gaze for a moment before looking away.

He reaches for his tie, undoes it with one hand, starts tugging it off.

Good God…

You press your thighs together. The tiniest of gestures and yet he looks so fucking hot doing it.

You wish he'd tie you up with that tie, pinyou to the bed, take what he wants…

Mind out of the gutter, you tell yourself. Mind out of the gutter.

As the night goes on, you both talk about everything and anything. The conversation doesn't dry up. It just flows. It's odd how much chemistry you two have, it's almost like you'd be perfect together.

But you work together. But he's much older. What would people say? What will happen when—if you were ever to be more than coworkers? More than friends?

No, don't think about that. It won't happen. He's just being kind, taking out the new girl to help her. It doesn't mean anything.

But you doubt yourself. The way he's looking at you, those dark eyes, that intense gaze…You could swear there's more to this than mere kindness.

As the night grows darker, the music gets louder. People start moving onto the dance floor, the lights dim. As the sounds rise in volume, you and Javi sit closer to be able to hear one another.

And suddenly everything shifts. Suddenly you're so close, suddenly the atmosphere is different, suddenly you're staring right into his eyes and he's glancing at your lips.

A soft breath leaves you. How many piña coladas have you had? This isn't you thinking, it's not you leaning closer to him. It's someone else, some other girl—confident, bold, she goes after what she wants. It's not something you would do. But this new version of you…

His lips are grazing yours now. You're so, so close to him. You can smell the cigarettes on his breath, can feel the heat of his skin. He smells of cologne and whiskey and smoke and soft musk.

“I was thinking,” you say, voice low, sultry. What's that sound? Is it the music booming or your racing heart? “You should teach me Spanish.”

“Teach you Spanish?” he asks, eyebrows pinching together. He seems confused, unsure about where you're going with this.

You nod. “Yeah. The toughest part is getting my tongue to roll the right way. And I was thinking you could show me…”

His eyes shine with realization. He understands now, you can tell. “Fuck,” he says breathlessly, voice low and thick. “C’mere.”

And then he's kissing you.

His mouth is warm, soft, and he tastes like danger.

One of his hands finds your waist, the other cups the back of your neck to pull you closer. He devours you, lips coercing yours open before his tongue slides in, tasting of whiskey.

When your tongue meets his, he groans quietly, the sound reverberating through you. The hand on your waist tightens its grip, the other one tangling in the hair at the back of your head and tugging slightly.

You gasp. He smirks. Javi pulls you closer until you're just about forced to get on his lap. You're happy to do so, straddling his hips, one hand on the back of the booth sofa to hold you up, the other one cupping his face.

When you lean your weight down on Javier, he groans, a barely-restrained sound that makes you wetter than you already are.

You can feel he's hard, his cock pressing right between your thighs. You get comfortable on his lap, the bulge in his pants right against your clit.

His hands move down to your ass slowly, testing the waters. When you don't complain, he squeezes the supple flesh, groaning into your mouth.

And it's wrong. And you know it's wrong. But you let him.

Fuuuuck.

Javier's mind is a blur, his every thought fogged over with the feel of you on top of him.

His cock aches for you. You're on top of him, the feeling of you on his lap is almost enough for him to jizz his pants.

Jesus fucking Christ, you're perfect. All of you is perfect. You feel so much better than he could've ever imagined.

His large hands squeeze your ass and start guiding your movements, making you grind against him. You let out a little sound, a soft, quiet moan and his hips buck up against yours. In response, you whimper, thighs tightening on either side of him.

He keeps guiding you, making you ride him through the fabric of his pants. He can feel the crotch of his jeans grow wet with his precum, his hips starting to move against yours in search of more.

More, more, more.

He wants so much more. He wants to lift up your skirt, move your panties to the side, slide his cock into you. He wants to feel you, your warm, wet pussy clenching around him…

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips. It's not enough. It won't be enough until he fucks you. Properly fucks you.

One of his hands moves from your ass to the side of your thigh, and then between your legs. He plays with the edge of your skirt and then his hand wanders under it.

His calloused fingertips find the fabric of your panties and his cock twitches. He gently teases your folds through your underwear, feeling how wet you are already.

He pulls moan after moan from you, smirking against your mouth, swallowing your every sound.

“Javi,” you whimper, pulling away from his lips to take a heaving breath.

“Shh, angel, you don't everyone to know what we're doing now, do you?”

You shake your head softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmm, n-no. I just—Oh, God.”

He pushes your panties aside, rough fingers finding your bare cunt. It's so wet, the coarse hair on your skin soaked.

You jerk at the feeling of his fingers on your pussy and he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound.

He gathers some of your slick with his middle and index fingers and spreads it all over your cunt, leaving you nice and wet so his thumb can glide over your clit in soft, neat circles.

A string of incoherent words leave you and Javi smiles. He wishes he had you in his bed right now so he could spread your folds with his fingers, look at how wet you are.

But this will have to do for now.

He slides his middle finger into you, his thumb adding more pressure on your clit as he draws mindless shapes on the needy bud.

You rock your hips against his hand, moaning, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's a good girl, angel,” he whispers into your ear, kissing the side of your neck. “You're doing so well. I'm gonna add another finger, yeah?”

He slides his ring finger into you as well and you throw your head back, gasping softly. He curls his fingers up to find that spot that makes you clench around his digits and he smirks.

The more he fingers you, the wetter you get, the tighter you grip him. “C'mon, angel. Come for me, yeah? Let me give you what you deserve.”

You mewl, nuzzling your face into his neck as he fucks you open with his thick fingers.

“Shh, shh. You're so close, angel. So close. Fuck, I can feel how tight you're getting.”

His words seem to spur you on because you start riding his hand faster, more eager, as if you can't get enough. And then there's a moment where your body seems to pause, your every muscle tensing, your eyes shutting tight, and then you fall over the edge.

Javi watches as you climax, the sight more beautiful than anything he's ever seen in his fucking life. He doesn't want this to be the last time he sees you like this. He'll die if he can't get more of you.

“There you go,” he whispers into your ear, helping you ride out the pleasure. “That's a good girl. Are you alright, angel?” He kisses your jaw, your neck, inhaling your soft scent.

You nod weakly. “Mhm,” you hum, shuddering a little. “‘m fine.”

“Good.” He kisses your lips softly, tasting you. God, the things he wants to do to you. He pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his body aching to taste you. You taste so sweet, so gentle, so fucking perfect.

Oh, what's he fucking doing? You're half his age. You're too good for him. He shouldn't be—

Your hands start moving to the front of his pants, palming his throbbing cock through the fabric, and suddenly Javier forgets himself. He forgets everything.

If it's not you, he doesn't care right now. He'll figure it out later. There will be time later.

So he just gives in. Just ignores everything and allows himself this moment with you.

It'll only be once. Just once, he promises himself.

Cross my heart.

Dividers from @cafekitsune! Thank you again for these beautiful dividers!!!

Taglist

@maiyart @cheesepannini @picketniffler

I'm so inspired while writing this omggg I just need this man so much 😭😭😭

I hope you enjoy babes!!! <33333

#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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softstarlite · 4 months

Text

The Casualty of Love

CHAPTER 5

Summary: He's back home. You have almost forgotten how warm his eyes were and how big your crush for him was.

Warnings: Age gap (Javi is 40 and reader is 27), smut, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected P in V (don't be stupid like them and wrap it up), reader is on the pill, creampie, slight praise link, some cockiness from both Javi and reader, yet again another interruption from the icon itself Chucho in an important moment. (Let me know if I missed any warnings)

Rating: +18 (explicit)

Word Count: 2.9K

Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Masterlist

A/N: Here you guys have chapter 5. This is my first time ever writing smut so I would gladly take constructive criticism, please be nice about it :-) Hope you guys like it!! Love you amores and thank you for being patient! I made it a little longer to compensate <3 <3

Divider by @saradika

You arrive at the Peña ranch around 4 pm; as you get out of your car you see that Chucho is exactly where you knew he'll be, sitting on the porch with a beer in his hand, enjoying his well earned break from the ranch chores.

“Hey viejito!” you greet him while closing the car door.

“Oh hi mija!” he greets back, raising the beer bottle towards you “Again here? Vamos a tener que empezar a pagarte (we'll have to start paying you)” he chuckles.

“Sabe que nunca se lo aceptaría (you know i'd never accept it) I love helping here, been doing since i could walk” you send him a playful wink, both of you knowing that back then you were playing more than helping but Chucho would've never complain about it, he adored having you around.

He laughs, takes his hat off and fans himself with it “true, true. Well then go along honey, you can help Javi feed the horses at the barn, así se resguarda del este jodido calor (that way you'll shelter yourself from this damn heat)”

You give him a quick nod “Ay, Ay, captain” you say signaling with two fingers at your forehead and then turning around and walking towards the barn. Once inside you close the door behind you, so the heat wouldn't come inside and bother the horses. You see the horses already munching the hay away, but you already knew that's what you´d be finding when coming in here; you take off your boots and leave them where you´ll remember it. You climb to the upper part of the barn and then you finally see what, or better, who you were looking for.

Javi is there sitting on a bale of hay, looking down at the watch on his wrist, the action making the hat over his head shelter the face that you like so much from you. You sometimes can't help asking yourself how he didn't get killed while on the DEA with how easy it was for you to sneak up on him. You decide to lean on a wooden pillar and cross your arms over your chest then you clear your throat making Javier´s head shoot up.

“God, finally…” he groans but you´re not sure if it's from annoyance or the noise his knees make when he gets up from the bale.

“You´re too dramatic, i'm only a few minutes late” you instantly smile as soon as his whole presence envelops you when he comes in front of you putting his hands on your waist.

“Haven't you heard that time is gold” he says looking you up and down. You can't help but to roll your eyes even if the smile on your face doesn't disappear.

Your hands travel to the front of his short sleeved red button up where you fist the fabric and make him lean on you to link your lips with his. While your tongues get acquainted with each other, his hands travel to your hips and then to your ass, where he squeezes it and groans into your mouth then pulls away from it.

“Cariño, couldn't you have worn one of those pretty dresses I love? It would make this so much easier and quicker” he says with almost desperation in his eyes.

“Sure, Javi, cause me coming to the ranch to help with chores in a dress would be veeeery believable” you say while unbuttoning his shirt and running a hand over every bit of his chest that is revealed.

“Bebita, I'm sure that with you flashing just one of your gorgeous smiles would be enough for my pops to not question anything you do” he says while working on the button and zipper of your denim shorts.

You both don't say anything more about it, especially now that Javi has made work of your shorts and has pulled them down your legs, making you step out of them.

He groans when he sees your lacy underwear, still kneeling from helping you out of your shorts “Fuck cariño, you wore these just for me?” he runs a finger under the waistband of your lace panties from one hip to the other while looking up to you with dark eyes. You just nod while inevitably biting your lower lip.

He curses once more and takes the waistband of the lacy underwear with his two hands now and starts to drag it down your legs without taking his eyes from you. The speed in which he makes the action is utterly torture.

“Javi…” you whine with more neediness in your voice than you intended.

“Paciencia cariño (Patience sweetheart)” he says while making eye contact with the wetness between your legs. He's not sure if he is torturing you or him more; with the way his cock was tenting his jeans, he would guess the answer is himself.

He traces your folds with two fingers, you sigh in relief immediately even if It still didn't feel like enough.

In the past two weeks since the barbecue at Doña Lucia´s, you and Javi have been finding little moments to indulge in each other, you both even had a chance to have something similar to a date when Chucho asked Javi a week ago if he could pick up some things from a nearby town that he had ordered and you offered yourself immediately to help him, showing a big concern for Javi´s back in chance for some alone time away from the worry of getting caught. You guys talked all the way there, getting to know the people you had become during your time apart, after picking up what you went there for, he insisted to buy you lunch, so you did, and to finish on the way back to Laredo you had to stop on the side of the road because you both didn't want to end the day without feeling each other in every way possible.

When Javi´s mouth finally makes contact with you, you have to press a hand over your mouth to silence the moan coming from it, your other hand finding home in his hair. Every time Javi touched you in any way you could swear you would die but at the same gave you more life, it was like anything that you ́ve ever felt in your entire life.

“Fuck, cariño, the sweetest thing I´ve ever had” he says looking up into your eyes when he detaches from you to bring two fingers to your entrance.

Your eyes roll back and your hand leaves your face to cling the wooden pillar behind you.

“What, el gato te comió la lengua, cariño? (did the cat eat your tongue, sweetheart?)” he says to you with a fucking smirk that you are going to wipe out of his face. You bring your left foot up, bringing it to his crotch that you rub with it. As soon as you do it, the smirk on his face disappears into an open mouth, breathing heavily.

“Te ha comido la lengua el gato, Javi? (Has the cat eaten your tongue, Javi?)” you use his own teasing back at him, trying to give him a smirk but when he moves his fingers deeper into you, only a moan comes out of your lips.

“I'm sorry, what was that sweetheart?” the smirk comes back to his face but not as big as before, more open mouthed. Your hand goes from his curls to his forearm to grip it, you´re not even sure if to keep him there or to pull him away.

“F-fuck Javi…” you close your eyes and push your head back into the wooden pillar. You know Javi has now stood up from his kneeling position, not just from the sound his knees make but also because the action makes your foot fall to the ground.

“Uh-uh bebita” he takes your chin with his free hand, bringing your head back towards him, which makes you open your eyes “eyes on me hermosa, eyes on me” he instructs you and of course you obey, like you had any other option right now, like you would choose any other option.

You just nod however you can with your chin still in his hand, and moan.

“Now i want you to come on my fingers before i fuck you, okay bebita?” he says without taking his eyes away from yours, and you could swear you could come just by looking at them. You, obviously, nod once more, and then you feel his thumb make contact with your clit, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure. In the little time that two weeks are, Javier has somehow learned how to take you apart at the speed he wishes every single time.

You start to feel that knot forming in your lower stomach, making you lean your forehead into his “I'm so close baby…” you are able to somehow form the words even if you can promise that your mind is lost completely.

“Deja que pase hermosa (let it happen beautiful), i got you” the pressure on your clit increases and that's what makes the knot unravel. Javi has to kiss you to silence the beautiful sounds that you´re making. He stops the movements of his fingers inside of you but he doesn't stop the movements over your clit, helping you come down off your high.

As soon as his hand leaves your cunt, you´re reaching for his belt, trying to unbuckle it with way too eager hands.

Javi can´t help to chuckle teasingly “that needy for my cock bebita?” he asks you with a raised eyebrow.

“If you prefer it, I can just get my shorts back up and leave, and you deal with this” you say, introducing a hand inside his jeans, finding no underwear under them as always, and grabbing his cock “by yourself” you say with smugness.

He grunts and helps you pull his jeans down his legs; he then pulls up your tank top so it rests over your breasts and brings one of them to his mouth while one of his hands brings your left leg to his hip, to make room for himself.

“I'm not going to last very long today, cariño” he informs you while his fingers roll one of your pebbled nipples between them.

“Good, cause I'm sure we don't have much more time left” you grab his wrist to look at his watch which confirms your words, then you grab his butt with both hands and push him towards you so he gets the message.

He finally does it; he leaves your nipples and grabs himself, bringing it to your cunt and pushing into you, making you stretch so delicious, just like every time. You both let out a big breath and stay still to get used to the godly feeling.

After a few seconds, he starts to move, at first at a slow pace that makes you feel every inch of him caress your walls; then, when he groans in your ear and bites your shoulder, he begins to thrust at a killing pace.

“Fuck cariño, you feel too good” he moans and grips your hips with a strength that you know will leave bruises because it has already happen several times in the last two weeks “I need you to come again on my cock before i come, you think you can do that for me bebita?”

Before Javi, you were lucky if a guy would make you come once during sex, most of your orgasms would come from your own hands or from your trusted vibrator; but since your first time with Javier you were surprise to see that what gives him more pleasure is to give you it, he made sure each time to make you come at least once, which normally wasn't enough for him.

Your heart had already made the decision of giving Javi everything that his own heart desired if it was in your hands, so you really didn't have a chance to say no.

You sneak a hand in between your bodies and bring it to your clit, where you rub in circles, to help yourself concede his wish. Between that and the amazing feeling of him drilling into you, you start to feel that knot tightening again. You moan once and knowing that they were more to come from how close to the edge you feel, you bring one of Javi´s hands to your mouth to cover it and then put your free hand on his curls, gripping them which makes him moan himself as you've learnt.

“I can feel how close you are cariño, pussy´s choking me, come on bebita come on, be a good girl and soak my cock” it's his filthy mouth that makes the knot unravel again and your second orgasm blinds you for a moment, your walls clenching around him, pulling him with you, making him groan and moan as he still as deep he can go inside of you and paints your walls. Thank god to the person that invented the pill.

Javi´s hand leaves your mouth as soon as your jaw relaxes; he rests his forehead in yours while you both try to catch your breath. You peck his lips and chuckle “better every single time, somehow” he chuckles as well at your statement.

Javier feels wrong every time he's not able to give you any proper aftercare… Even in Colombia, his informants would get a few seconds of cuddling and a washcloth if they asked for it, and you definitely meant more to him than any informant ever did.

You both get dressed again, you help him with his jeans so he doesn't have to crouch down for them. While he is finishing to button up his shirt, without counting the two or three buttons that he always leaves unbutton of course, you approach him and start to run your hands through his hair, trying to get his beautiful curls back on their place.

He abandons his button to look at you like you´re hanging the damn sky. His hand comes to your waist, where he squeezes softly to get your attention away from his hair and into him.

“Let me take you out” he says straightforwardly, nothing else. Javi hadn't been able to stop thinking about your almost date. He had already made peace with the fact that a good life wasn't for him, that he didn't deserve it, the first sign was when his mom got diagnosed, then when Lorraine told him about the baby he thought for a moment that everything could be fine, but then Lorraine told him the truth and it was like another sign of it. And after everything he had to do in Colombia, every decision he made, he was even more sure that a good life wasn't planned for him, but god ever since that day in the parking lot, every time he looks at you he can feel it, hope in the middle of his chest.

You furrow your eyes and open your mouth to answer him but before you could do it, you both hear the barn door being open, obviously by Chucho. You take Javi´s wrist and check the time again, Chucho´s usual break time was over, you both had gotten lost on time. You look up at Javi with widened eyes and he whispers curses. You start to look around you guys, and when you see the barn window that you were 80% sure had bales of hay underneath it, you take his face between your hands.

“You trust me?” you don't take your eyes off him. He nods and you hear Chucho call for the both of you “Mijo? Chiquitita?”

You give his lips a quick peck “Go down to your dad and say i'm with the cattle” you don't leave room for him to respond to you; you softly push him in the direction of the ladder.

He climbs the ladder down whilst shouting “coming!” to his pops. You run to the window and look through it, when you see that thankfully you were right about the bales of hay, you look behind you over your shoulder, hearing for a moment the conversation between Chucho and Javier.

“She said she wanted to go see and greet the cattle” Javi explains to his dad with a shrug, he knew that it was a good excuse, since you´ve been doing exactly that for many many years.

You finally look back through the window and take a deep breath, closing your eyes and asking whoever was out there to not let you get injured. You open your eyes and make the jump, but you haven't planned for the sound that your body colliding with the bales would make, you scrunch your nose at not only the sound but also the pain of it.

Both Javi and Chucho hear it, they turn their heads towards the direction of the noise, Javi intuiting where or who it came from but Chucho furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

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