#WELCOME BACK JAVIER PEÑA

[604to647]

It’s giving “Chucho made him put a vest on because it’s a little windy today” 🥹🤭

Happy Friday, everyone! 😘😘

[shaunasrabbit]

are you JOKING

another pedro movie fuck

[whoevenisjavier]

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

The plan was to finish your thesis. You didn’t actually want to meet a neighbor with a past you can google and a history caught on tape. Or did you?

a/n: the adult content t-shit gave me ideas. btw, my first story here and I swear this is not a TED talk about morality. critical thinking? yes, bc the story needs it. moral lectures? absolutely not. porn? you'll see. this is just for fun — enjoy, i guess. the storys finished already, so I'll post the next chapter soon.

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. inaccuracies about joel miller (I know his parents aren't chilean but bear with me). javier peña is there too. do I have to add anything else here? I don't know how to do these things.

wc: 9k

This time, your parents aren’t waiting for you at the bus terminal like they’ve done every year for the past three. It’s a good thing, a sign you’re standing on your own now, with your own car, but you still miss seeing their smiles through the fogged-up bus windows.

That moment always made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Driving through the streets of Lake Placid on your way home feels like walking through your childhood memories. The stores look almost the same, sometimes with a fresh coat of paint, and the people, though not exactly familiar, are the daughters and grandsons of the adults you grew up around before moving to New York. Their faces carry just enough resemblance to make you do a double take.

When you park in your parents’ driveway and pick up your phone for the first time in two hours, there’s a message from your mother.

“We’re in the backyard having a welcome barbecue for the new neighbor! You can go up to your room and rest if you want some time alone or come eat. Can’t wait to see you. X.”

You smile as you step out of the Jeep, the door creaking behind you, and breathe in the cold, clean air rolling down from the mountains and the lake that wraps around the village where you were born. Your parents’ house sits above Mirror Lake Drive, right at the edge of the hill on the northeast side of the village, and from your bedroom window on the second floor, you can see the lake and the distant peaks of the High Peaks.

A far cry from the view outside your New York apartment: nothing but gray swallowed up by buildings. It’s the perfect setting to finally finish your thesis.

As you grab your two suitcases from the back seat, your eyes wander to the house next door, which had been empty for the past three years, mostly because the previous owners were asking too much for it.

Buying real estate in Lake Placid takes careful thought, since turning a profit is unlikely even with upgrades and expansions – the village is just too isolated. So if you’re buying here, it’s not for the money. It’s because you want a life far away from the city.

The house in question is a larger and more luxurious version of your parents’, made of gray stone, with cute white-framed windows, and for the first time in months, you see the lawn freshly trimmed and a new pickup truck parked in the driveway.

Probably the new family your mom mentioned.

The house is empty when you walk in, but you can hear laughter and voices drifting up from the backyard. You head the opposite way, climb the stairs to your room, drop your bags, take a shower, and spend a good while debating whether to sink into sheets that smell like home for the first time in ten months or go downstairs and find something to eat.

Hunger wins.

You throw on a warm sweater and go down. When you open the back doors, six pairs of eyes turn toward you, but it’s your mother’s squeal that makes you smile, followed by the tight hug she and your father give you.

“There’s our girl,” your father says to the others, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he says your name. You give a small wave. “She always comes home for the holidays.”

The couple sitting together you recognize. They’ve been friends with your parents for years.

But you don’t know the woman who smiles sweetly at you, and you definitely don’t recognize the man, at least twenty-five years older than you, who keeps a neutral expression as he sips from a beer can. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly, but maybe that’s just the impression left by the slightly graying mustache and broad shoulders.

Two minutes later, you’re settled into a lounge chair with everyone in the backyard, a warm burger on your plate and a cold beer in your hand.

“I told Joel he’d have trouble with the house,” says the sweet-smiling woman to your parents, continuing the conversation they were having. “But he really wanted a place here, so I just supported him.”

“What kind of trouble are you having with the house?” your mom asks Joel — the mustached man, now officially identified.

“Nothing major,” Joel replies in a deep, firm, polite voice. “Had to redo the plumbing in two of the bathrooms and fix the heating in the kitchen sink, but it’s all fine now.”

“And are you liking it here?” you venture. You glance at the woman. “You and... your wife?”

Joel gives a faint smile.

“Tess isn’t my wife. And yeah, I’m liking it. It’s peaceful. Not too many teenagers. Feels like paradise.”

“What’s with the teenage hate?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, silently filing away the Tess isn’t his wife detail.

“Fewer teenagers means fewer cell phones.”

Your response is a light laugh that earns a slight eyebrow raise from Joel, but you go back to your burger and let him be.

The conversation between the adults shifts to Fleetwood Mac, Lake Placid families, suggestions for places Joel should check out, and gossip about someone’s daughter who apparently got knocked up by the neighbor’s grandson, or something like that. You listen in, partly because you’re curious about the latest news (true or not) in the town you grew up in.

Your parents mention that you’re staying longer this time to get a change of scenery and finally work on your thesis, and that’s when the dreaded question comes. From Tess.

“And what’s your thesis about?”

Your mother holds back a laugh, because despite the seriousness of the topic, the initial reactions are always the same.

“I study anthropology,” you say. “My thesis is about the influence of pornography on male behavior over the years.”

That’s because the way men acted around you had always bothered you. When you were ten, wearing a cute chiffon skirt to the grocery store, they stared. When you were fifteen, walking home from school in your uniform, you heard disgusting things shouted at you on the street.

It wasn’t until you got older and realized that behavior like that isn’t natural (and why would it be, if women don’t do it?) that all your anger turned into the foundation for your research.

Tess raises her eyebrows and smiles slightly while the older couple gasps in surprise. Joel doesn’t react at all, except for rubbing the condensation on his beer can with his thumb.

“That’s a very interesting topic,” Tess comments, glancing at Joel, who briefly looks at her, then back at you. “Do you have any conclusions yet?”

“A few,” you say, though you already know the core of your research is the objectification of women’s bodies for the industry’s gain. “But I don’t want to bore you—”

“What’s your research method?” Joel cuts in before you can finish.

“Sorry?”

“Your research method. The system you’re using for the thesis.”

“Mixed methods,” you say, but you sense something more behind the question. Something slightly aggressive that you can’t fully pin down. “I did some fieldwork in New York.”

“Did you interview anyone from the industry?”

You shake your head.

“No one agreed. At least not the newer actors and actresses. The more established ones charged absurd fees just to answer ten questions.”

Joel says nothing, and the silence is broken when your father makes a joke about the topic. Everyone laughs—including you.

The barbecue lasts another hour at most before people start saying their goodbyes. Your mom wraps up two burgers for Joel, and he thanks her sincerely.

Then he turns to you and says:

“Good luck with the thesis, sweetheart.”

You nod, and you could swear you catch a faint smirk at the corner of his lips before he waves goodbye and walks off.

You run into Joel again at the market three blocks from home, standing in front of the fruit display, looking stuck between red grapes, green grapes, and oranges.

Joel’s voice comes suddenly from your left.

“What deep philosophical truth are you hoping those grapes will reveal to you?”

You startle, turning toward him with your hand over your heart as if that could slow it down. Joel raises one eyebrow as he begins placing seedless green grapes into a plastic bag.

He’s wearing worn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Thin-rimmed glasses rest on the strong bridge of his nose.

He smells like pine and something expensive that you guess it’s aftershave.

“Hi,” you say first, then quickly add, “I was trying to decide between grapes and oranges.”

“Grapes are sweeter this time of year.”

“But I like sour fruit.”

“Then go for the oranges.”

“But grapes are easier to eat. More practical.”

Joel gives you an impatient look, and you answer with a laugh. You grab a plastic bag and start selecting oranges.

After a short silence, while Joel ties off his grape bag and begins picking oranges too, you ask:

“Are you liking it here?”

Joel murmurs:

“There are some interesting things. Sarah likes it.”

“Your wife?” you ask quickly. Too quickly.

“My daughter. Just turned fifteen.”

Oh. Great. He’s a dad. You glance at his hand but see no ring. Joel notices.

“What’s with the marriage obsession?” he asks, although not rudely.

You shrug.

“I’m just curious. And you’d better brace yourself. The older ladies in Lake Placid are going to eat you alive with questions about your relationship status.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

You freeze with your fingers wrapped around a particularly juicy orange. Without meaning to, you basically confessed that you think he’s a catch: attractive, polite, middle-aged, apparently wealthy, and tall. What other reason would the ladies have to shift their attention from their knitting?

You avoid his eyes.

“You bought the house that had been on the market for years. They’ll want to know who the buyer is,” you say, a half-truth.

He grunts, as if to say he doesn’t care about any of that, ties his orange bag, and places it in the cart. He glances at your basket, scanning the hygiene items (specifically the pads) and the chocolate bars.

“Did you drive here?” he asks.

You shake your head. He does too.

“Then let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s raining.”

His tone doesn’t invite objection and you don’t want to argue. Silently, and after grabbing a bag of green grapes too, you follow him through the market. He picks up a box of chocolate cereal, milk, kale, and oats, and then you both head to the checkout line.

You pay for your items first, so you end up waiting under the automatic doors, arms crossed beneath the blasting air conditioner.

People come in shaking umbrellas, mumbling about how unexpected the rain is or how cold the drops feel.

Older women walk in, spot Joel, and start whispering to each other with that smile every woman — no matter her age — immediately recognizes. The universal woman-smile.

He, seemingly unaware to all of it, pays with his card, grabs the bags with one hand, and walks over to you.

“Need help?” he asks, motioning toward your three bags.

You shake your head. He nods once and tilts his head toward the door, signaling for you to follow him across the crowded parking lot.

His pickup truck is parked near the exit, looking big and sturdy. You both get in at the same time. The inside smells good but feels stuffy from the rain, so he turns on the A/C and runs his hand through his graying hair to shake off the water.

“It rains a lot here,” he mutters as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt. You do the same. “Not sure I like this humidity.”

“Where were you living before?”

“Los Angeles.”

Your eyebrows rise. You can’t picture him with the stereotypical California vibe. It doesn’t fit.

So you ask the million-dollar question:

“What did you do there?”

The sound of the windshield wipers is your only response for a few seconds. Long enough for you to wonder if you crossed a line.

“A bit of everything,” he finally says, and you understand that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Yeah. You were being nosy.

Weird. Joel is weird, and everything about him makes you feel like you should think he’s an assassin, or a retired California mobster, anything that would kick your survival instincts into gear. You probably shouldn’t be sitting in a closed space with him like you’ve known him for years.

“Nothing illegal,” Joel adds when your silence starts to stretch.

That makes you laugh.

“Very reassuring.”

He smirks. At a red light, his fingers tap lightly on the leather steering wheel.

“How’s the thesis going?” he asks.

“Honestly? I haven’t opened the file since I got here.”

“Procrastinating?”

You hum in agreement, resting your head against the seat.

“I think I’m stuck.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I need to watch some films to move forward.”

He freezes. Then he lets out a low chuckle. You defend yourself:

“I’m serious. I need to understand which narratives work best and why, and connect that to how they influence real-life behavior.”

“Makes sense,” Joel says.

“It does,” you reply, a little proud. You glance at him. The shape of his nose, the mustache, the gray-streaked beard. Then you add, “But it feels weird watching porn in my parents’ house, even if it’s for educational purposes.”

“Porn isn’t always for educational purposes?”

You gasp in horror.

“No!” you exclaim. “Porn is not educational. People don’t have sex like that in real life.”

“Hm…”

“You disagree?”

“I do,” he says plainly. “People do have sex like that.”

“I didn’t mean physically, Joel. Sex is easy: a good position, one thing inside the other, and done.” You catch yourself, because not all sex involves penetration, and something about Joel makes you think he wouldn’t mind sitting through a lecture on inclusivity if it came to that, but you add: “What I meant is that sex doesn’t happen like that. It’s not normal to open the door for the pizza guy and two seconds later be bent over the couch.”

“Says who?”

The frustrated growl that escapes you seems to amuse him. You know he’s teasing, and his grin proves it, but you can’t resist continuing.

“Not to mention the incest plots or the underage fantasies. Do you really think sex happens like that?”

His smile disappears instantly.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No, I’m not. You can’t separate porn genres like some are less harmful than others, because even the ones that seem ‘harmless’ fuel the same industry that writes those sick scripts.”

“We’re here.”

He cuts you off with that simple phrase, and when you look out the window, you realize he’s right. You’re in front of your house. You turn your gaze back to him, and he meets it firmly, returning all the intensity you just threw his way.

You swallow and reach for your bags.

As if you hadn’t just delivered a monologue on the ethics of pornography, you simply say:

“Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t respond. You step out of the truck and walk to the door of your house, feeling like a kid who just got scolded, which is ridiculous. But even more ridiculous is the fact that Joel only drives away after he sees you walk safely inside, even though he literally lives next door.

You meet Sarah — Joel’s fifteen-year-old daughter — the next day.

After running along Mirror Lake Drive, you get home with your lungs burning and your body drenched in sweat, the elastic band of your pink sports bra stuck to your back. As you’re kicking off your sneakers at the door, you spot a pair of pink Converse, way smaller than anything anyone in your family would wear.

In the kitchen, there’s a skinny, unfamiliar girl sitting at the counter, two open books spread across the marble, her curly hair pulled up into two puffs.

She lifts her head, and her brown eyes hit you with a soft echo of familiarity.

“Hi,” you say, as if it’s totally normal to have a stranger in your house.

She waves back. Before you can ask “who are you?”, your mom walks into the kitchen and calls your name.

“This is Sarah, Joel’s daughter. Sarah, this is my daughter I was telling you about.”

Sarah gives you a shy little smile, and you smile back, a bit frozen by the fact that you’re standing face-to-face with Joel’s daughter. You’re not even sure why it freezes you.

“Joel had to spend the night out because he needed to go to New York, and he asked if Sarah could stay with us,” your mom explains.

“I’m old enough to stay alone, but my dad’s crazy,” Sarah chimes in, and you laugh.

You don’t think she’s old enough to stay alone, especially in a new town, but you don’t say that.

What you do say is:

“So, Sarah... what are you studying?”

Sarah needs help with her social studies homework, so after you shower and change into something comfortable, you sit down next to her and go over the assignments together. That’s when you realize she’s ridiculously smart and funny, slipping little jokes into the conversation, blending internet memes with historical facts, and talking to her turns out to be genuinely easy and fun.

Your mom serves dinner, you both eat, and then you settle onto the couch with your Kindles, each of you leaning against an end and your feet meeting in the middle of the cushions.

You’re in the third chapter of Ghost Radio when she calls you.

You peek over the top of your Kindle to let her know you’re listening.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty-six.”

She looks up at the ceiling as if doing mental math. Then, reaching some conclusion, she raises her eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask.

“No reason,” she shrugs, turning back to the book she was reading. Another question follows, this time without looking at you. “Are you dating anyone?”

“No. I ended my last relationship six months ago.”

“Was he older?”

“No,” you say with a laugh. “I mean, yes, but only by about three years. Why do you ask?”

Sarah wiggles her feet like she’s a little too excited about something.

“Just scientific curiosity,” she says, but her tone sounds more like a villain plotting something mischievous.

The next morning, Joel comes to pick her up at eight o’clock. You’re the one who opens the door since your parents left early to go to the farmers’ market to buy honey and vegetables.

He’s standing on the porch, wearing a thick leather jacket, jeans, and heavy boots. He looks exhausted, and the two-day beard growth makes him even more intimidating.

“Good morning,” you say.

Joel looks you up and down in your pajamas: heart-printed pants and a tank top. You realize too late that you’re not wearing a bra.

“Good morning,” he replies, lifting his eyes back to your face. “I’m here to get Sarah.”

“She’s finishing breakfast. Come in.”

Before he can protest, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him no choice but to step inside and follow you to the kitchen. You hear his slow, hesitant footsteps as he returns to the room filled with the smell of butter and coffee.

Sarah is sitting at the counter, devouring pancakes. Joel walks over, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they exchange a few quiet words before he says something that makes her nod and hop down from the stool, leaving the kitchen.

You hear her going upstairs, probably to grab her things.

“How was the trip?” you ask, filling a mug with coffee and placing it in front of him on the marble.

Joel stares at the pink mug like it’s a threat but eventually wraps his big hands around it. You take a sip from your own cup and look at him over the rim, just the counter between you two.

“Good,” he says simply. He gestures toward the coffee. “Thanks. I needed that. Drove back and forth without stopping to rest.”

“Just thinking about it makes my back hurt.”

“I want my bed.”

You watch him over your cup, blowing on the surface of the coffee. You imagine him in the silence of his own house, in his bedroom, in his own bed. You wonder what color the walls are, what the sheets look like, and whether he sleeps clothed or not.

“Sarah’s really smart,” you say, pushing away the mental images.

That earns a small smile from him.

“She’s fantastic, my girl. But she’s cocky, so don’t tell her that.”

“She takes after someone.”

“I’m not cocky.”

“I’m joking,” you say lightly, offering peace because you don’t want to relive the animosity from the last time you saw him. “Is the coffee good?”

“Very.”

“Want to take some pancakes? Bet you’re hungry. I’ve eaten, Sarah’s eaten, and my parents always grab breakfast out when they leave early.”

Joel drums his fingers against the ceramic, looking like he’s fighting an internal battle, as if accepting food from you would be a terrible crime. Still, you take his silence as a yes and start stacking the remaining pancakes into a thermal container.

When you’re done, you walk around the counter and hand him the container with both hands.

“Here.”

Joel takes it with his left hand. With his right, he reaches out and gently pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and you freeze.

He walks past you, saying something to Sarah, who apparently has come back downstairs. Feeling a warm flutter deep in your belly, you turn and follow them to the living room. You hug Sarah goodbye, promise to send her books for her Kindle, and then walk them to the door.

You smile when Joel thanks you for looking after Sarah and asks you to pass his thanks to your parents as well.

You watch them cross the lawn between your gardens, and just before Joel enters his house, he turns to look back at you.

You could swear he deliberately and slowly sweeps his gaze over your body, from your feet to your head.

And then he goes inside.

And you have to mechanically force yourself to close the door.

That same night, you start watching the films.

As you work through your research, you put together a report listing the names of the ten most famous stars from each decade between 1970 and 2020, five male, five female.

You already have a pretty clear idea of what defined the main point of pornography in the ’70s: the start of structured scripts and absurd, fantastical narratives that, one way or another, tied a woman’s pleasure directly to a man’s. Like in Deep Throat, where they came up with a story about a woman whose clitoris is located at the back of her throat. You can already guess what the most "effective" method of stimulation would be.

Porno chic was created to make adult content more palatable to the general public, especially as debates about the legality and morality of filming started to gain traction during that decade.

Sitting on your bed with your laptop open in front of you and your tablet resting on your lap for notes, you watch the films at 1.5x speed while eating green grapes.

You knew you might get aroused watching them, because dopamine responses are inevitable, but apparently there's nothing about '70s pornography that even remotely stirs your body. It feels like you're watching a National Geographic documentary.

You can't push away what Linda Lovelace wrote in her autobiography about the most famous film of that time, the one that made millions of dollars: There was a gun pointed at my head the entire time, she said.

You swallow hard and return to your notes.

By the end of the first week of this stage of your thesis, you finish watching the films from the '90s. You note the radical shift in the female body ideal — all the actresses with breast implants — and the peculiar aesthetic of VHS tapes, since this was the era when films started being widely distributed in that format.

What stands out most, though, is the shift in perspective. Gonzo-style pornography centers the camera exclusively on the man, making him the sole focus, and by extension, reducing women to mere tools for male pleasure. The camera's focus on women's bodies is restricted almost entirely to their genitals, which explains a lot about the birth of violent pornography during that time.

If women exist solely for male pleasure, then it’s no problem if they’re violated, right?

And just like that, the normalization of male domination in pornography begins, which, of course, spills over into social behavior.

You shut the laptop in front of you and lie down on the bed, closing your eyes. You doubt even a sixteen-year-old boy has seen as much porn as you have in the past few days, and there’s still so much left to do.

You reach for your tablet and pull up the list of male stars from the 2000s.

Tyler Cross, Javier Peña, Max Thunder, Ryder Grey, and Clint Fury.

Is there someone in the industry whose only job is coming up with these ridiculous pseudonyms?

You get up, leaving everything behind, and head toward the kitchen to find something to eat. It's already past eleven at night, your parents are asleep, and the only light in the living room comes from the lamp. On tiptoe, you’re halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

You freeze like you're in the middle of a crime scene.

A doorbell ringing at eleven at night in Lake Placid? Something must be on fire.

When you open the door, it’s Joel standing there on your parents' porch, looking anxious.

“Hi,” he says. Another meeting where you're in pajamas and he's fully dressed. “It's dangerous to open the door in the middle of the night like that.”

“Great way to start a conversation. I'm calculating how many seconds it'll take me to get to the kitchen and grab a knife.”

You get a somewhat tense smile.

“I’m still not used to these small-town habits.”

“I get it. I would never open the door for anyone after eight p.m. in New York, but here it’s normal.”

He nods, then asks,

“Were you sleeping?”

You wrap your arms around yourself as a cold breeze sweeps by.

“No, I was studying. Is everything okay?”

“I need a favor,” he says bluntly. “Sarah’s asleep, and I have to head back to New York. Can you stay at the house tonight?”

“Is everything okay?” you repeat.

“My brother’s wife just went into labor. He asked me to be there. I should be back tomorrow night.”

Your eyes widen, and Joel nods as if to say, “Exactly, got it?” You hold up a finger to ask for a minute, then run upstairs to grab your slippers, your robe, and your phone. When you come back, Joel is still on a call but waits patiently until you close the door before leading you to his house.

He lets you step inside first, and even with the urgency of the situation, it feels a little like you’re a twenty-year-old girl walking into a guy’s house for the first time, especially when Joel shuts the door behind you, finishing up his call.

The house is warm, clearly lived in by a family. There’s a big rug in the living room, a brown leather couch, and pictures of Sarah hanging in the hallway: lifting a soccer trophy, carrying a skateboard, the two of them at the beach. A line of photos shows her growing up, from a baby all the way to now.

The last photo is of her at Jewtraw Park, right here in Lake Placid.

“You can sleep in my room if you want. If that’s too weird, the couch is really good too. I left some blankets and a pillow right there,” he says, pointing to the armchair. Then he adds, “Everything’s clean. The guest rooms aren’t ready yet.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know, Miller. Relax. I’ll manage.”

“Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you so you have mine. And if you need anything, call me.”

You say your number, and he types it into his old, barely-hanging-on iPhone.

“Thanks,” Joel says, genuine. “Really.”

You smile and give his arm a quick rub without even thinking about it.

“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything.”

After showing you where Sarah’s room is, where the extra blankets are, and telling you about ten times you can eat whatever you want, he leaves. You quickly text your mom, explaining the situation and letting her know you’re staying at Joel’s, then settle down on the couch.

Little signs of Joel are scattered around the house. The reading glasses forgotten on the coffee table, the suede jacket hanging by the door, the boots by the entryway, the faint smell of the same lotion you caught on him at the store.

You feel a little like a criminal as you get up and start quietly wandering through the rooms.

The kitchen is beautiful and organized, but there are a few dishes left in the sink. Since you’re still awake, you start washing them.

You move on to the dining room, all wood furniture and a classic chandelier, and then to a small office off to the side. It feels almost too empty except for the bookshelves. Just a desk with a laptop sitting on it, making you think it doesn’t get much use.

You head upstairs.

Sarah’s door is closed, but you walk softly down the carpeted hallway to the room at the end.

You push the door open, heart pounding like you’re about to find a monster or worse: Joel sitting on the bed saying, “Snooping where you shouldn’t be?”

Instead, you find a huge bed neatly made with gray sheets, dark curtains, and matching desks on either side. There’s a closet and a door leading, you assume, to a bathroom.

It’s empty in the way you’d expect a fifty-year-old man’s bedroom to be.

You almost give in and crawl into his bed but force yourself back downstairs, turn off the main lights, and curl up on the couch, which really is pretty comfortable.

It takes a while to fall asleep in a strange house, but when you finally do, your dreams are filled with gray beards and gray sheets.

You wake in the middle of the night to the ping of your phone. You rub your eyes, still dazed from sleep, and grab the phone from the pillow beside you.

4:47 a.m.

It’s a text from an unknown number:

“Hi. Joel here. Sorry for the hour, I hope you’re sleeping. I just got to New York. Please let me know when Sarah wakes up. I’ll need to call her.”

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips at how formally he writes, no abbreviations at all. You save his contact as Miller.

You type back:

“hey. don’t worry. I’ll let you know. everything ok over there?”

“Why are you awake?”

You don’t tell him it was his text that woke you.

“New place… light sleeper.”

“I see.”

An “I see” with a period and everything. Then another message:

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’m in the waiting room, and Tommy’s with his wife. She’s been in labor for seven hours.”

You type: “ouch. hoping all goes well. lmk if u need sth”

“What kind of vocabulary is that?”

“don’t you have bigger things to worry about, grumpy?”

The impossible happens: Joel Miller sends you a smiling emoji.

You reply with one sticking its tongue out.

His next message comes in text again:

“Tell me about your thesis.

“you’re really curious about it.”

“It’s an interesting topic.”

“sure… men and their obsession with porn.”

“I’m not obsessed with porn. I don’t even remember the last time I watched it.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. This sounds way too intimate.

You type back:

“last time I watched was this afternoon.”

You get a single question mark in response: “?”

You clarify:

“for my thesis. I’m at the stage where I have to watch films.”

“Oh. How are you doing that?”

“picking stars from each decade and watching two movies for each. starting with the 2000s tomorrow.”

Joel reads your message but doesn’t reply right away, which is odd. He had been responding immediately. You wonder if something’s happened at the hospital, if everything’s okay with his sister-in-law.

You stare at the screen until it goes black. Three minutes later, his reply pops up:

“Who are the stars from the 2000s?”

“looking for suggestions?”

“No.”

You open your report from iCloud and copy the list of male and female stars from the 2000s. You send it over.

He reads it. Another little pause.

“I see.”

Then another question:

“And how are you watching? Like a documentary?”

“yeah, pretty much. I put on the films, watch them critically, and take notes.”

“And they don’t affect you?”

“in what way?”

He reads the message but doesn’t answer. After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, you take a deep breath and type courageously:

“are you asking if I get turned on?”

Again, no response.

Still, you type back:

“i do. it’s inevitable and natural. but only starting with the '90s films. the ones from the '70s and '80s were way too gross for that.”

This time, a reply comes.

“Gross?”

“yeah. the men were really disgusting. it’s obvious they had no idea how to have sex to actually please a woman.”

“I see.”

You picture Joel Miller, tall and broad-shouldered, sitting in a sterile hospital hallway, texting you about porn while waiting for his nephew to be born.

The thought makes you smile to yourself. You burrow deeper under the blanket and decide to be a little bolder.

“do you have a favorite genre of those movies?”

“To watch?”

You frown. What else would it be for?

“yeah”

“I don’t watch them.”

“okay, but if you were going to watch one today, what type would you choose? one with a storyline, straight to the point… what? help me out for the research.”

You almost chew on your lower lip as you watch the little “typing” bubble appear and disappear three times. Finally, he sends a simple response:

“No storyline, not a lot of talking. Something filmed in the morning, in bed, right after waking up.”

“morning sex?”

“Yes.”

Before you can stop yourself, your mind fills with images of Joel’s bed, the same gray sheets now rumpled and tossed aside. The cold morning light pouring through the window, the scent of him still on the fabric, the warmth of sleepy skin, the scratch of his beard against the sensitive part of your neck.

A big hand adjusting and lifting your leg into the right position, low, sleepy moans filling the space.

You snap your eyes open wide.

“got it,” you type back, heart racing.

“Do you have a favorite genre?”

“i hate porn,” you reply.

“Okay. But if you were going to watch one today, what would you pick?”

He’s throwing your own question back at you, meaning you can’t dodge it.

You type the whole answer at once but hesitate a dozen times before finally pressing send, knowing Joel will understand exactly what you mean and exactly what you like. It’s probably not right to tell your parents’ neighbor, who’s at least twenty years older, but you don’t take it back.

“in the car. an age gap where he looks a little older than her, slightly graying, and he’s desperate for her, desperate to do things to her in the backseat.”

“Things?”

“you know what I mean.”

“Say it clearly.”

“desperate to go down on her.”

And again, he responds:

“I see.”

Your cheeks burning, you turn off your phone screen.

But another message buzzes through:

“Good choice.”

You cross your legs and lock your phone again.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Sarah poking your cheek with an insistent little finger. She’s standing over you by the couch, looking at you like you’re a science experiment.

The sunlight pouring through the living room windows makes you wonder if it’s already past ten.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, still poking your cheek.

Yawning, you answer,

“You’re about to have a baby cousin.”

Sarah squeals.

Joel calls her twenty minutes later, right after you text him—carefully avoiding rereading the messages you sent each other during the night—that she’s awake.

Afterward, you eat breakfast together, and Sarah gets ready for school, where she’ll stay until six in the evening. You wait until the bus picks her up before going back to your house, crawling into bed, and sleeping a little more.

When you wake up again, it’s time to log onto a video call with your boss, even though you’re technically on vacation.

You help your mom with some work in the garden, bake muffins, and by late afternoon, you lock the door to your bedroom, find a cozy spot in bed and open your laptop again.

2000s.

Now all the actresses definitely have implants, bleached hair, heavy makeup, thin eyebrows, and elaborate hairstyles: exactly the fantasy for any guy with a DVD player and one hand free.

But it’s also the beginning of the internet era, meaning access to all of it is even easier than it ever was with VHS tapes.

Roleplay everywhere. Boss and secretary, student and teacher, best friend's mom, best friend's dad. A fantasy world that definitely fried a lot of men’s brain circuits.

You start with the male stars.

First up is Tyler Cross. He's a tall actor with spiky, gelled hair, a tribal tattoo on his left bicep, and a defined six-pack.

You watch a POV movie, new at the time, and another where he plays the older brother’s best friend. It’s set in a girl’s pink-walled bedroom, teddy bears thrown to the side, and it’s all absolutely disgusting.

You glance at the clock after finishing Tyler Cross’s films. 5:55 p.m. You figure you’ve got about fifteen minutes before Sarah gets home, so you decide to at least start Javier Peña’s movies.

You type his name into the search bar.

The results flood in. One of the first titles you see: No Overtime for the Babysitter: Daddy Comes Home Early!

You roll your eyes. Great, now they’re coming for babysitters’ labor rights too.

You click the movie. It takes a moment to load.

The cover stares back at you while the loading icon spins.

The actress is gorgeous, with breasts you immediately envy and long black hair. Her lips, glossy and slightly open, look like she’s mid-moan. She’s one of the first actresses you’ve seen who isn’t drowning under a pound of makeup.

The scene starts with her dusting some furniture in the living room.

She’s wearing a mini-skirt and a light blue crop top made of thin fabric that shows her stomach. Definitely very appropriate attire for her job.

The sound of a door unlocking fills the room, and then it swings open.

The actress sighs:

“Oh! Mr. Peña! You’re home early!”

The camera pans to Mr. Peña. You blink at the screen.

Javier Peña has that classic '80s kind of handsomeness. He’s tall, lean but broad-shouldered, his dark hair messy in a way that somehow suits him. The thick mustache above his tight lips and the long sideburns give him the look of an old-school movie star, and you have to double-check the release date of the film. 2002.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a loose tie, his gray blazer slung over his left shoulder. But it’s his brown eyes that catch you, because they’re familiar. It feels like you know them.

“The meeting was canceled,” Peña says, tossing the blazer onto the couch. “My daughter’s asleep? You can go now.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is quickly muffled by your hand when Javier Peña’s voice fills your ears through the headphones, because you immediately realize where you know it from.

The voice is a little softer, younger, with more of an accent, but it’s the same voice.

Joel Miller’s voice.

“She is,” the actress says sweetly, crossing the room. Javier looks her up and down, from her bubblegum-pink painted toes to the way her chest strains against her top. “Are you sure, Mr. Peña? You seem really stressed out. Can’t I help you with something?”

You freeze where you are, heart hammering against your ribs. Holy shit.

“Help how?” Javier asks, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be disinterested.

She smiles, grabs his hand, and leads him to the couch, urging him to sit.

You’re almost ready for her to drop to her knees in front of him, because that would be the obvious next step, but that’s not what happens. The actress — Mila, her name — circles behind the couch, leaning over him to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re so tense, Mr. Peña,” she says, pouting as she undoes each button. “Taking care of the house by yourself, your daughter…”

The shirt falls open, revealing a firm, broad chest.

“So responsible… No one to help you out…” She leans in and whispers against his ear: “No one to suck your cock.”

The shocked laugh that bursts out of you is immediately covered by your hand again.

Javier’s shirt falls completely open, and he takes Mila’s hand, guiding it straight to his pants, her long red nails vivid against the gray fabric.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Mmm…” the actress moans, massaging him through the fabric. She runs her hands back up his shoulders. “That’s right. You do.”

She moves to kneel in front of him, but Javier clicks his tongue and says:

“Take off your clothes.”

You feel a pulse low in your stomach. The actress smiles and obeys.

Once she’s fully naked, she starts to kneel again, and Javier spreads his legs wider, tossing his shirt aside.

She massages him through his pants for a few more seconds before tugging the zipper down and pulling his pants down with both hands. He’s not wearing underwear, of course he isn’t, and suddenly, you’re staring straight at Joel Miller’s cock.

Large, hard, slightly veiny, every inch of it.

Javier shifts on the couch, gathers all of Mila’s soft hair into one hand, and with the other, guides himself to her mouth, and—

Someone knocks on your bedroom door and you nearly slap the laptop closed.

“Honey, I think Sarah’s getting home from school. Aren’t you going to greet her?” your mom asks.

“I am,” you say, but your voice comes out too soft. You clear your throat and try again: “I’m going, Mom. Just a second.”

“Okay!”

Your mom leaves you sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes and a racing heart, so much slick between your legs you have to stand up, clean yourself, and change panties before going downstairs to greet Sarah.

She gets home, you both go into Joel’s house, you make her a sandwich, and she heads upstairs to shower. You stay on autopilot, your head still completely full of Javier Peña... and Joel Miller.

Holy shit.

The man was a porn actor.

And apparently, a very successful one, because you distinctly remember seeing that his films topped the charts for years. Is he still doing it?

You rub your eyes and fight the urge to shove your fist in your mouth and scream.

The irony is almost too much. Fate is throwing a former porn star into your lap when it knows all too well the thesis you’re writing, and all your hatred for the industry.

You order pizza for you and Sarah. You eat while watching a cheesy teenage romance movie that keeps her glued to the TV. When she’s yawning hard, you ask if she has any homework (she doesn’t) and send her off to brush her teeth and get into bed.

She hugs you goodnight and heads upstairs. You hear her brushing her teeth, then the door to her room closing.

You take a deep breath. Pull your phone out of your pocket. You type in the search bar: Javier Peña. The image results flood the screen.

Joel Miller in a thousand different styles. At industry parties in clothes that scream early 2000s, at photoshoots with other actresses, even holding up a trophy that reads—

You lean in closer to make sure you’re not misreading it.

Longest Cumshot of 2006.

Wow. Congratulations.

The Google summary confirms it: Joel Miller, born in 1981 in Arlington, Texas, to Chilean parents. Porn actor, best known as Javier Peña. Joel Miller became an advocate for porn actresses’ rights, one of the main reasons he left the industry in 2010.

One of his last public appearances as Javier Peña was in 2016, co-hosting an adult film awards show alongside Tess Servopoulos, his former career agent. Since then, very little is known about Joel Miller, though several producers have tried to lure him back with massive paychecks, even for solo work.

You hear the key turning in the lock.

You lock your phone at record speed and sit up straight on the couch, eyes wide open. Joel will probably think that you’ve been doing cocaine on his coffee table.

He walks in, shrugging out of his coat, and looks at you.

“Hey,” he says, kicking off his boots. “Everything okay?”

You nod, then try to use words:

“Hey. Yeah.”

Joel gives you a strange look, glancing up the stairs.

“Sarah’s asleep?”

You nod again.

Oh, Mr. Peña. You must be so tired. Can I help you? My God. You’re the babysitter working overtime.

“Are you really okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um… I…” you rub your hands over your thighs. “I’m just tired. That’s all. Is everything okay with your sister-in-law?”

“She’s fine. I’ve got a nephew now,” Joel murmurs, collapsing onto the couch across from you, legs spread, hands over his eyes. “And he’s so small. I almost didn’t have the nerve to hold him. I don’t even remember Sarah being that tiny.”

“Ha ha.”

At your awkward laugh, Joel drops his hands and studies you carefully, narrowing his eyes. He watches you for a moment, like he’s seeing right through you.

Joel says,

“You found out who Javier Peña is.”

You freeze, hands clenched in your lap. Joel rubs his temple with a heavy sigh and sits up straighter.

“Which one did you watch?”

You swallow hard.

“The babysitter one.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, sweetheart.”

“The film’s from 2002. I think the actress’s name was Mila? She was trying to comfort you about being a single dad.”

Joel raises both eyebrows.

“I know the one,” he says with a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Here it is. I was Javier Peña for ten years. I guess I still am, when the paycheck’s good enough. I made porn movies. They’re out there.”

“Still are?”

“Not for films. Just for appearances or special gigs at awards shows.”

“Oh.”

He says your name firmly.

“That industry is your thesis. You know those actors and actresses are real people. I’m one of them. Are you going to stop treating me like a normal person now?”

“It’s weird,” you say softly. “Sorry, Joel, but it’s weird seeing you like… that… and then coming here and seeing you being Sarah’s dad, being… Joel Miller.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, collapsing back onto the couch. “I’m way too tired to be mad, honestly. We can talk more about it later if you want. I’ll even help you with your thesis if you need. But not tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for staying with Sarah, seriously,” he says, shifting back into Dad mode. “Let me pay you.”

“No way,” you say quickly.

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off:

“You said you’d help me with my thesis, right?”

He just looks at you. You explain,

“I’ll take that as payment.”

Slowly, he nods. And just like that, you have a deal.

That night, you head upstairs again and lock the door.

You open your laptop, type Javier Peña into the search bar, and scroll through the films. One title catches your eye: Neighbors: The Lust Lives Next Door.

The irony.

The title is ridiculous, sure, but the movie isn’t. He’s the married woman’s neighbor, and when her husband goes out of town, Javier shows up at the door asking if everything’s alright because he heard a noise and got worried.

He’s wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeve, light pink button-down shirt.

They head upstairs to check the bedroom.

She sits at the edge of the bed while Javier kneels down to look under it, but when he straightens up again, he sees the actress isn’t wearing any panties. Of course.

Two minutes later, Javier spreads her legs and goes down on her for a good while, his dark eyes locked on hers. And you could swear the moans are real. Either that, or she’s a damn good actress.

It’s when Javier starts whispering in her ear, loud enough to be picked up by the mic, but low enough to sound private, that your own fingers hover at the waistband of your pajama shorts.

He grips her thigh firmly, legs wide open, about to sink into her, both of them watching where they meet.

“Like this?” Javier asks.

She nods.

He licks his fingers and touches her clit. Her left leg trembles slightly.

“Sensitive? You’re not gonna come again for me?”

You swallow your shame and remind yourself that no one will ever know about this.

You slip your hand into your panties.

You close your eyes, listen to Javier whispering filthy things into the actress’s ear, and feel your pulse thudding in your ears and the slickness between your fingers.

[pascalland]

Welcome back Javier Peña

[missyorkswhore]

welcome back Javier Peña... oh wait a minute

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

So, did the Narcos wardrobe department work on Eddington too? 🤣

Hi so, this is actually insane.

[amorwrld]

trouble after a while - javier peña

-> summary: almost three years after javier leaves cali, he returns to bogota for a visit. what he doesn’t expect is to see you, in the open, sun kissed and holding a tiny child’s hand…

-> word count: 4k this is part one out of two!

-> (tags and warnings): spanish translations will be in parentheses at end of paragraph, flashbacks with be in bold and italics, uses of y/n, pregnancy related talks, some minor violence, uses of faint language, reader is and lives in colombia, pregnancy trope, angst and fluff, small insecurity, cigarettes and alcohol, if i missed any let me know! pls reblog, and give us author’s feedback! ❤︎

-> (credits): all pictures from pinterest!

———————————— ❦. ————————————

“congratulations peña! it’s good to have you back!” javier offered a small smile shaking a old friends hand as he passed the exit doors from the u.s. embassy. while he no longer worked there, he still needed verification and safety from them. 

his reputation was still something a few didn’t forget in colombia. from escobar to taking down the cali cartel, he was involved in the good and bad. saw the real good up close and also the fucking bad from colombia. they were ruthless but nonetheless it got him the credentials one way or another. 

colombia was always a rough and rocky topic for javier. it didn’t start well, and it wasn’t a pleasant journey through the years. the focus for him was to get the job done, no matter how clean or dirty it got to. and that’s what keeps him up at night. 

javier had arrived early around 7am to bogota, he had left laredo late the night before and took a red eye flight to colombia. carrying a small suitcase and his infamous briefcase that he never left behind. he was exhausted and needed a cigarette before his nerves combusted. the rush of the familiar humidity, the smell, the people, it was a fever rush that he didn’t anticipate so soon. 

javier looks down at his watch, just around noon. he sees old cars and motorcycles pass by, a few people walking or others joining each other in waves of laughter as they converse. he fixes his suit and walks down the familiar path to the market he once and always visited when he was here with steve. 

he was here for a week max, needed for aid and help for a small mission that would take place just outside bogota. they needed his knowledge and strength, and javier couldn’t resist saying no. he never said no, no matter the consequences it left behind. 

“javier! mijo! pero mira que guapo estás!” margarita, an old lady whom he knows, recognized him almost immediately. javier leaned down, hugging her tight, appreciating the warmth and motherly love she had. “como está? porque estás aquí?” (darling! look how handsome you are! how are you? how come you’re here?)

“estoy muy bien margarita! vengo por una semana a hacer un pequeño trabajo fuera de la ciudad, me necesitaban aquí, y aquí estoy,” javier explained, margarita holding his middle as she looked at him proudly and happily. “y usted? como está, se mira bella y elegante como siempre,” javier winked at her, seeing her cheeks grow pink as she stuttered. (i am doing well, margarita! i’m here for a week to do a small job just outside the city, they needed me so here i am. and you? how are you doing? you look beautiful and elegant as always) 

“como siempre javi, viviendo la vida y estar en mi tiendita, ahorrando plata para mi muchacho porque pronto se gradúa y va ir a la universidad!” javier listened attentively, nodding along as margarita spoke about her life over the past years. she made him feel welcomed, and he loved to hear her small stories. she offered him fruits and a few empanadas for later in the evening, gushing over and over at how she was delighted to see him again. (like always javi, living the life and being here in my store, saving money because my son graduates soon and he will attend uni!)

after promising her he would comeback, he made a quick few stops for a few items. a toothbrush that he had forgotten, some 3in1 bottle of shampoo conditioner and body wash, a few cases of waters, a needed pack of cigarettes and a rich old bottle of whiskey. “will that be all?” the cashier asked, javier nodded handing him the cash as he picked up the brown bag and walked off. 

he looked around at the familiar apartments he once stayed in, a quick race in his pulse as he walked into his temporary home, and set down the stuff. the ac air was still the same, new and more modern furniture then the one he used to have, new wallpaper, and better functioning appliances. he unloaded everything he had just bought and returned back to the rental car for his personal bags, throwing them into his room not caring. 

he sat on the couch grumpy, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up, inhaling a huge amount before exhaling. he looked out the window, the skies now orange and golden colored, his fingers brushed his forehead where a small layer of sweat covered his skin, already knowing that it was a bad idea coming back here. 

       ———————————— ❦. ————————————

“mateo porfavor! ven acá porque ya vamos tarde,” you slightly raised your voice at your moody toddler, who stomped his little foot and pouted. “si te apuras pasamos comprando un helado,” you offered, seeing his little legs run into your arms. you laughed and kissed his head fixing the curls he had and put his shoes on. (mateo please! come here because we’re already running late! if you hurry we can get a ice cream.) 

you packed your purse with your wallet and gum, enough diapers and baby wipes, a change of clothes, and plenty of water and snacks for him, throwing in a small bottle of medicine just incase. you didn’t care how heavy your bag was, you were a first time mom and you wanted to be prepared for anything that could happened. you quickly placed your heeled sandals on, grabbing mateo’s hand and locked the door to your house. 

the immediate colombian humid air hit your skin, your beige sundress flowing around and hair going everywhere as you walked to mateo’s daycare. he would only be there for a few hours during when you worked. not trusting anyone or any other places with him. you had seen and experienced the bad things and you never wanted your baby to go and experience the same. 

for him to walk around with fear everywhere he went, to be unable to look at people or even trust them for their actions or words, for his heart to race when he heard familiar sounds and cries for help. your brushed the bad memories away, greeting the front desk receptionist and saying goodbye to mateo. “te prometo que cuando regrese, vamos por un helado en donde margarita. te amo mucho mucho bebé,” you say to him, mateo’s brown eyes looking into yours with a hint of sadness knowing you were leaving him. but he somehow always managed and understood. your smart baby. (i promise when i come back, we will go to margaritas for your ice cream, i love you so so much my baby.) 

“cuídamelo porfavor,” you smiled nervously but with thanks to the caregiver, she hugged you and walked you out. you sigh deeply, a unease feeling spreading across your chest for an unknown reason. you hated feeling that way. not knowing what it could mean or what could happen. your intuition never lied, and you always went with your gut. how could you not after everything you suffered… (please take care of him.) 

you wanted to make sure that mateo always had what he needed and desired. but it came with a price, it always did. it meant you wouldn’t see him as much as you desired, that you had to play both mom and dad roles. that you worried you weren’t doing enough or that you were overdoing it. that you would fear his resentment later on because you were constantly working. you were alone in this, and although you were proud of the little life you had built, the future scared you. 

mateo was almost 2. he was healthy and the spitting image of his father. the soft brown eyes, his curls, the tan, the way he walked, and even stared. he had his father's attitude and the same ways of always wanting to help people. even at his little age, he already showed so many signs of wanting to help others. you felt so incredibly happy no matter what the circumstances were. 

the positive pregnancy tests felt heavy in your purse, the breakfast wanting to make its way back up as you waited patiently in the lobby. you kept thinking and rehearsing what you would say to him. stressing how his reaction or what he would say. how he would take the news you were expecting his baby. but you couldn’t take it anymore, walking straight up to the desk and refusing to leave without seeing him. 

“are you sure he isn’t here? i need to talk to agent peña please,” you pleaded, the soft thump in your chest growing by the second. cassandra, the receptionist shook her head, “i am sorry ma’am but he really isn’t  here. javier peña left a week ago back to the united states.” you went deaf, staring at her in-disbelief, your eyes wide as your eyes burned with tears. “what?” you said softly. 

“agent peña went back to texas a week ago ma’am… he placed his transfer about two weeks ago and left without saying why. i wish i could let you see him but he’s no longer here in colombia…” she said gently in a soft voice, noticing your state and body language. a small hand went to your belly as an instinct. “is there anyway i can talk to him over the phone it’s really important-” you tried coming up with different solutions refusing to give up. 

“we’re not authorized to give any personal details about any of our staff. i sincerely apologize but there’s really nothing you can do,” you shook your head at her words, tears running down your face as you felt time slowly give up on you. “please i’ll do anything i just need to speak to him again, i-i was a informant for him and murphy, i worked with them, you can trust me!” you explained but she refused. 

“i’m sorry but i really can’t help you,” cassandra frowned, you let out a sob, sniffling as you felt your body give up on you, legs and arm’s shaky, your blood running cold as you cried uncontrollably. the only thought in your head was how you were going to face this alone. without javier. 

you kept thinking about your last interaction and how it ended so terribly. he had dragged you out to a mission by a finca, just outside cali. it went so sideways that it put you, javi, and other agents at a death risk. once you were back in bogota, harsh words and a heated argument tormented your head. 

“you used me! i gave myself to you, and you used me javi! do you not know what that means? what it makes me feel? you had no right, not a single right to lie to my face like that. i’ve been nothing but kind and sincere to you, i told you things no one knows about, and for what? for information?” you yelled loudly, pushing his chest as he tried approaching. 

“i swear it was only going to be a first time, but the agency needed you for escobar-”

“are you fucking serious?” you saw red, “this is all you care about? estas obesionado con el! he’s ruined you, javi, completely ruined you, are you hearing yourself? what if i had died out there? what if carillo or murphy died out there? you put me into such a high risk over an exchange of information?” you spat harshly. “i’m no longer safe, thanks to you…” (you’re obsessed with him!)

“please just listen to me. the u.s. will keep you safe, they can’t touch you. not escobar, not any of the cartels. you’ll be safe. i feel like a coward for using you, believe me, i didn’t want to, but you were so important. you were a key for us to be able to take down those organizations. you helped us! ” javi explained, seeing your teary eyes betray you over and over.

“but at what cost? i can’t trust you anymore javi, you broke me, you broke my heart. this whole time i thought we had something real… that it wasn’t just in my head, but it’s all a lie. you used me for revenge, and i can’t forgive you for that,” you said broken. your chin wobbled, your chest hurting with pain as javi looked at you defeated. “y/n please try to understand-” 

“no. please just leave. i never want to see you again…”

you shook away the painful memory, walking to your workplace. you owned a small building that was a flower and plant shop as well as a cafe just close to where an animal sanctuary was. it made you good money and provided for both you and mateo. you loved your place, the windows and doors, the green colors, giving the place a telenovela style. 

“buenos dias! ya llegue,” you joked, hugging your coworkers and clocking in for your shift. setting the tables, finishing up a catering order, placing the freshly baked pastries in the showing cabinet, placing new pots of coffee, and your favorite step was to water and fix your plants. they brought you a sense of peace and comfort, admiring how pretty and gorgeous they were, making sure they felt beautiful as they looked. (good morning! i’m here!)

days like today meant a lot to you. when you were busy, your mind didn’t drift off to him.  it was hectic, tourists coming in and out, ordering your infamous coffee, conversing, laughing, buying your plants and flowers. it meant good income not only for you but also for your employees as well. when you had first opened you had feared that in a few months it wouldn’t bloom, but luck was on your side, and now you’re here. 

“where are we going y/n?” javier chuckled, your hand tightening his by the second as you marched up eagerly. “i want to show my place, well, it’s not mine but it will be.” he and steve had just came from a mission in the city. one that didn’t go to plan, and had made javi feel uneasy and worried. the first thing he did was call you, quickly picking you up and asking to take his mind away from there. 

a small building in the corner came to his view, it looked beat up, and needed a clear makeover. it was surrounded by a garden patch, flyers of missing people or events, and graffiti. “i want to show you a place i have walked by everyday, that now has become my dream…” you said shyly, javi kissing your knuckles and nodded. 

“here it is! it’s a bit small but i already have so many ideas how to remodel and make everything fit. the doors for the entrance an windows will be green, the walls a being color, and the frames brown,” javier looked down at you, seeing your bright smile as you rambled off. 

“have you signed the lease?” javier asked, seeing your lips frown to the side. “not quite, i still need a bit more money for the down payment,” you had saved up so much over the years, but you weren’t ready to quit easily. this place was yours, and you’d do anything to have it under your name. 

“javi no-”

“you don’t even know what i’m going to say!”

“yo te conozco javi… no me puedes engañar,” you kissed his lips, his hand immediately grasping your waist and pulling you into his chest. “why don’t you ever let me help you. you know i can and will do it princesa,” he spoke gently across your lips. “because you’ve done more than enough the past few months, i can’t also accept your money,” you reasoned. (i know you javi… you can’t fool me.)

“haria y podria darte todo en el mundo hermosa, te mercedes todo lo mejor,” javier said, his heart pumping fast as his eyes connected with your. when he was with you, he could be anyone, didn’t feel the pain and hurt, rather just love and happiness. security. you made him forget the cruelty in the world, showing him how caring and loving it was. (i would and can give you everything in the world, you deserve the best.)

“tell me more about your cafe, will you also sell your plants and flowers?”

“su total es 23.34,” you smiled sweetly at the alex, margaritas son, who handed you the total. he was one of your frequent customers since his high school was close to your cafe. he always got a dark roast coffee and a piece of arequipe. “pasarás donde mi mami hoy? siempre se queja que ya no vas a visitarla,” he laughed. “de hecho, le prometí a mateo que íbamos a comprar un helado después que lo recogiera,” you explained, falling into a small conversation with him to check how he was doing. (your total is 23.34. will you pass by my mom’s today? she always complains that you don’t visit her anymore. actually, i promised mateo i would take him to buy an ice cream after i picked him up.)

the rest of the afternoon flew by quicker than you anticipated, quickly cleaning up the place, stacking the chairs, turning off all heat sources, and putting away any food left in the fridge. you grabbed the reusable bags for groceries, needing to buy the necessary items after running out on a few foods. margarita and other small market owners would have what you needed.  

“mami!” mateo squealed, running wobbly into your arms and immediately digging his head into your neck, his tight hold ushering you with love. you melted instantly, so relieved to have your baby boy back into your arms, kissing his head and rubbing his back. “te extrañe mucho papito, te divertiste?” you asked, feeling him nod, his words all jambled in a mess as he attempted to explain what he had done and ate. you thanked the workers, placing the small box of pastries onto their table before saying goodbye. (mommy! I missed you so much baby, did you have fun?) 

“marga, marga!” mateo ran to margarita, ‘marga’ was the nickname he called her since he couldn’t fully pronounce full words or names yet. it just stuck and she loved hearing it. “mi amorcito! llegaste! mm, mm, mm, porque no has venido,” she picked up mateo, hugging him tight before scolding playfully at you. she set him down kissing both your cheeks and hugged you. “mi cafe ha estado super ocupado últimamente, pero aquí estoy y con el niño,” you explained. (my love! you’re here! nuh uh uh, why haven’t you came. my cafe has been super busy lately, but i’m here and with the baby.)

“i have to tell you something, and it’s important because i’m speaking english so they wont hear…” margarita ushers you into her section, you quickly grab mateo, peeling a small orange for him to eat. “so who won’t hear? is everything okay?,” your head began to race with different scenarios. hating the uneasiness in your conscience. 

“no matter how long it has been, there is still people who watch and listen carefully around here…” she pointed with her eyes to the other side by the corner where two men in silk shirts with tight pants looked out. you immediately knew and understood they worked in a cartel and did dirty work. “who are they? how long have they been here? are you okay, do you need anything?” you worry for her. she has no one but her husband, who fell ill last year, and her son alex.

“i am okay mija, thank you for asking. we have no clue, but it must be some sort of new crime group because we’ve never seen them here, they stand there all day waiting for someone or something. at first we thought they were undercover, but a shooting broke out the other day, and well…” she tilted her head to the side. 

“do you think it’s me?” you ask, terrified, mateo sensing right away and hugging your leg, looking up. 

“no, but just be careful, especially with mateo. one can forgive the past, but they won’t forget,” margarita stated, sighing deeply. you knew what she was referring to, just shortly after you found out you were expecting, a dangerous encounter had you fearing for your life. 

your breath was ragged and short, his grip getting tighter around your neck. you felt the trickle of blood against your temple, watching with blurry eyes as he stuck out his gun and waved it around. “you don’t realize the damage your boyfriend put you in, huh? you lied to me, to us…” 

“please i didn’t mean too!” you said staggeredly, seeing black dots. 

“that’s what they always say. but its always too late, you’re going to be paying the price till your last breath. I fucking hate traitors, i let you into my family, pay you, give you a roof and this is how you treat me? you’re a disgrace!” he slaps you hard, the sting immediately burning your cheek, the impact so strong it knocked you down to your knees. 

“please i’m-”

“i don’t care for your apologies or mercy. you made your choice the day you walked into my house. i wish i could kill you, make you feel just how angry i am with you, but you’re lucky since your dea property… you fucking whore, javier always gets the good ones…”

you didn’t leave your apartment for a month after that, fearing your life would be taken away. you had to provide and care for two. margarita always visited you, consoled you, and stayed till you fell asleep. you wish you could feel safe again, but every day was a reminder you were a ticking bomb. all because you messed with the wrong people and with javi.

“there’s another thing,” margarita pinched her finger, nervously shifting her weight. “someone came by yesterday… it was-” you shook your head in disbelief. “no, no, no, no! you’re lying to me,” you said shakily, tears already threatening your eyes. “he’s back for a week, he doesn’t know, i would never betray you like that-” she stopped speaking a loud gasp escaping her lips, making you squint your eyes confused before you heard him. 

“y/n?”

you froze, unable to move in the slightest way possible. the blood had drained from your face, hands shaky, and unsteady breaths passing your lips. you could feel him, his eyes watching you as you morphed into a frightened person. it wasn’t till he was in front that you looked at him from down to up. 

       ———————————— ❦. ————————————

there were only two times before now when javi forgot how to breathe. the first was when he saw you for the first time, innocent yet spirited, drinking from a glass cup filled with ice and whiskey. the second was when you kicked him out of your life almost three years ago, javi waiting outside your door, recollecting himself, and trying to tame what went wrong. the third was now, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places, your natural hair, your perfume, but mostly the small child that held your hand. 

he tried so hard to forget you, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t after what he did. he couldn’t because you haunted him from the early day to night when he woke up shaking. he thought if he’d ever see you, have the chance to hold and speak to you. fix how things were left before he went back home to laredo. 

but all he could feel was confusion. a mix of that, and a feeling of home. 

“javi-” you said broken, your eyes scared yet filled with hope, he immediately knew. 

“i can’t believe it, it’s really you my love, you’re really here,” one hand held you by the waist and the other coddled your cheek where he brushed away a small tear. margarita stood confounded and confused on what she should do. she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, the family that was meant to be together but wasn’t due to lies and secrets. 

you pushed him off of you gently, creating a barrier with him. as much as you wanted and craved his touch, for him to wish everything was okay, you needed a moment to figure out what would happen and be said next. javi immediately missed you warmth, his eyes roaming everywhere for signs but he looked down at the little boy with curls and honey brown eyes. 

“javi-” 

“who’s this?” 

“mami? amonos,” javi couldn’t stop staring at him. at the small boy who immediately caught your attention, the small boy who you now held and looked at with pure love and happiness, promising him you would leave as soon as you were done here. the little boy who was your son. javi couldn’t mutter another word. he needed confirmation, he needed to know. (mom? let’s go.)

“javi… meet my son mateo,” you smiled painfully, your eyes teary as javi’s face softened, the small boy reaching out to him, where javi couldn’t refuse. mateo looked at him with a sweet grin, his nose scrunching, already loving being held by him. javi kissed his forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he closed his eyes, wanting to keep him safe even if he wasn’t his. 

he felt a connection. a bond. which made him even more and more confused with his thoughts and feelings. 

“javi there’s a lot i need to talk to you about,” you muttered softly, grabbing mateo back. javi continued to stand silent, unable to tear away his eyes from you and mateo. “i want to explain everything,” you both said at the same time, locking eyes, feeling the old butterflies resurfacing after so long. 

but before you could even reach that stage, the two men from earlier, who were standing in the corner, now stood behind him, their smiles sinister and up to no good. you tucked mateo’s head into your neck, not wanting him to see and remember them, your hands and feet shaky because they were here for you. you and javi knew this was trouble. 

       ———————————— ❦. ————————————

[milla-frenchy]

hello, my dearest Milla 🤍

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving from the distance!)

The constant

0k5 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: Javi wakes up after a nightmare Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, piv. No age specified

a/n: thank you for the inspo, Aly 💛(smooching you, if you allow 😌), thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta ing 💕

He woke up restless, sweating. Heart beating so fast and hard in his chest that he thought it was about to explode. And then he remembered his nightmare, his brain torturing him at night, making him recall insidiously the events he had faced earlier. As if the anxiety that had its grip on him all day wasn't enough, it had to come to him at night too. 

He felt useless. His job was useless.

He grabbed an ashtray and his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and lit one. Too bad about the nicorette. Migraine hit him and he pressed his palm to his forehead.

“Javi?” you murmured, voice sleepy.

“Shit, I’m sorry hermosa. Did I wake you up?” he asked, still haunted by the images swirling like ghosts in his mind, his gaze lost in the sheets he couldn't even see.

“It’s ok, baby,” you answered. You sat up and wrapped your arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder. The warmth of your naked body against his, an attempt to get him back to you. 

You knew what was torturing him, you had lost count of his nighttime awakenings, mumbling in his sleep. 

He kept smoking, flicking the ash into the ashtray from time to time.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Hey… don’t do that,” you replied, kissing his shoulder and tightening your grip around him. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

His Adam's apple throbbed and then returned to its place, almost painfully.

“Javier,” you insisted.

The corner of his lip slightly twitched into a smile, as he heard you say his full first name to prove that you meant it. You were the only one who never made him roll his eyes, always knew how to act around him, instinctively.

“Tell me what you need,” you said, encouraging him.

He put out his cigarette and placed the ashtray back on the nightstand. “Need to forget,” he breathed, still unable to look at you, as if he hated himself at those moments. 

“Come here,” you said, hand tight on his bicep as you lay down on the bed and spread your thighs lightly. He positioned himself between them, his eyes finally plunging into yours. You brushed his cheek as he nestled his cock at your entrance. His tortured, haunted eyes fixed on yours, but not quite present yet. 

He slowly pushed in and the warmth of your cunt surrounded him. He frowned, as if he was fighting against the darkest part of himself to come back to you, mentally and physically. 

Your body responded to his length, his touch, and covered him with your wetness. Your fingers played with his hair at the back of his neck as he slid his arms under your shoulders. He moaned softly when he felt your body fully welcome him. 

You didn't take your eyes off him, watching his gaze changing and the anxiety leaving, as he was fucking you slowly, your clit already throbbing against his skin. 

“You’re my constant in this world, hermosa,” he had told you once. 

And each of those moments proved it to you a little more, night after night. You knew he would be okay as long as he would be against you, inside you. And so would you.

Javi p masterlist

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

[notjustjavierpena]

Nerf

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: There’s a little background to this. Sweet @sawymredfox posted a picture in an inbox that I can’t remember who belonged to but the picture was of a Nerf gun with a note asking for a gunfight over dinner. This one's for you, Wym! 

Summary: Hubby returns from work to a Nerf gunfight over takeaway privileges. Luckily, he has tactical training and quite the appetite.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic bliss, fluff, pregnant reader, javi loves and worships his wife, pussy eating, fingering, squirting, rough piv sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

Word count: 4.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57685981

Nerf

Javier comes home to his apartment like always on a Friday afternoon, fiddling around with his bundle of keys that he fishes out from his pocket to find the one to the front door all the while carrying his work bag in his other hand. He has planned a date night with you tonight and has been excited about it since Monday morning when you suggested it over breakfast. He cannot wait to see you in your shared home, already grinning from ear to ear at the idea of giving his wife a long kiss as you discuss the movie choices you’ve rented at the local Blockbuster. He doesn’t really care about what you insist on watching, easily distracted by you anyway as you watch your movie with curious eyes. He’s more interested in the food that you are going to eat, hooked on the idea of ordering greasy Chinese food to share with each other. 

When he finally gets the door open, the apartment is dead quiet and the noise of Javier throwing his keys on the side table echoes through the hallway. 

“Honey?” He calls out but you don’t reply. 

He takes one step forward only to hear the sound of cheap plastic scraping across the floorboards. He furrows his brow and looks down, noticing the toy gun with a sticky note attached to it. He sets down his bag by the shoe rack and bends down to pick the gun up. 

It’s a Nerf gun, more specifically a poor imitation of an automatic weapon. He checks the magazine and sees that it is full, loads it again, and only then reads the note sticking to it. 

Husband, 

Welcome home. I’m hiding in the apartment with a Nerf gun. Here is the other one… The winner decides what takeaway we’re having for dinner. 

May the odds be ever in your favor,

Your wife

A grin spreads on his face, his senses heightened now that he knows you are watching him from somewhere.

As he pockets the note with as little noise as possible, he smirks with determination and thinks that you have no idea who you are up against. He secures his grip on the toy gun, remembering his tactical training from Colombia, and moves silently through the doorway to the living room. 

He scans the space with his heart beating in his ears but where he expects you to jump out from somewhere, maybe behind the couch where you’ll be relaxing later, he finds nothing. He takes silent footsteps across the wooden floorboards, knowing which creak, as he makes his way through the small space, checking behind the curtain by pulling it open with the tip of the rifle. Not there either. 

“I’m coming for you, esposa (wife),” he tells you tauntingly when he makes a left into the kitchen. You’re usually more into pizza, stringy with cheese and topped with mushrooms, but he really wants that goddamn chow mein from just around the corner. He tightens his grip, on a mission.

He inches forward to see if you are underneath the breakfast table with a cloth that you bought at a flea market a few months back. He didn’t think it would fit the rest of the furniture in the apartment but you insisted, and you were right. He loves the mismatched chairs surrounding its slightly quirky pattern now, pulling one out to make sure you really aren’t underneath the tablecloth by quickly lifting it and aiming.

The kitchen is completely empty, he decides, unless you are hiding in the refrigerator which he seriously doubts. Despite this, the silence is thick with impending doom and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, not about to lose to a person with no experience in the field. He listens carefully, taking a few steps back and suddenly a Nerf dart flies past his ear. 

He whirls around, having noticed the slight movement just in time. And there you are, right in the doorway to the kitchen with a huge, beaming smile on your face, gun pointed at him, and wearing nothing but your white cotton underwear. He fails to concentrate on anything else except your gorgeous body, the only one in this whole world that he has worshiped multiple times and hasn’t lost interest in. He smiles at the sight of your baby bump that has just started to grow round and the way your panties’ elastic band sits across it. However, you play unfairly, a Nerf dart suddenly making its way toward him. 

He manages to duck it, hearing it hit the kitchen cabinets behind him with a soft thud before clattering to the floor. He raises his gun and you squeal with delight, turning on your heel, and running through your shared home. He fires a few darts in your direction without hesitation but none of them get you and you’re gone again. 

“Nice try, baby!” You laugh triumphantly. He follows the sound of your voice, your padding feet, and your giggles that elevate his heartbeat with indescribable warmth and happiness. They lead him to the bedroom, steadily creeping along the walls until he nudges the door open with his foot, gun at the ready. 

He guesses that you’ve stepped into the closet where his shirts hang because you won’t have had time to roll underneath the bed. He makes his way across the floor and swings the door open only to find nothing but his old clothes. He furrows his brow but then tenses up at the thrilling feeling of the tip of your gun poking into his back. He smirks to himself. 

“Hah!” You exclaim with glee, “Isn’t this a surprise? I can’t believe I won!”

His smile becomes more mischievous. You haven’t shot him yet, too arrogant to think that you won’t have to because he’ll surrender. Too bad for you that he is a stubborn man who loves you just a little more than anyone else before him. It’s enough to not let you win as you love it the most. 

In a flurry of tactical decisions and moves, he manages to whip around and grab the gun to fling it out of your hands. It falls to the floor with a clatter and your eyes widen. It dawns on you that you have noticed his plan too late and you end up with a Nerf dart hitting you square in the chest. 

“Gotcha!” Javier celebrates. 

You stumble back dramatically, clutching frantically at your chest after impact to earn a genuine laugh from your husband. You end up on the floor and Javier steps forward to stand with a leg on either side of you. 

“Do you stand down, soldier?” Javier asks, imitating the sound of reloading. When he aims at your chest again, you hold your hands up in mock surrender. 

“Fine, you win take away privileges,” you giggle but still try to reach out for his gun. 

Javier drops to his knees, getting comfortable on your thighs while you start to squirm, “You’re not very convincing, wife.”

“I’m being completely genuine, husband,” you reassure and accidentally push up into him, the slightest friction against his jeans making him feel a stir of desire in the length of his cock. 

Just when you try to reach for his gun again, he throws it next to the other and thus out of your reach. He leans down over you, hovering over your pouting face, and kisses your lips, “You really thought you could beat me so easily? Chica tonta (silly girl).”

The exhilarating feeling of your little game has left him clouded by thoughts of you. His eyes start to wander down your figure, his yearning for you that’s been building since he left in the morning making him unable to stop them. Your chest rises and falls a little quicker underneath his greedy gaze. Your breasts are more full than usual because of the baby growing inside of you and you look so stunning sprawled out on the floor at his mercy that he can’t help but let his hands wander as well.

You arch up to catch his lips in a tantalizing kiss that leaves him short of breath. Warmth thrums underneath his skin, a result of your heat radiating through him even as his fingertips only ghost down towards your waist and stomach. Your skin is electric, soft to the touch, and glowing just right because you are pregnant. 

“Javi,” you breathe softly as your hands come up to tangle in his hair, messing it up after he has had it under control the whole day. He nods but doesn’t keep his mouth on yours, instead lets the tip of his nose trail over your cheek and down your jaw whilst leaving kisses on your trembling neck as he descends. 

“I missed you all day,” he whispers, nibbling and kissing your skin until a thin sheen of spit runs down the pulsing vein along your throat. When he reaches your belly, beautiful and pregnant, he presses several kisses all over the growing bump while listening to you sigh with contentment. He smiles into your skin, briefly resting his cheek on you to look up at your face, “How have you both been today?” 

“We’ve been good,” you hum and run your hand through his hair, flattening it down again by pushing it back as you caress the top of his head, “We’ve missed you though. They’ve been moving around a bit but I think they’ve gone to sleep now… all that running around.” 

“Lots of privacy for us then,” he teases. He shifts positions, scooting backward until he is kneeling between your legs. He pecks your belly repeatedly, “You just sleep, bebito (little baby) while I take care of your pretty mamá.”

“What do you have planned?” You ask, wiggling your hips to try and get comfortable on the hard floor. He smirks at you and crawls forward to yank at the covers on the bed, pulling them far enough off the mattress until the pillows follow. He helps you to lift your pelvis up so he can scoot the soft pillow underneath your hips and then does the same with your head. 

“Can I eat this sweet little pussy, mamá?” He asks, finally kneeling in position again and watching you plant your feet on the ground by bending your knees. His own knees are hurting slightly but he ignores it because he knows he’ll forget it once he gets lost in your cunt.  

“Please,” you swallow thickly after a hitched breath. You nod eagerly with that little expression on your face that he loves when you’re getting treated for simply being the love of his life; all softened features, mouth slightly open, and pleading eyes watching as he goes down. 

Gently, he puts his palms on the back of your warm thighs and pushes your legs towards your chest, enjoying seeing you in the same position that he put that baby inside of you while he still can. You follow his movements without protest, keeping them there while he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. 

“You want it?” He asks while dragging the fabric down over your hips as you nod repeatedly, snapping it slightly from how you barely register that you have to cooperate. He laughs as you do, a tiny giggle escaping you as you hold your legs up with your hands under your knees when he slips the underwear off your feet and tosses it to the side. 

Your pussy is on display for him like this, your pushed-together thighs and your ass slightly elevated from the pillow making it stick out even more. You squeeze around your calves to hold your position and he can see your dripping slit quiver, inviting him in to squish his head between your thighs. 

He flattens his tongue to lick a long, greedy stripe from the cleft of your ass to your clit, feeling you pulse in excitement as he finally touches you with his mouth. He groans at your sweet taste, repeating the move to concentrate on gulping down some of your slick like he hasn’t had a drink all day and Texan summer is peaking. You make him so hard in his jeans that it hurts, the length of his cock straining against the zipper as your sweet scent fills his nostrils. As he eats you out slowly and hears you sigh with pleasure above him, he agrees with himself that he’ll fuck you too. He thought this would be enough but no, you look perfect, swollen and warm below him and he doesn’t want to go through this late afternoon without feeling your heat around his cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp the way you do when your orgasm starts to tug from within you. He stops only using the tip of his tongue to be more forceful in his treatment. He covers your mound with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks at your clit to hear you whine a mhmm…

You gush a little wetness when he releases you briefly, a drop of it sliding down between your cheeks so it accidentally wets the pillow you’re writhing on. Javier doesn’t care right now, will just throw everything in the washer later. He kisses your clit a few times before going in again, this time pressing his tongue against you to wiggle it against your clit that’s now hard from how turned on you are. 

There’s a climb in your pitch, a little higher moan coming out your mouth as he starts to let small flicks of his tongue rain down on your gorgeous clit. He concentrates on getting you there, heart beating in his ears but still managing to listen to your heaving breaths, notice your palms tighten around your legs as you channel the intensity into whatever you can and feel your hips involuntarily move so he has to grab the widest part of your thighs and hold you in place. 

When you start to hold your breath after a particularly long whine, he pulls away to stop your orgasm with the excuse that he has to breathe. You look down at him, releasing your grip around your knees to let your thighs fall out to the sides. You look frustrated, your racing heartbeat evident from the way your pussy pulses in a steady rhythm. 

“I hate you,” you say through gritted teeth, hips lifting off the pillow for just a moment as you chase something, anything to no avail.

“No, you don’t, Mamacita, not with what I’m about to do to you,” he grins, eyes glued to your glistening slit, watching the shine of his own spit covering your delicate skin. He grabs your ankles to plant your feet on the floor like you’d done briefly earlier, only to slide his hands upward over your shins, knees, and thighs until they sit on your hips. He gropes your jiggly thighs for a second, watching his movements vibrate all the way up to your bra-covered tits. They jump a little and he knows he has never seen anything so perfect, catching his hungry eyes and attention for a little too long. When he wants to smirk at you, he sees your pouty face and chuckles, “Alright, I’ll hurry up. Gotta give you what you want when dinner isn’t your call.”

You bite your bottom lip as he descends on your cunt again, tensing up the muscle of his tongue to lick a long stripe between your soaked folds. He moans when your hands find his hair, tugging gently on the follicles of his scalp. When he dares glance up at your writhing body, he can only see your tensed-up jaw as you have thrown your head back.

“Fuck, Javi,” you whine, “F-fingers. Make me come on your fingers, please.”

He can definitely do that. He lets his dominant hand slide down between your legs while he holds himself up with the other one on your hip, keeping your pelvis down as he sucks hard on your clit. Two of his fingers enter you and curl toward the front of your walls, seeming to have a direct line to your spine because you arch your back with a groan. 

Javier hums with pride, fucking you open on his digits whilst hollowing his cheeks around your clit. He drags the pads of his fingers over your g-spot again and again, hearing how your breathing speeds up once more and feeling your heartbeat as you rhythmically start to clench around his middle- and ring finger. He doesn’t have to look, is simply driven crazy by the mere thought of the finger that he wears his wedding band on disappearing into you over and over. 

“I’m coming,” you announce with a cry, barely able to catch your breath at this point. You tug harsher on his hair, pushing your hips up to earn more friction, “I’m gonna come, baby. Fuck, you’re making me come.”

Javier bobs his head slightly as he nips and sucks and licks, moving his fingers inside of you almost frantically to get the reward that he so desperately wants and needs. You squeeze your eyes shut, thighs tensing up and then go completely silent above him for less than a few seconds. 

You come with a high-pitched squeal a moment later, pussy going off into rapid spasms that choke his fingers but not enough for him to stop dragging them out while they curl upward. He releases his mouth from your pulsing clit, withdrawing his head from between your thighs so your arms fall to the floor. You gush all over his hand which he doesn’t manage to pull away, twisting your gorgeous body in surprise as you practically wet yourself on the floor. He tightens his grip on you to keep you on your back, hearing you sob with pleasure as he sinks his fingers knuckles-deep into you again and repeats the move. 

Another gush soaks the floorboards and you are practically levitating by now, enough for Javier to be sure that he has made up for the fact that his pregnant wife won’t get her takeout craving satisfied. He hears how it sounds in his head, knowing immediately that he should decide on that goddamn pizza if he wants to have it easy. 

He snaps out of it to go again at least three times more and when you seem like you can barely handle it anymore, he pulls back but only after a gentle peck on your swollen clit. You squirm in oversensitivity, shaking your head repeatedly while he cannot stop grinning in self-satisfaction. God, how on earth can he of all people have the privilege to make you feel so good? 

It takes a moment before your mind isn’t fogged by fireworks going off between your legs anymore and you slump on the floor with a satisfied smile on your face, a giggle bubbling up in your throat which is the most heavenly sound he has ever heard. 

“Okay?” He asks with a dazed expression, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. He rubs your thigh up and down, feeling the slight dampness from the sweat and wetness of your body. 

You nod in reply, “Mhmm…”

“Made a mess on the floor,” he tells you with a hint of taunting in his voice. 

“Mhmm,” you repeat, no shame in your tone which he loves completely, “You’ll clean it up.”

“Oh, will I?” He laughs quietly at the state of you. It’s true though; he will, and as you nod once more, he is already getting up from the floor with an aching hard-on in his jeans. 

“Yes because I’ll let you fuck me when you get back,” you grin lazily, letting your thighs fall out to the sides even more to show him your wet cunt. He could skip the step where he gets a towel but you’ll complain about it later tonight if he doesn’t nip it in the bud.

He adjusts his cock in his jeans when he is on his feet and undoes the pants on the way to the bathroom, hands gripping the handle on the bathroom drawer a little too hard when he gets a towel. He slings the towel over his shoulder and pushes the fabric of his pants down over his hips, relieved when his cock is only covered by the softness of his briefs. 

When he has patted down the floorboards, just managing to do it before your come has started to soak into the wood, he throws the towel to the side and kneels between your legs again. He looks at you with longing, with a fire in him that feels as if it is getting poured gasoline over it when you look into his eyes with a mischievous grin. 

“Can I have it now, baby?” He asks politely as he pushes his briefs down, letting them sit just below his hips because it feels like too much work to undress completely when he so desperately wants to be inside of you. You nod and hold out your hands to signal that he needs to come closer, and he follows through on your silent request but only after taking a last look at the beautiful mess between your legs that he’ll push into soon. 

When he crawls over you, you unbutton his shirt to reveal his chest and touch him all over. Your delicate hands roam over the skin of his torso, fingertips sliding through the little but sexy amount of hair there until you grab around the small of his back. You pull him in, he moves closer. 

A sharp exhale leaves him as he enters you finally. You on the other hand moan shakily as he fills up every last inch of you, intruding just a little before you relax around him. Your hands slide down and your nails dig into his ass, motioning for him to start moving inside of you. 

Your head falls back when he thrusts once then twice, fucking you slowly but harshly into the floor. It’s so ridiculous to think that he only had plans to kiss you when he came home, maybe making love to you in bed after the film you definitely won’t fall asleep to. He braces himself with a hand beside your thrown-back head, leaning down over you to practically latch onto your throat. He kisses along the beautiful arch of your neck, tasting your salty skin and feeling your throat vibrate against his lips with each noise of pleasure you make. 

You bend your legs to wrap them around his hips, rocking with him as he fucks into you deeply. Your cunt is so wet and warm around him, echoing each of his groans by choking his dick just as he has come to love it after he started fucking you on the regular three years back. Here he is, happily married to you and he is going to be a father. The thought of what you two have together, what you will achieve together, makes him impossibly hard inside of you, especially when you go and do something as stupidly adorable as a Nerf gunfight. He must have you. Fantastic, sexy, beautiful you.

He rolls his hips to hear you say his name, the floor creaking underneath you as you move together. You tilt your head forward again to kiss him, slotting your mouth over his and tasting your sweat and slick on his tongue. You suck at the tip, hinting at how good you are at going down on him and he groans with how wanton you can come off. You’re not just a sweet girl like everyone says.

“There! Oh fuck, th-there,” you break the kiss to yell out for him as he hits an angle that wasn’t even deliberate, the noise bouncing off the walls. The little old lady who lives downstairs from you will be banging on the door tomorrow, gone before you can answer and having left a cheerful yet unhappy note that starts. It's so nice that you enjoy each other. Javier thinks it’s more than nice. 

“Yeah? There, baby?” He does it again to piss off the whole building instead and your fingers dig into his skin with how good it is, “¿Así (like that)?”

“Sí, así (yes, like that),” you sob, your cunt squeezing his dick with how you have another high incoming. He seeks out your lips again but you are busy; your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration on your pleasure and your mouth hangs open as moan after moan leaves it, so he settles for a desperate bite to your jaw. 

“I love you,” he says as clearly as he can muster, his own orgasm creeping up on him as he spears you again and again. He moves a little to go harder and faster, his pace slowly increasing until you need to hold onto him to not go upwards on the floor with the strength behind his hips. You slide your hands up his back, nails scratching in their wake until you pull him into your arms. God, he feels so good and safe when you do that. You are both sweaty, chests sticking slightly to each other from how much effort you are putting into being together like this. 

“I love you too, esposo (husband),” you whimper feebly and tighten your legs around him to keep him where you want him the most. He can hear you are close in the way your breaths fall from your lips. 

“Come for me,” he whispers with a hot breath against your ear that has you shivering on top of everything else, “Por favor, mi amor. Quiero sentirte (Please, my love. I wanna feel you).”

His words send you there, your sounds send him there. You come with a pained noise and then a string of moans, your brows furrowed as your cunt goes off into spasms that he relishes in. They pull his own high from him, his muscles tightening before pleasure washes over him as he fills you up with his spill. It is accompanied by a guttural groan that makes you clench around him just when he thought it was over. He cannot control his hips as he feels it. His pace, albeit slowing down, gets uneven until it comes to a complete halt. 

Eventually, he rolls off of you. The both of you groan as he pulls out, and he immediately reaches for the towel which you place between your legs. He turns his head towards you when you do and as you gain eye contact, the both of you laugh in post-orgasmic bliss. 

You scoot closer by wiggling your entire body. You also decide to share the pillow under your head with him, pulling into the space between you. 

When you rest a hand on your baby bump, he reaches to hold it. Your breaths fall in sync with no need to say anything until you have the energy. 

When that time comes, you look at him out of the corner of your eye, “So.”

“So?” He asks and pulls up his underwear. 

“What did I lose to?” You elaborate while he buttons and zips his jeans. 

“Chinese,” he replies and tries to suppress his excitement in case you start pouting. Instead, you laugh out loud. 

“What? Why’s that funny?” He probably looks confused. 

“I wanted Chinese,” you clarify with continuous giggles. 

“Oh,” he joins in and chuckles, “You never want Chinese.”

“The baby wants Chinese,” you pat your belly with your other hand.

“Must be my kid,” he smirks and rolls onto his side. He pecks your cheek repeatedly. 

“Must be,” you turn your head to kiss him but it doesn’t quite feel enough. So he kisses you again, squeezing the hand on your pregnant belly as he does it and when you giggle against his mouth, it seems like the whole reason he was put on Earth is to do all of this and what’s to come with you.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[baronessvonglitter]

don't come around here no more

javier peña x f!reader | wc: 1.8k

summary: On a visit to Colombia, you're reunited with old work friends.. Javi is the only one who doesn't come to say hi...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Work relationship. Hidden feelings. Mentions of sex work and office hookups/infidelity. Brief mention of smut. A tiny bit of emotional infidelity. Reader is not described apart from having worn skirts on occasion in the workplace. No use of y/n. Not beta'd.

a/n 1: this is a personal one, based on an experience I had a couple months ago when I dropped by an old workplace. Not gonna lie, it stung when an old friend (and work husband) of mine didn't want to see me. But I'm okay with not knowing. Writing this has been therapeutic 🤍

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You haven't been to the embassy in almost five years.

You'd spent over a decade of your life in service to the government, tracking down the bad guys until worse guys came along and then you'd work on catching them too, and on and on it went, cyclical. You never thought you'd dream of something more until you were offered a better chance back in the States.

Atlanta wasn't your hometown, but it was American soil and it offered more pay. You wouldn't have to worry about guerrillas and crooked cops there. They called and said they needed you. You answered that call, and left your post at the embassy.

Perhaps the hardest thing was leaving Javier Peña behind.

He'd been a friend from the start, showing you the ropes, offering a cigarette when you stepped out to take a break. You grew closer with each case you worked on, the leads growing stronger, the job riskier.

You heard all the rumors about him - he often went against orders, he had a knack for pissing off authority no matter how good of an agent he was - but the biggest rumor about him was that he had a tendency to fuck every willing female in his path.

You didn't give it too much credence. He was an American just like you, a Texan by birth, and just trying to do his job. He was single, like you, and in a foreign country. You couldn't blame the man for having some fun. It certainly didn't affect you.

Then the rumors grew worse. You heard about certain CIs of his, women who walked the streets, spent time in the beds of powerful drug lords.. they had information that he needed. Not uncommon for agents to strike deals with these women. Cops and agents all over did the same. Only thing was, Javi had a penchant for sleeping with them too.

You never asked him about his apparent conquests. He was your friend, your partner. But he told you anyway, giving you all the dirty details over bottom-shelf whiskey at the nearest bar in the embassy district. You got the sense he wasn't gloating, nor even confessing. Just spilling his secret:. Blanca had the inside dirt on private parties held by wealthy politicians, which often included visits from men of high rank within the cartels. And Jennifer, one of the secretaries at the embassy, met with him three times a week for a quickie in the filing room, and even after her honeymoon she came right back to work, staying late at the office, under Javi's desk with his dick in her mouth.

There wasn't a thing you didn't know about Javier Peña. And while you yourself harbored an innocent crush on him, you merely shook your head at hearing of his antics. Every Friday you found yourselves talking, laughing, even gossiping over your drinks as the evening gave way to night. And when the bar closed he'd walk you home,

And now you're back in Colombia, the air the same as you remember, the sky and even the buildings the same hues, pinks and purples and yellows to entertain the eye. It's as if time stopped the moment you left on your flight to Georgia.

You're welcomed back after being given clearance to the building, your former fellow civil servants greeting you with wide smiles, asking how your new posting is, what it's like in your new town, what your new husband is like. You answer them, taking a look around and noting the tiny changes in personnel. Wendy is on maternity leave, Felipe is retiring, and there's some leftover cake in the fridge which you're invited to have. You're trying to catch up with everyone, recollecting kids' and grandkids' names, when you catch a glimpse of him across the way, coming out of the elevator.

Javi's in a suit now, so different from the days of his barely-buttoned short sleeve shirts and tight jeans. His hair is a little longer, combed to the side, the little curls at the nape of his neck gone, the ones you used to tease him about and call him a baby duck.

As if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks your way, and it looks like his eyes widen as he stops in his tracks, nearly fumbling in his steps. You manage a meager wave, giving a smile, but he doesn't do anything in response. Not even a curt nod. He turns his gaze from you and walks on, into a corridor where you can no longer see him.

Rita, one of the clerks you'd worked closely with during your time at the embassy and who'd been like a mother to you, finds you and embraces you with a warm hug. She still smells like Giorgio Beverly Hills. "How have you been, my dear? We've all missed you so much," she says, pulling you away from her so she can admire the casualness of your look. She'd only ever seen you in pantsuits and the occasional skirt, and now she likes the new you: jeans and a relaxed button down blouse, at ease with life, albeit still chasing criminals.

"I'm well," you answer her, eyes still darting around for Javi. Where did he go? He'd surely seen you. "I've missed you all. The states are so different after being away so long."

Rita's eyes widen in realization. "I have to tell Javi that you're here!" she whispers conspiratorially, as if somehow she's reading your mind. "I'll go get him." She pats your arm and hurries away in the direction you saw him go earlier.

Everyone else gets back to work as you wait, feeling out of place. Your fingers itch to comb through files, to answer the ringing phones with hopes of a hot tip. The clacking of computer keys has you imagining typing up a report, the way you used to after a big raid or breakthrough, Javi at the desk in front of yours. pouring some tequila in a couple glasses for you to celebrate, loosening his tie.

No matter what, he never touched you. Not like that. Ever.

And a part of you always wanted him to. The closest you got was a side-armed hug as he walked you to your car the very last day of your work here.

Your eyes wander to your old office, the blinds open, and through the slats you see Javi turning in his chair as Rita raps at his door. You can barely make out the gruff "come in" from his lips. Rita approaches him a bit timidly, all smiles, hands clasped at her waist.

She's explaining that you're here, that this is probably a once in a lifetime chance because retired agents don't typically come back. They become too invested in their new lives, new cases, or worse.. they retire for good, put into the earth when a bullet finds its way to its target or a bomb goes off.

You're still here, looking right at Javi as his eyes find you, the harshness in them softens a little, perhaps at Rita's soft pleading. You ignore the crazy skip of your heart's beat as he keeps his gaze on you, his chest expanding as he takes in a deep gulp of air.

In an instant it's gone, the stony glare from before now in its place. He says some curt words to Rita, who pauses, a baffled look on her bespectacled face. Javi replies, his face growing red, obviously not changing his mind. Rita goes for the door but turns around, saying one more thing to him, looking rather high and mighty about it.

She meets you where she's left you, a sad sort of smile on her face. "He's busy," she says quickly. "He sends his regrets, dear."

You look back into Javi's office and find him already staring at you. He swiftly drops his gaze, pretending to read a file as he casually closes the office blinds.

"Rita, what's going on?" you ask her, disheartened because this is now how you'd hoped this reunion would go.

She only shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I don't know, honey.. I really don't know."

At the hotel, your husband is relaxing on the bed watching an old Colombian telenovela. He turns down the volume, patting the space next to him as you come in. "How'd it go?" he asks, watching you shed your jacket and hook your purse around a chair. "I'm guessing you didn't get the welcome you hoped for." His brows creases with worry as he strokes your hair. You lean into his touch, wishing you could dislodge the heavy stone of disappointment now resting in your belly. He's always so attentive towards you, so thoughtful. He knows all about Javi and your time with the embassy. Tears prick at the edge of your eyes and you do your best to blink them away, but he's there already with a tissue as his arm goes around you.

"I wish I knew why he didn't want to see me. What did I do wrong? We were partners for years.. friends too. And after all these years he treats me like it all meant nothing.."

"It's okay," your husband soothes you. "Can I tell you something you might not want to hear?"

"Right now I'd love for anyone to be honest with me," you sniffle.

"I think you broke his heart when you left."

That thought had never occurred to you. It's a strange, foreign concept. Javi had treated you differently, but you supposed he just didn't need to get involved emotionally, physically, sexually with someone he'd work with personally every day. He slept with almost everyone in the workplace except you, and you'd considered yourself safe from his charms.

"It makes sense," your husband continues. "From everything you've told me, Javi's had the hots for you since day one."

You scoff at this idea at first. Then, thinking more deeply on it, the pieces start to come together. What if Javi had harbored these feelings for you and never told you, just let them sour in his heart until it turned bitter against you after all these years? "He never told me. The way he dismissed me you'd think we were strangers all this time.."

“Do you feel like you missed out? Would you have given him that chance when you were partners?”

It’s not an odd question, just one that takes you by surprise. Any adulterous thoughts are usually played off as jokes between you. You’re that comfortable with each other. But to give an honest answer requires more strength than you possess at the moment.

“No.. I wouldn’t have risked our friendship or our working relationship like that.”

Your husband kisses your cheek, still soothing you as he strokes your hair. "Baby, sometimes the best way to show our love for someone is to let them go."

Let him go.

a/n 2: adding some music inspo. Of course the title is from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers:

and secondly, after my real life non-encounter with my former friend, I heard this song in a restaurant while I was still in a daze. It's such a sad and beautiful melody. (They Will Destroy You is always good when you're moody)

tagging those interested: @regularjoel @stevie75 @tateypots

@titabel @milla-frenchy @mystickittytaco @thesassyteacher91

@dilfsw @ghoulzlovez @axshadows @selinakpe

@inept-the-magnificent

[millersdoll]

close enough, welcome back javier peña

[andy-15-07]

Hii good morning! Would you like to write anything smut for Javier Peña or any other Pedro's character you like? Thankss

The Allure of the Night

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2334 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The dim light of the bar cast long shadows, painting the scene in hues of amber and gold. Javier Peña nursed his drink, the ice clinking softly in the otherwise quiet space. He watched as you moved across the room, a vibrant splash of color in the muted atmosphere. Your laughter, light and unrestrained, drifted over to him, and he found himself smiling despite the weight of the day. He’d known you for… how long had it been now? Long enough to know the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you were truly amused, long enough to know the comfort of your presence amidst the chaos that was his life.

You reached his table, a playful glint in your eyes. “Javier. You look like you’re contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

He chuckled, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. “Just thinking about how much trouble one woman can cause.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what trouble have I caused, Agent Peña?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The usual. Disrupting the peace, corrupting my morals…”

“Your morals were already corrupt, Javier,” you retorted, sliding into the chair. “I just helped you embrace it.”

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “That you did. That you did.” He signaled the bartender for another drink. “So, what brings you out tonight? Besides the irresistible allure of my company, of course.”

“You wound me, Javier,” you said, feigning hurt. “Your company is always a draw. But I actually came to hear about your latest escapades. Anything exciting happening in the world of drug cartels and international intrigue?”

Javier’s smile faded slightly. “Same old, same old. Cat and mouse. Except sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s the cat and who’s the mouse.” He swirled the ice in his glass. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated seems to be your specialty,” you said softly. You reached out and covered his hand with yours, the simple gesture grounding him. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Javier.”

He looked at your hand on his, the warmth of your touch a welcome contrast to the coldness of the metal. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “And I appreciate it. More than you know.”

The conversation flowed easily between them, a comfortable mix of banter and shared confidences. They talked about the case, the frustrations, the small victories that kept him going. You listened patiently, offering insightful comments and a sympathetic ear. You understood his world, not because you were a part of it, but because you understood him.

As the night deepened, the bar emptied, leaving only a handful of patrons. Javier and you remained, lost in your own little world. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, a familiar dance of attraction and hesitation. You both knew where this could lead, where it usually led, but neither of you dared to break the comfortable rhythm.

Finally, Javier leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “You know,” he said, his voice low and husky, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, this sounds dangerous,” you teased. “Javier Peña thinking.”

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “Dangerous is my middle name. Or it should be. Anyway, I was thinking… about how much I enjoy your company.”

“Is that so?” you purred, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes tracing the curve of your jawline. “I do. You’re… you’re good for me.”

“And you’re good for me,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. A spark ignited, a familiar flame that flickered to life between them. He pulled your hand towards him, his touch surprisingly gentle. You didn’t resist.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice laced with desire.

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. He met you halfway, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. The scent of his cologne filled your senses, a heady mix of sandalwood and something distinctly Javier. You tilted your head back, offering him your lips.

His kiss was slow and deliberate, a探求 touch that ignited a fire within you. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken desires, of a connection that ran deeper than either of you were willing to admit. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a moment of shared passion. The bar, the case, the complications of his life… all of it disappeared, replaced by the intensity of his touch, the heat of his kiss.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours. “Come home with me,” he whispered.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed.

The drive back to his apartment was a blur. Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with anticipation. When they arrived, Javier unlocked the door and ushered you inside. The apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside.

He turned to you, his eyes burning with intensity. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

You blushed, the compliment warming you from the inside out. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He kissed you again, a kiss that was filled with a desperate longing. His hands moved over your body, exploring the curves and contours you knew so well.

He led you to the bedroom, the air thick with unspoken promises. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world. He turned to you, his eyes filled with a raw desire that made your breath catch in your throat.

He reached out and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly. You met his gaze, your own heart pounding in your chest. He undressed you slowly, savoring every moment. You did the same for him, your fingers trembling slightly as you unbuttoned his shirt.

He pulled you close, his body pressed against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard muscles beneath his skin. He kissed you again, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. You gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders. He carried you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours.

He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, your chest. He explored every inch of your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair.

He moved lower, his lips brushing against your skin. You arched your back, your breath catching in your throat. He continued his exploration, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you.

He finally entered you, his movements slow and deliberate. You gasped, your body tightening around him. He paused, his eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes.”

He began to move, his pace quickening. You met his rhythm, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. The world dissolved, leaving only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion. You cried out his name, your voice filled with a desperate longing. He answered you with a groan, his body shuddering as he reached his climax.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You held him close, your fingers stroking his hair. The silence was broken only by the sound of your breathing, the beating of your hearts.

He finally rolled over, pulling you with him. He held you close, his arm wrapped around you protectively. You snuggled against him, your head resting on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that lulled you to sleep.

The morning light streamed through the window, waking you gently. You stretched, your body feeling pleasantly sore. You turned to find Javier sleeping soundly beside you, his face relaxed and peaceful. You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through you. You reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Morning,” you replied.

He pulled you closer, his arm tightening around you. He kissed you softly, a lingering kiss that spoke of affection and tenderness. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you replied, snuggling against him.

The dim silence of the early morning had given way to a warm glow as you slowly stirred beside Javier. The memory of last night’s fierce passion still shimmered in the quiet air of his bedroom. Your body felt pleasantly tender and alive with anticipation for what the morning might bring. As you shifted on the rumpled sheets, Javier’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep but quickly brightening at the sight of you.

“Good morning,” he murmured in a husky tone, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare arm. His voice carried a mix of lingering desire and a promise of more.

“Good morning,” you replied, a teasing smile curving your lips. “I was hoping we’d have a few more moments like last night.”

Javier’s gaze darkened with need as he shifted closer. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered. “Tell me, do you want to taste me… again?”

The question, spoken with both vulnerability and raw passion, sent a shiver through you. You slid your hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palm. “I want every bit of you, Javier. Let’s not hold back.”

In that intimate, sunlit haze, the roles of giver and receiver blurred in a dance as old as desire itself. Javier was the first to act—his lips trailing heated kisses along your collarbone before softly biting at your skin, eliciting a quiet moan from you. You arched into his touch, your body inviting his exploration. With deliberate care, he began unfastening the delicate straps of your lingerie, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the warm skin revealed with each freed inch.

Moments later, you took control, shifting so that your eyes met his in a silent exchange of mutual invitation. “Now it’s my turn,” you said breathlessly. You slowly slid off the top of his loose T-shirt, your hands exploring the hard planes of his torso. Your fingertips grazed over the sensitive skin of his chest, drawing a low groan as you trailed kisses downward, savoring the subtle saltiness of his skin.

Before long, you found yourself kneeling between his thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. The raw desire in his gaze spurred you on as you began to tease him with gentle, exploratory kisses along the inside of his thigh. His hand threaded through your hair as his breath grew ragged, his murmurs mingling with the soft sounds of your ministrations. You took your time, letting each kiss and soft lick build the intensity between you. When you finally moved closer, your warm mouth enveloped him; every deliberate stroke of your tongue was a pledge of your shared passion.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands resting on your head to guide your movements. His pleasure was as evident as the way his body responded to your every touch, and soon you both were caught in an intoxicating rhythm of mutual giving.

But the intimacy did not stop there. As the taste of desire and satisfaction mingled with the soft light of morning, Javier shifted his focus. With a gentle yet commanding look, he guided you so that you lay back, your body exposed in a vulnerable yet empowered state. “Now, let me show you how much I crave you,” he whispered.

Rising to his knees, he began his own exploration, his tongue tracing patterns along your inner thigh before finally reaching the most sensitive places. Every touch, every flicker of his tongue, brought soft gasps and the quickening of your breath. You arched your back, your hands gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure built inside you. In the quiet intimacy of that morning, you were both performers in a delicate, passionate duet, each act of oral caressing the other as much as it filled you with need.

Between whispered words and the music of soft moans, you exchanged playful, heated dialogue. “You taste even better than I remembered,” Javier murmured as you both took turns exploring each other’s most intimate parts. “I love hearing you moan, knowing that every inch of you is mine,” he said, his voice low and filled with adoration.

“You make me feel alive,” you responded, your words punctuated by another soft moan as he switched back to you, ensuring that every bit of desire was both given and received. The raw energy of your morning encounter was as wild as it was tender—a true celebration of trust, passion, and the magnetic pull that drew you both together time and again.

As your bodies reached a blissful crescendo, the lines between giving and receiving blurred until you were both lost in a haze of mutual ecstasy. In the aftermath, breathless and spent, you lay entwined in each other’s arms, the quiet of the morning punctuated only by soft, contented sighs. The passion of the night had transformed into a gentle, lingering tenderness as you both savored the afterglow.

In that sacred space of shared vulnerability, you knew without words that this was more than just a physical connection—it was an affirmation of the depth of your desire, trust, and the unspoken promise of many more mornings filled with both wild abandon and tender intimacy.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

unexpected kiss - Javier Peña

900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts

bio : This story is part of the 900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts.

person ordering: @picketniffler

warnings : angst, argument, swearing, ex-lovers, sexual innuendos, fluff at the end

[my masterlist]

He grabbed your arm tightly and pulled you into an empty office at the end of the hall that was used as storage. The door slammed shut, the blinds drawn. Peña glared at you.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" he hissed, placing his hands on his hips, "That informant was mine."

"Oh, yours?" you snorted, folding your arms over your chest, "I didn't know informants belonged to anyone."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I wanted to talk to her, and you..."

Your eyes narrowed. Javier could activate all your defenses in a second. "So you didn't know she didn't want to talk to any guy." you said, and seeing him open his mouth you added "No way, Peña. After what those guys did to her sister. Your charm or your-" you cleared your throat "nothing would help here. She only wanted to talk to a woman. And she said everything we needed so, you're welcome."

Dark eyes bore into you with fury. Javier was at the end of his rope, you knew that. Two years of working together and you read him like the morning paper.

Finally he nodded. He didn't want to take up this fight, he had no arguments. But then something else came to his mind. "How was your evening with Agent Anderson? I hope you had a good time."

You tilted your head, looking at him carefully. "Are you following me?"

"I don't have to. You always go to the same places as me." Javier shrugged "So?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" you hissed. "Since I left you..."

"You left me?!" Peña chuckled, a wide smile lighting up his face "Please, hermosa. I didn't know you had a sense of humor!"

You took a step towards him, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. This guy was making you boil. "Yes, I left you after you stood me up again, Peña."

"I didn't show up because I was working!" he replied "You never understood that, nor..."

"Right, because I only water the flowers on your desk here. Dick."

You looked at each other like two boxers before a fight, just waiting for the bell to ring so you could attack again. You shouldn't have gotten involved with Javier, and you really shouldn't have gone to bed with him. But you both drank too much, it was fun, and it stayed that way for a few months. Until you said, "Enough!" and ended something that never made sense.

"So what about Anderson?" Peña muttered. "Did he do well?"

The crease between your brows only deepened. “Not all guys think only with their dicks like you do. I hope your girls were happy to have you back.”

"Listen..." Javier raised a warning finger, but you were already a ticking bomb.

"Take that finger away, Peña, or I'll break it." you growled, stepping even closer to him. "You shouldn't be interested in my life. It's none of your fucking business! Just say you're jealous!"

That was a slap in the face for Peña. His brown eyes widened in shock. "Jealous? Jealous!" he parroted. "About what? About you?"

A victorious smile spread across your lips, he hated you so much right then. “You’re jealous that another guy was in bed with me. That it was his name I was screaming, that it was him who made me cum, and that I let him do everything you did… Hey!”

In a second, Javier had grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed his solid body against the wall. You tried to pull away, but he slid his thigh between your legs, pinning you in place.

“I know perfectly well that your panties are wet right now, hermosa.” His voice was somewhere between a whisper and a soft purr, and you could feel just how angry he was. The emotions radiated off of him and hit you straight. “I smelled you in the hallway. You knew I would come to you. You did all of this on purpose.”

"Don't flatter yourself, Peña."

He was dangerously close. Too close. His eyes darted between your face and the heave of your breasts from his deep breaths. “You’d give anything to have me fuck you right now, wouldn’t you?” He thrust his hips and you felt the hard bulge in his pants. Your pussy clenched around nothing. You hated him even more. The smell of him, the heat he gave off… 

Fucking Javier Peña.

Even though his words surprised you, you quickly regained your speech. “You’re wrong.” Dark eyes quickly found yours. “You’re the one who came here like a horny teenager. You’d give anything for me to fuck you here, where no one can find us. You think I don’t know you? My panties may be wet, but it’s your cock that’s leaking with the desire to be inside me.” Adam's apple on his neck twitched as Javier swallowed hard. Your words hit home. The power you had over him was limitless. And he fucking knew it.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that, hermosa?" he growled.

“He says something different.” You replied with a smile, glancing down at his pants where his beautiful tent was exposed.

In an instant his hand gripped the side of your neck, a shadow of fear flitted across your eyes, but a second later Javier's lips collided with yours. It was strong, animalistic, full of tongue and teeth. Each of you fought, but it was Javier who pushed his tongue down your throat, and you were the first to moan.

This was his victory. With his other hand he squeezed your hip, pressing himself even harder. The friction gave him some relief, but then he was painfully hard again. Eventually your lips parted.

“You drive me crazy,” he hissed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent that he missed so much. “Every day I see you, I wonder what I would do to you.”

You giggled. “Maybe you could show up on time for once, huh? Maybe you shouldn’t stand me up when you make promises? Maybe…”

Warm lips closed on your delicate skin on your neck, sucking lightly. Your eyes rolled so hard that you could almost see the inside of your skull. This man was acting like a drug on you and he knew it perfectly well.

“I’ll do anything you want…” Javier groaned, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing in relief when your hand touched his cheek. “Hermosa, I’ll do anything… This time I’ll worship you the way you deserve.”

"And I'll try not to be such a pain in the ass."

You both giggled again.

"I didn't sleep with Anderson." You finally said.

"I know, hermosa. I know."

Javier pulled away and looked at you. There was something different in his eyes - softness, longing. You took his face in your hands and lightly kissed his soft lips. This guy was driving you crazy, but you weren't without blame either. But maybe if you both tried, it would work.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink." He murmured, and you smiled.

"I'd love to."

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼: 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

Stepdad!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1979 and it's the summer after graduation. You want to make the most of the vacation, but going to shady dance bars is a lot harder now that your new stepfather works for the DEA.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, cops and raids, stepdad trope and all that comes with, minor DUBCON, big juicy age gap [reader is 18/19 when she meets Javi, Javi is in his mid 40s], reader wears a dress, petnames, mommy issues ™ , alcohol consumption, mean!brat tamer!dom!Javi then soft!Javi, brat!reader, rough sex, “virginity” loss & minor mention of blood, sex in the woods on the hood of Javi’s car, mentions of F masturbation, some reader x oc, Javi gives reader her first orgasm, major size kink [Javi is bigger than the reader, can rough house with her], degradation, dumbification, reader is insanely horny, satanic levels of dirty talk, finger sucking, choking, spanking [with a belt and hand] , a few slaps [as always], fingering, unprotected P in V [be better!!], creampie. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: I am impossibly excited for this stepdad trilogy. This is part 1/3 so it’s only 1/3 the fun and debauchery. Few Easter eggs thrown in.. see if you can spot em 🤭.This is set up after the events of season 2 and before the events of season 3, in a year where Javi is taking a break before Cali, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

​​Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

Once I had a love and it was divine

Soon found out I was losing my mind

It seemed like the real thing, but I was so blind

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

You stood at the entrance, one foot tapping restlessly on the wooden floorboards. In an effort to keep your head down you fiddled aimlessly with the clasp on your watch, knowing full well you weren’t going to be paying attention to anything but the time that flashed on its face. An older, blonde woman came stomping onto the patio, swinging the wooden door behind you so hard on her way the rattle it produced when it slammed shut knocked the flimsy “BAR” sign right off. You jumped, then took another step away from the establishment.  

You could almost feel the bass of the engine thrumming in your chest as it got closer. The tires crunched against the gravel as it neared. You still couldn’t see it. You hoped it was her. 

It wasn’t long before a red convertible was nearing, the number plate sending a shaky, relieved sigh hurtling past your lips. Agitated, drunk and anxiety ridden, you ran towards and then jumped into Lorrain’s car– hoping and praying the ride would give you a beat to sober up. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to sneak back into your room well past midnight. It was so much of a habit you could sell a course on how to accomplish it with the utmost skill and precision. What was rare, however, was having to perform the task while shaken up so severely. The side of your small, once welcoming home seemed more alien than ever, your bedroom looking far higher off the ground than you remembered. 

Nevertheless, a few missteps and about 10 minutes later you stumbled through your open window, quickly stripping to your underwear and shoving your dirty, alcohol laced clothes under your bed. You cursed your “parents” at the fact that you still needed to do this shit like a fucking highschooler. 

The sound of feet padding towards your bedroom door startled you, and you jumped to pull on your sleep shorts before what you knew was your stepdad coming up the stairs. 

You hoped and prayed he hadn't caught wind of the way you screamed when your foot missed the ledge below your window, or worse, that his partner hadn’t given him a call to inform him of the familiar face he saw at the shack that night. 

No matter how many times you liked to imagine he would bend you over his knee and discipline you, how many times you imagined it was him with his hand under your skirt or head between your legs as some clumsy 20 year old rutted against your thigh, you knew full well if Javier actually ever caught your antics, the consequences were going to be a whole lot less ideal than that. 

As you jumped under the covers you recalled the way Agent Steve Murphy had cocked his head at you back at the bar. The way your stepfather’s partner had squinted his eyes at you in confusion, doing a double take at your skimpy outfit, short dress and boots, the way the men at the bar had their hands all over you. 

You prayed it wasn’t too late before you turned your head away, that it wasn’t too late before you swiftly moved out of that bar, before he could be sure it was you he was seeing. 

Because if he was, there would be absolute hell to pay. 

—

One summer, when you were maybe eight or nine, you developed an absurd obsession with riding your bike up the slope that led away from your small town. Eventually, the uphill roads veered away, twisting and turning into a thousand different rocky paths that converged at one point only a few hundred metres from the large sign that welcomed people into the town. The singular, welcoming road led straight into the woods. Back then, it seemed endless, providing a warm, hospitable buffer for the hills that loomed over the town with a somewhat protective intimidation. Like the woods were watching over your every move. 

Everyday, for three months, you’d bust out your front door at 18:00 on the dot and make the journey uphill. Exhaustively pushing your bike past that sign and into what was nature's much welcome respite from your mothers neglectful cruelty. You collected rocks by the stream that ran through those woods, leaves and flowers to keep in your room. It was like they were magic. Like they wanted to get to know you, be your friend. The trees formed a canopy over you, like they wanted to shield you from the winds and the setting sun, and most importantly from the town below. 

One day you remember hearing some rustling coming from up the stream. You didn't think much of it, must have been a deer or something of the sort. You continued foraging for little flowers and rocks, that was until you came across something that didn't really belong. A piece of white lace. It looked new, but dirty, there was cotton under half of it. It seemed like it was part of a dress. Someone must have lost it up there. You didn't investigate. Things were calm and quiet again as usual, but it wasn't long before the rustling from upstream got louder, just slightly, and you heard the clatter of a metal rod to the ground, followed by a heavier, louder thud. 

You turned on your heel and away from the stream, it took you four minutes to find the welcome sign to your town again. By 19:00 you were home. 

You never went back to the woods again. That August your mother informed you you were going to school in the city. 

— 

To say you were unhappy to come home from boarding school to the news your mother was marrying a cop would be an understatement, and while you tried not to be too judgy and give him a chance, to say you were surprised when he turned out to be a complete authoritarian would be an even bigger understatement. 

You knew of Agent Peña, he was somewhat of a local celebrity. You’d seen him on your summers home since you were sixteen- picking up beers at the convenience store, smoking cigarettes outside the petrol station. You and your friends would often drool over him, wait for him to show up at a neighbourhood barbeque, or catch him taking a walk around the block. 

Eventually, you grew up, and outgrew your little hallway crush on the, now, mostly tiresome Agent Peña. Because soon you weren't sixteen. And his holier than thou, saviour complex, and affinity for order only made you roll your eyes. In fact he was quite annoying. He made little effort to contribute to the community, still riding his high from his days in Colombia. 

You wondered why those people revered him like he was taking bullets for your town. 

You were absolutely flabbergasted when you found out your mother was marrying him. At first, a little bit jealous for the teenager who once fawned over him, but quickly more concerned for the fact that he was actually someone who you’d have to interact with, and not just a piece of eye candy you could appreciate out and about. 

Hell, he was becoming family, and your stepfather no less. It was torturous. You did not need another person to worry about in your home. 

“So.. What’re you studying?” He crossed his left leg over the right, and asked you. His hand reached out to receive the glass of whiskey your mother poured him. He hadn’t been in your house for ten minutes and you already couldn’t stand his guts. Besides the fact that he was a cop, he had this air about him… what exactly, you weren’t quite sure. A superficial, macho exterior that felt like a bigger slap in the face than the fact that he was sitting on the nice, upholstered, expensive, armchair your father had paid for. 

Unsurprisingly, Agent Peña often indulged you in riveting conversation about the dangers of indulging in alcohol and drugs at a young age as he puffed on his cigarette, and lectured you, in what you knew as truly your mothers fashion, about how young people these days didn't know a thing, and that they must always respect and follow the lead of their elders. 

Much like mother dear, he paid little attention to you other than to reprimand you for whatever it was you weren’t doing correctly; for when you didn’t do the dishes on time, or were staying out too late, as if it was any of his business to even begin with. He seemed to really enjoy the protective dad role. It fit in well with the rest of his pathetic persona. 

No wonder they got along.

You remember almost gagging when he boasted about the college you were set to attend, one arm slung across your shoulder, at the party your aunt threw for your graduation. Like he had absolutely anything to do with it. You excused yourself partly to avoid the embarrassment and partly to roll your eyes. A small part of you enjoyed his proud boasting, but you were not ready to unpack that yet. 

In the time the couple weren’t circle jerking about their views, you were lucky enough to be the recipient of snide comments that were so obviously meant for your late father. To his credit Javier Peña didn’t involve himself in the conversation. You couldn’t say the same for a lot of your mother’s previous lovers. 

Since you were ten years old you had been making your own decisions, doing what you wanted and living on your terms. To return to your home for the summer after graduation, now 18, and have to abide by someone else’s meaningless regulations, was a rather harsh slap in the face. Not to mention this someone had been in your life all of two months, and really enjoyed acting like he knew anything about you, or your family. 

Sometimes, when you’d climb down the stairs of that quaint suburban home, the home that once belonged to your family, in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water or a snack, you’d see him sitting out on the porch, hunched over a whole bunch of shit you couldn’t bother caring about, with his ashtray dangerously close to all that flammable paper. 

His shirt stretched deliciously over his back, his hand reaching out to ash his cigarette every once in a while. You were glad he was infuriating, had he not been such a prick it might have revived the little bit of a crush you had on him. 

Sometimes you felt a little bit bad for rolling your eyes at him, or shutting down his attempts to initiate group plans. If you were being honest you were surprised when he didn’t blow up at you for talking back or being rude– that was when your mother wasn’t around. When she was, he didn’t have to. She would jump at any chance to start a fight. You were even more surprised when Javier tried to diffuse the situation. 

You figured soon enough that perhaps the Javier Peña you met a few months prior was putting quite the show on for his overbearing, obnoxious lover. Of course, you were sure he hardly saw her that way. He was perhaps a lot smarter than you gave him credit for. 

Javier often chided your mother when you spoke back to her, rather unexpectedly calling out her bad parenting and the behaviour she “modelled” for you when you were a child. You overheard them argue after a big blowout, from your room. It upset you that he was even getting involved. He tried to talk to you about it later, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Obviously, you knew your hatred of them both had something to do with your psychologically deprived childhood, but it baffled you how neither of them, especially wannabe father of the year Javier Peña, didn’t realised your isolated anger would perhaps be diminished if they stopped trying to meddle in your life, the one neither of them seemed to care about unless something about it upset them. 

If he really cared about your wellbeing he’d take his wife and get the fuck out of your life. You were an adult, one that wasn’t going to listen to anyone, especially not the mother who packed you away all those years ago, and her hypocritical, infuriating husband. 

Thats why, despite having almost gotten caught and having your ass handed to you less than forty eight hours prior, you were back at the shack, drink in hand, stupidly forgetting exactly what had you scrambling to get out there in the first place. 

Who could have even blamed you? Your mother had been especially annoying that particular morning, and Javier and his buddies had colonised the house for a barbeque in the afternoon. In what even you recognised as somewhat juvenile rebelion, you decided the universe owed you some fun after having to endure their patronising, senseless chit chat all day. 

It wasn’t even that late, but you were already feeling it, the effects of the countless drinks you had downed over the course of the few hours you had been dancing at the bar. Nothing unusual in that, men often offered to buy you drinks, handsome ones at that, and you didn’t have the money to live extravagantly. Besides, if you weren’t going to use your charm what was it even there for? 

Was it Timmy? Tommy? You couldn't even recall his name by the time he was tossing you onto the counter in the bar’s bathroom. To be honest you couldn’t really figure out much of your surroundings, letting yourself get lost in the delicate, dizzy, tipsy haze as his hands slipped under your skirt to squeeze at your thighs. Your regular drunk hookup, or rather someone you disappointingly rolled around with till he finished and left you to roll your hips against your pillow wishing your hands were your Stepfather’s. 

His lips brushed your neck, sloppily planting kisses up and down your skin, nipping at your collar bones as he pushed himself between your legs. You closed your eyes and imagined he was Javier. The thought made you moan and you reached for his collar to pull him closer. He didn't smell like Javi, wasn't as big, his chest wasn’t as firm, his arms didn't envelop you like Javi’s did. 

You felt him swell against you, and you pushed against him, mind once again drifting to Javier standing at the grill in your backyard. His white linen shirt unbuttoned far too low, rolled up sleeves drawing your eyes to his forearms. He’d had a hand on his hip, a sliver of skin right above the band of his shorts just barely visible. 

He smiled at you, and you had worried he’d caught you staring. You revelled in the image. You recalled how he leaned against the edge of the pool with the afternoon sun beating down on his golden skin. You imagined his hands moving under your bra to squeeze your breast. 

You were rather embarrassingly enjoying the little montage of your stepdad that was playing in your head. You had almost forgotten it was tommy, or timmy rolling his hips against yours. If a loud, wall rattling thud hadn’t interrupted you, you would've enjoyed your little delusion even longer. 

To say you were startled was an understatement, you practically leaped right off the counter. Unable to really gather your bearings in time, you barely registered timmy, or tommy, scrambling to fix his shirt, you yourself rushing to cover up and fix the top of your dress. 

From the corner of your eye you caught a hand grab him by the shoulder and shove him towards the door, dragging him out of the bathroom and towards a building commotion outside. You heard people yelling, but couldn’t really make out what was going on. 

When you looked up and found Javier looking dead at you, instead of your little fling, you damn near collapsed. He looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. In a second he was shutting the door behind him, and flicking the lock. You would’ve ran, but its not like you could go anywhere, besides, hed gotten a good look at your face gawking at him, like a fucking moron. 

It was over. 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” you hopped off the counter and tumbled into his chest.  He took you by the arm and dragged you right to the back of the bathroom, you struggled to remain on your feet but he didn’t really care. Much of your dizziness was thanks to your new found anxiety and had little to do with the vodka you’d been downing all night. This was definitely not an ideal situation. His grip on your arm tightened, and made you wince. You liked the sting, not so much the rest of the whole ordeal. “This where you’ve been fuckin’ going?” he seethed, coming close enough that your noses almost touched, he shook you lightly by the arm as he spoke. 

You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he pulled you closer. “None of your fucking business.” Sure, you weren’t on your best behaviour, but did he really think he could boss you around? 

“Sure as hell’s my fucking business.” he took a look behind him, then turned back to you and leaned closer. “‘DEA agent’s step daughter dancing at illegal drug club’ sure gonna make a sweet headline.” His fingers dug into your flesh. Only then did it hit you why exactly he was in your dingy shack to begin with. You heard Timmy arguing with someone outside. You felt your palms become impossibly clammier. 

“Just fucking turn me in then, asshole.” you got closer, and you were sure he could smell the vodka off your breath. You wished that sounded as courageous and bold out loud as it did in your head. His eyes jumped to your lips, and he rolled them, huffing in frustration. You felt your own eyes burn, and your vision became blurry. You didn't want to cry in front of that bastard. You looked away. 

“To whom? Myself” his thumb smoothed over your skin, and his grip lightened. “Not gonna arrest you, fuckin’ idiot.” he rolled his eyes, then dropped your arm to put his hands on his hips. He looked down and sighed, massaging his temple and then glancing behind him again. 

“Riskin it all for that fuckin’ looser?” He let out a half hearted laugh, looking somehow both disappointed and smug. You wanted to punch him in the face. You would have, if he didnt happen to be the only thing between you and one dozen other narcs outside. 

He glanced at the ground for a second, then back at you and fixed the strap of your top that had slipped down your shoulder. “Get in the car.” he pointed behind you, and you looked in the direction to see a small, open window. 

“Know you're good at climbing outta windows.” you felt your cheeks heat so much they burned. Your heart hadn’t really recovered from his big, surprise entry yet. You couldn't stand to look at his frustrated, let down face. 

Javi cocked his head and raised his brows, whispering a strained “go”. You had no choice, you turned away from him and towards the window. 

—

“Where are we going?”

He didn't look away from the road ahead. Hand gripping the steering wheel with a renewed annoyance. “Better stop asking questions before s’ too late brat.” You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it right back up again. You decided it was probably a lot smarter to just shut up and not bother him any longer– regardless of the thousand questions and worries you had swimming in your head. 

If you were lucky, he was going to drive the both of you right off a cliff, because if your mother caught any wind of what you had been doing, your plans for going to college, and living out of your house would fly right out the window. Not to mention the torture that would insue when she demanded to know your whereabouts all day everyday for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

“Don't want ya hangin’ round the countryside, in these barns, nothing good happens in there.” he looked over you momentarily, 

“Oh what? Are the cows joining in on the drug trade?” 

“Newspaper boys, going missin’. Found him in the lake, about two miles from here.” you pressed your lips together. 

The car ride thus passed in a painful, tense silence. Javier was clearly unhappy with the whole situation, but had decided not to immediately blow up in your face? Everything about that unsettled you. He was so shocked he seemed to be in denial. You'd much prefer if he just yelled at you and got it over with. 

What else was there to do? Surely he wasn’t going to turn you over to the cops, he had his chance to do that already. However Javier never missed a chance to reprimand you, maybe he wanted to get a few words in before ruining your future. 

You wouldn’t put it past him anyway. 

The empty streets gave way to a narrow, winding road that cut through the woods. The familiar landscape of your small town faded away, replaced by shadowy silhouettes of trees that loomed closer and closer to the edge of the road. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the dense foliage– closing in around you. The road twisted and turned, each bend bringing you deeper into the night, and further away from any civilisation. 

Beginning to zone out, you kept your eyes ahead, now unable to recognise left from right, and importantly, exactly how far out from town you had come.  It wasn’t long before the “farwell, drive safe” sign that stood at the edge of the woods was swiftly moving past your right shoulder. A pit was quick to form in your stomach, the lowered window by Javi’s side let the cool breeze in. It wrapped around you and made you shiver. The smell of the woods soon overcame you. 

Eventually,the car came to a stop in a small clearing. You watched Javi, but he paid no attention to you. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind. In the distance, an owl hooted, its call echoed through the trees. You felt like a child about to be reprimanded after getting in trouble at school. You could hear the ticking of the cooling engine, each sound amplified in the stillness of the night. The dark woods pressed in on you. 

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his door, stepping out and gesturing for you to do the same with his head. Still absolutely clueless about what exactly he was doing, you decided just to follow along. He wasn’t going to actually kill you or anything. Probably just wanted to scare you. He had always thought he was a lot more scary than he actually was. At least that's what your brain was telling you. Your heart had other plans. 

You watched from inside as Javi began to cross in front of you, for a good three seconds he stood directly ahead of you, facing you in the beams of the headlights. The sight made you shiver. He took a step out of the light. Taking a long deep breath to psych yourself up, after a short moment you opened your door. Javi placed his arm on the top of said door, leaning against it to watch you get out. 

You almost tripped, but Javi caught you by the arm and manhandled you to the front of his truck. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, and when he turned you to face the hood it blinded you. 

The scrape of your shoes against the damp soil, the crunch of the leaves– it was pretty much all you could really register. The moon shone bright, shining through the trees, but your eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. “These woods are fucking haunted.” A bug landed on the side of your face and you jumped, shaking your head and swatting it away. Javier laughed behind you and you rolled your eyes. “Ghosts the least of your worries right now, bunny .” 

“Fuckin gross.” He shook you by the arm, his voice now a tad bit more annoyed than it was a little earlier. “Oh really?” He pushed you against the hood of his car, your back now facing it. You couldn’t see his eyes, any part of his face at all, you could barely see anything. You wondered how he moved so confidently in the dark. He must have practice. 

“I ain’t sneakin’ out to be a slut every night.” His hands moved to grab your waist and your heart jumped. You swallowed, feeling more defiant yet sceptical by the second. “Sorry you’re not getting any, but it's not my fault, dirty old man.” Before you could even gauge his reaction your head was snapping to the side, a sharp burn spreading across your cheek as Javier’s hand made contact with your skin. 

“I'm not getting any?” he laughed, then took your face between his fingers and squeezed your cheeks together. You winced, and your vision got blurry. You felt your panties dampen embarrassingly. “I ain't the one lettin’ stupid boys rub up on me, bunny.” He shook your face gently, voice so seething and cruel you whimpered, somehow more desperate for him than you were before. 

“Desperate little slut.” He grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around, and promptly told you to “shut that whore mouth” when you screamed that he could fuck right off. His fingers left tender spots all over your arms and waist, and you winced when he manhandled you into bending over the hood of his car. 

He placed a hand on your back to press you down, the other held your waist in a death grip and you felt him press up against your ass. Your dress had ridden up, and surely left little to the imagination. The denim of his jeans rubbed against your upper thighs, and the tips of your shoes barely scraped the ground with how far up the hood of the car he had thrown you. You whimpered and he shushed you with a hand squeezing around your throat from behind. 

You knew you had to be unjustifiably wet by this point. You felt yourself throb when Javi put his hands under your dress and grabbed the waistband of your panties. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt his bulge through the fabric. 

The jingle of his belt sent a shiver down your spine, every hair on the back of your neck standing up at attention. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, still undecided about how exactly you felt about this entirely new development. 

Your heart jumped when he ran the leather across your skin, slowly, perhaps to catch you off guard when he finally struck you with it. You lurched forward, the pain so sharp a tear was quick to roll down your cheek. He struck you again, holding you down with his other hand. The sound of each slash, and your whines that followed echoed in the distance. 

“Think you’re fuckin cute, don’t you.” It was horribly embarrassing to be bent over the hood of his car, both palms on holding you up as best they could whilst he landed spank after spank on your bare ass. “Like bein a wild child?” Your scream echoed in the woods when his belt made sharp contact with your flesh. Your knees buckled but Javier's hand on your waist held you up before it was retreating to land another slap on your ass. Tears were dampening the neckline of your dress already, rolling down your neck and rendering you a bigger mess with every sharp spank of his belt. 

“Yeah? You get off on all those men touchin’ ya? Like being passed around like a cheap whore?” He gripped your hips so tight you didn’t even bother trying to wiggle out of his hold. “Should take ya to the office sometime, hand ya off to Steve, let him have some fun with you.”

You shook your head at that, there was only one man in the DEA offices you wanted, and unfortunately it wasn’t anybody that could actually be with. You clenched your thighs. 

“Knew you were a fuckin’ nasty little girl.” He wedged his hand between them, pushing them apart and slightly spreading your thighs. His fingers rubbed over your clothed cunt, your panties now damp from all that had ensued. You shivered, then pushed back against his digits. 

His fingers found your clit and you moaned. “Did ya cum?” he asked, referring to your little escapade at the bar. Suddenly, you were a whole lot less bold than you were a few moments ago, it wasn’t ideal to admit what you were going to, and it seemed almost impossible without sounding rather pathetic. 

He stopped moving his fingers and pinched the inside of your thigh. “Answer me.” You whispered a “no” bracing yourself for whatever embarrassing comment Javier was going to throw back at you in response. “Huh.. No one fucked this tight little snatch before? Savin’ yourself for me?” he ruminated on the thought, sounding far more pleased than you would have desired. He wasn’t exactly right, but he definitely wasn’t wrong either. 

When you remained quiet he leant beside your ear, lips ghosting the skin on your neck. “Hmm, that right? “Wish it was me instead of that stupid boy?” You groaned at his smug voice, then when his fingers slid under your panties and between your dripping folds. “Wished his finger’s were mine tonight, didnt you?” He cursed under his breath at how wet you were. “How many times d’you cum dreamin’ bout your stepdaddy fuckin your tight lil pussy…” 

“Haven’t” You pressed your face against the metal of his car, cheeks on fire at your admission. He remained silent behind you for a beat, then gently lifted you to press your back to his chest with a hand around your throat. He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against your neck, and the hand that was between your legs slid under your dress to plam your tit through your bra. “Ever?” 

You gasped as he pulled it down, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You shook your head and pressed back against his hard cock. The buckle of his belt dug into your skin and you could almost feel the sting against your ass once again. He pulled you impossibly closer to him, hand returning between your legs. 

He rubbed your clit in slow circles and then pushed two fingers into your entrance. “Full of surprises, aren't ya?” you gasped at the stretch, his fingers were surely far bigger than your own, or any others that had been anywhere near your pussy.  “don't blame ya’ bunny , nothing like the real thing, huh?” 

You bit your lip harder to keep from moaning, already far closer to finishing than you had ever been before, especially when he stroked your walls, mercifully scissoring you open in an uncharacteristic show of thoughtfulness. 

“So fuckin’ wet, bunny .” he curled his digits, reaching that sweet spot inside you as he thumbed your clit. You pushed back against him, feeling yourself continue to gush around his hand. “Gonna slide right in at this rate.” 

He yanked your panties down with so much force you heard a few stitches rip in the silence. Javier groaned, and you leaned back against him when his hand moved away from your pussy to slide his hard cock between your thighs, his hips flush against yours. He squeezed your tit in his palm as he pulled back a little, sliding against your swollen cunt again. 

You felt your arousal smear against your thighs. He muttered a strained “Can’t wait much longer, bunny” . You, yourself thought you might have gone crazy if he waited longer. He pulled his hips back again, notching the head at your entrance and pushing in in a single, slow thrust. 

You winced and then moaned, body unable to adjust to the sheer size of him so quickly, yet still hungry for more. You hadn’t felt quite so full ever before, you could feel his cock deep inside you. Your hand covered his on your chest and you mewled and whimpered when he moved his hips, replicating the sharp thrust again, and then again. 

It wasn’t long before he was pushing you back down against the hood of his car to get a better grip on your hips. He twisted your wrist as you reached out for him, holding both in one large palm as he found a steady rhythm. The almost unbearable stretch slowly melted away into a delicious, burning need, and in only a few moments you were pressing back against him, pleading for him to pick up his pace. 

“You rub your pretty little cunt thinking ‘bout my cock splitting you open?” You moaned a “yes” every part of your body now hot with need as he kept fucking into your warm, wet, heat. 

“How?” When you didn't answer he landed a spank to your ass, this time with his hand, and right over the spot his belt had left its sting on not so long ago. You yelped and surged forward. His hand on your hip pulled you back. You pulled yourself up, craving the heat of his chest against your back. 

“On my- oooh” your palm landed over his, fingers wrapping around one of his larger ones as you cut yourself off with a moan “On my pillow.” The memory made you throb harder, and the hand that was holding Javiers guided it away from your hip and closer to the cut of your thigh, craving the feel of his fingers on your clit. 

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh and chuckled, hot breath fanning against your now sweaty skin. “Thought as much. My little slut. Knew I heard ya..” he took your earlobe between his teeth for a moment, nipped and then licked a stripe up your neck “tryna make yourself cum. Couldn't figure it out yourself huh?” 

You shook your head. “horny little girl, need me to do everything for ya.” You had indeed, countless times rather ashamedly. The thought that he’d possibly heard you long enough for it to be a problem, had likely fucked your mother at the thought, wishing it was you under him in her stead was a thought that would live in your head for all eternity. 

He kissed your cheek, then pushed you back down. “S’why ya keep spreading your legs for the whole world huh?” He put a palm on the middle of your back, holding you down as he continued to thrust inside you. “Chasin’ cock all day long.”

“Can’t help this whore cunt huh? So desperate to cum.” holding yourself up on your forarms you raised your head, turning back to get a look at him fucking into your desperate pussy. 

“Knew it the moment I fuckin’ saw you. Dumb slut got nothing to her name besides this sweet pussy. No one taught ya any manners, how to be a good little girl.” His thumb brushed over the cut of your jaw, fingers squeezing your cheeks. His index and middle fingers swiped your lips, and they instinctively parted to let him push them in. You sucked and drooled around his digits, doing little to contain your moans as he continued to fuck you from behind. The taste of your arousal sat heady on your tongue. “Always knew ya wanted it, stupid little slut.”

“Runnin that whore mouth all day like you're payin’ for the house.” his hips snapped towards yours, his cock buried deep inside you. “But it aint your house, bunny .” With the way your tits were pressing against the smooth metallic finish of his stupid pickup truck you were sure they were going to leave a mark. 

You released his fingers with a pop, and he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around, hurriedly tossing you onto the hood of his car till your feet were also planted firmly above the bumper. Before you could even register the movement he was slipping back inside you, you felt yourself pulse around his cock. You hoped and prayed no one was remotely near, your wailes and whines loud enough to travel far into the distance. 

“Get that in your fuckin’ head” He tapped his index gently against your temple and you nodded, frantically pleading yes after yes. You felt him throb inside you, each drag of his cock building the tension in your belly. You felt your pussy squeeze around him, and you wiggled your hips closer to chase the feeling. 

Your head turned side to side, your whole body buzzing at the heat between your legs. You don't think you’d ever felt anything like it. Sure, it felt good to touch yourself, but this, the feeling of his cock inside you, against your wet walls, it was entirely different. 

The tension only built in your hips, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you hurtled closer and closer to the edge. Your palms squeezed your breasts, seeking purchase on any part of your body. 

You lay your back down completely, watching the light hit him right in the face, falling against his features to create sharp lines of contrast. You’d take a good long look at him on top of you to save for later, but he was quickly pressing his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut. 

The weight of his body on top of yours was enough to make you cum on your own, but the feeling of his lips was what really did it. For how rough and quick he was splitting you open, his mouth moved gently against yours, his warm tongue parting your lips and gliding into your mouth. You moaned against him and he bit your lip, sensing how close you were. 

“Wanna see that face when you cum for me.”  his palm tilted your face upwards, and while the rest of his fingers continued to squeeze around your neck his thumb slipped between your parted lips. Instinctively, you closed your mouth around him, drooling and moaning around his thumb when he hit the sweet spot inside you over and over. Your pussy clenched around his cock and you tried to whimper his name. You felt another word bubble in your throat but you closed your lips around his digit to push it away. Your eyes fluttered shut at the intensity. 

“Cum for me, lil bunny” his words made you tumble over the edge, your cunt squeezing and gushing around his cock, your back arching off the hood of his car. His fingers squeezed around your neck, holding your face in place so he could get a good look at your eyes rolling back into your head. 

It was like a blackout, your ears rang so loud and your lips loosened around his thumb, going slack as you rode out your high. You felt him throb inside you at the sight. You felt the ache deep inside you, all the pleasure bursting in a single climactic second. Your lips fell slack around his fingers, whole body twitching at the sensation. 

Your climax set him off, and it wasn't long before he was burying himself inside your hot heat. His cock pulsed against your wet walls, painting your insides with his spend. He groaned and squeezed around your neck just a little harder. You sucked his thumb gently and heard him curse under his breath. You tried to keep your fluttering eyes on his face, watching intently as the aftershocks subsided and Javier's brows knit closer with his final few thrusts. 

After a few moments he stilled inside you, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pulled his thumb from your warm mouth to brush your bottom lip, then let his own lips take their place. You felt him pull out and you winced at the burn. He put both your legs up on his shoulders and leaned between your legs. 

You watched as his head disappeared between your legs to place a kiss to your inner thigh, and pull your panties back up your hips. You reached for him and he pulled you up to his chest. “Gotta clean up a lil bit, bunny..” he fixed your dress and lifted you off the hood and into his arms. “Ain’t nothing to worry about.” You already knew your painties were ruined for good with a red stain by that point. 

You rested your forearms on his shoulders, quite liking being held in his arms. “Knew you were always to much of a fucking perv to be a good cop.” He smacked your ass again for good measure and placed you on the ground. “You aint’ too much of a slut to fuck your stepdaddy aint it?” 

He stepped aside and you watched him do up his belt again, walking towards the driver's side of the car. You looked behind you and towards the expanse of the woods. The trees rustled, and you heard, presumably, the same owl hoot from the distance. A small crackle in the foliage had you swiftly walking to the passenger side and yanking open the door. You hopped inside and slammed it behind you. 

Javier was reaching in the glove box to stash away his gun. “Please” You swallowed, looking towards him. “Please just don’t tell her. She's going to have a freak out.”

Javi glanced at you momentarily, then murmured a dismissive “yeah yeah” as he started up the engine. That wasn't good enough for you. “Please, she’ll give me hell, I can’t deal with it.” You shook your head, then shifted in your seat. He muttered another “yeah”, checking his pockets for the keys to your front door. God forbid they slipped out while he was fucking your brains out. 

You turned towards him in your seat, both hands on the centre console. “Please.” Javier grabbed the keys, hooked them to his belt loop and dropped his head in a sigh. He turned towards you, taking a moment to reach over and buckle you into your seat. 

“‘Ain’t gonna tell, so stop askin’ before I change my mind.” He knew he didn’t need to ask you to keep your mouth shut– perhaps the most humiliating part of this all. 

“Okay.. yeah..”  The headlights flashed as you began your journey back home, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. You sank back, twisting in Javi’s direction, now curled up in the seat. His eyes remained on the road ahead. “Don’t do this shit again.” 

“Just wanted some adventure.” your voice grew thick, and you yawned. “Next time ya want adventure watch a fuckin’ hitchcock film or something.” He reached out a hand to cup your cheek, engulfed it and patted it gently. 

”Ain't always gonna be there to save your ass, bunny.” 

— 

PART II

In between

What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine

Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind

If I fear I'm losing you. it's just no good

You teasing like you do

Eeek! Hope you enjoyed!! I’m very excited for this series, and I hope you are too! Please let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who interacts with my work! Your comments and reblogs keep me writing 💗🐝

[wheresarizona]

Spring Breaks Loose

summary: It's a beautiful Spring day, and you're spending it with Javier and your two pet calves, Daphne and Velma. To keep your husband on his toes, you ask him some very random questions.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: T (No y/n, Husband Javier Peña, Soft Javier Peña, mild language, oral sex mention (f + m receiving), domestic fluff, slice of life, pregnancy, waxing poetic about cheese, romantic comedy, Javier referring to you, Daphne, and Velma as ‘his girls’)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: Hello there! To celebrate Learning to Live's third birthday (insane), I wrote something that has art! Thank you to all of those still reading this labor of my love. It means a lot to me that you've stuck with me this long. This story will always have a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy to share it with others. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!

Art by the incredible @kenobiwanx! (Thank you, it's perfect!)

(Note: Cielito is a reader-insert character and written without physical attributes, so you can picture her however you want. Cielito is you! I just needed a reference for the artwork, so I chose a model that kind of looked like me. 😊)

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The warmth of spring is a welcome change from the chill of winter. The shining sun will begin its descent soon, and you’ll watch it from the base of this towering oak tree, beneath its curving branches and green leaves. You sit with your husband while the two calves you call your bovine daughters graze nearby.

His large palm is a comfort, resting on your belly, your hand over his.

“Okay,” you start. With how you’re lying back across Javier’s lap to prop yourself up on his bent knee, it’s easy to gaze at his beautiful, smiling face. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”

For the last twenty minutes, you’ve been asking him random questions. If you could be any Skittle, what color would you be? Red. Do you put on your socks left or right foot first? Right. Do you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain? Yes, as long as it’s with you.

“A horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses…” he replies. “Hmmm.” His expression shows he’s really thinking it out, which delights you. “A horse-sized duck could do some real damage. I think I’d choose the duck-sized horses. It’d be a bitch fighting a hundred, but definitely better than a giant fucking duck.”

“Solid answer.”

“What would you choose?”

“Oh, absolutely, the duck-sized horses. You’re right about the horse-sized duck doing damage. That’s a no, thank you from me.”

He chuckles. “You got another question?”

“Ummm.” You take a second to think of one. “Oh! If you had to choose, would you give up cheese or blow jobs for the rest of your life?”

He frowns. “Can I still eat you out?”

You giggle. “Yes. You can give oral, but you can’t receive it.”

“Fuck, this is a hard one.”

You smile. “I know.”

“You give really fucking good head.” That makes you preen. “But, a lot of the shit you cook has cheese in it, and you know how much I love your food.”

The only person whose cooking he loved more than yours was his late mother’s. But, from what you’ve heard, eating her food was a religious experience, so you understand.

“You love it a lot.”

He smiles. “I do. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’d give up blow jobs.”

“Wow, that’s a little surprising. Also, very sweet that you’d choose my cooking over getting your dick sucked.”

His free hand caresses your face, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek. “I can live without blow jobs, but I can’t live without your food—”

“Awe.”

“—or eating your pussy.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles and quickly pecks your lips. “What about you?” He asks when he pulls back. “Cheese or my mouth?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“It’s hard to choose, right?”

“Yeah, it is. ‘Cause you are fucking amazing at eating pussy. Like, you deserve the highest honor for being the ‘World’s Greatest Cunnilinguist.’” That makes him laugh, his smile so big his dimple appears. “It’s true. I’m not even joking. Then we have cheese—glorious, delicious cheese. A gift to humankind. The eighth wonder of the culinary world.”

He’s amused. “I think I know, but which would you give up?”

“My god. I’m sorry, babe, but I think it has to be oral. I can’t imagine living without cheese. It’s cheese, for goodness’ sake!”

“I’m not surprised by your choice. You fucking love cheese.”

“Um, who doesn’t love cheese? Like, cheese is so good that many lactose-intolerant people are willing to suffer for the tasty goodness, and I don’t blame them. Also, you love cheese. Don’t deny it!”

He’s looking at you with soft eyes and a soft smile, the fondness clear on his handsome face. “I do love cheese.”

“Thank you. Now, it’s your turn to ask a question—look, the girls are curious about what their dad is gonna ask.”

The calves approach you both and lie down—the red one, Daphne, choosing a spot in the grass beside you to rest her head in your lap while her sister, Velma, gets comfortable on the ground by Javi’s feet.

It makes you smile, your hand moving to stroke your fingers over the red calf’s head.

“Can’t let my girls down,” he replies. “Let me think.” His eyes move away from yours for only a moment as he thinks about it. He meets your gaze again. “If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”

“A classic. I’m assuming no wishing for more wishes?” you ask.

“Correct.”

“Okay. Universal healthcare, perfect tits, and for our family to be happy and healthy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You already have perfect tits.”

“Right now, they’re pretty great, but I’m thinking post-however many babies we’re gonna have, and, you know, aging.”

“They’ll still be perfect.”

You smile, playfully swatting at his chest. “Stop it, or I’ll beg you to get me pregnant.”

His lips turn up, his expression matching yours. “You’re already pregnant.” For emphasis, he rubs his palm over your dress-covered tummy where you aren’t even showing yet.

“Fine, double pregnant, which—“ You frown. “—when I actually think about that, it sounds awful for a first pregnancy. I have bad enough heartburn with one baby growing inside me, and don’t get me started on the morning sickness. Why do they even call it that? It’s misleading. This shit is all day. How worse would all of this be with two buns in my Easy-Bake oven?”

He leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Thankfully, this time around, you don’t have to find out.” He sits back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows creasing in concern. “Are you nauseous right now? Do we need to head back to Pop’s?”

Instead of coming out here on horseback, Javi brought you in his truck with the girls in a trailer behind it. He drove slowly, so the bumps weren’t too bad.

Your free hand went over his on your stomach again, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, I’m okay. It’s not too bad right now.”

“If it gets worse, tell me, and we can go.”

“I will. Thank you, babe. So, what are your three wishes?”

“A chance to talk to my mom again.” That didn’t surprise you. She passed away eight years ago, and he missed her dearly. “I’d love to tell her how happy I am, and all about you and her first nieto (grandchild) on the way.” He rubs small circles on your belly.

“She’d be so excited about her nieto (grandchild).” It is still too early to know the baby’s gender. “Not only that, I think she’d be more excited than Pop, and that’s saying something since he literally shows the sonogram to every single person he talks to.”

It’s true. He keeps it in his wallet, and any time he goes into town, he shows it to whoever he sees.

An amused huff leaves him. “You’re right. She’d be way worse than Pop.”

“We’d love it, though.”

“Yes, we would.”

“What‘s your second wish?”

“To have a baby with you,” he answers immediately.

You smile. “How does it feel to know that wish is going to come true?”

His face visibly lights up with a toothy grin that makes you giggle. “Fucking amazing. I am the happiest man on the entire planet, and it’s all thanks to you.” He pecks the tip of your nose.

“I wouldn’t say it’s all me. I mean, you had a part in making the baby. It was a small one that only lasted like, ten seconds, but it was still pretty important.”

“Sure, but I believe you once said that I only contribute a pleasurable 1% to our group project that you are doing 99% of the work on. By those numbers, I think you deserve all of the credit. So, it is all thanks to you, mi amor (my love).”

“If you insist.”

“I do. I honestly can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I’m married, we have a kid on the way, we’re gonna have a house, and a dog. Christ, two years ago? I never would’ve imagined this was what my future looked like. Someone could’ve told me, and I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“You’ve come a long way, and I’m just glad you’re finally getting to live a happy life.”

“I am, too.” It’s hardly any effort for him to lean forward, closing the distance to press his plush lips to yours in a tender kiss—warmth spreads through your veins, and your eyes close, relishing this sweet moment. When he breaks away, he gently nudges your nose with his, and your eyelids flutter open, the expression on his face showing his love and happiness.

“You’re adorable,” you tell him. “What’s your third wish?”

He’s smiling. “For our family to be happy and healthy.”

You share his look. “You, sir, are a sap.”

“You said it first.”

“I did.”

“What’s the next question?”

“Why do I have to come up with all of them?”

“Because you’re better at it than I am.”

“That is so true. Give me a second.”

“Okay.”

You sit there against his leg, one hand over his, the other petting Daphne as you think.

“This next one might be a bit controversial,” you say.

“Okay?”

“Is a hot dog in a bun a sandwich?”

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[almostfoxglove]

let's write some ANGST!

hey kids. we're back, as promised! some of you may remember the angst writing challenge I hosted in the summer and, well... what can I say? I love to suffer. so we're back to celebrate the new year and bring in 2025 with some BIG FEELINGS!

❤️‍🩹 rules

1. 📜 your fic must include angst, and at least one image OR the quote from your moodboard. how much angst is totally up to you - happy endings are allowed, but feel free rip my heart out, too :,) 2. ✅ be sure to tag your post #almostfoxgloveangst2 when it's done!

note: photos in the moodboards are just for vibes, and aren't intended to be prescriptive / representative of any characters in your piece.💗 you are welcome to write in any AU or canon universe you like! as usual, 18+ mdni!

❤️‍🩹 participants & masterlist below the cut!

ALL SPOTS HAVE BEEN CLAIMED!

📰 dave york - if only by @guiltyasdave

⚔️ din djarin - The Mirage of a Goodbye by @sawymredfox

🕒 din djarin - @djarinmuse

🦌 din djarin - @slimybeth69

🎯 din djarin - long gone by @burntheedges

⛓️‍💥 din djarin - liminal by @saradika

👻 ezra - Ghosts in the Static by @morallyinept

🌼 frankie morales - Begin Again by @toomanystoriessolittletime

✉️ frankie morales - @amanitacowboy

🎻 javier peña - @quinnnfabrgay-writes

🌾 javier peña - Rotten Luck by @milla-frenchy

☎️ javier peña - Long Distance by @whocaresstillthelouvre

🚬 javier peña - WITHOUT A REWARD by @pedgito

🪖 javier peña - "That Won't Ever Be Me, Bebita" by @iknowisoundcrazy

🌳 joel miller - @aurorawritestoescape

🔒 joel miller - what remains of a man by @jolapeno

🕯️ joel miller - @gracieheartspedro

👑 joel miller - My Paramour, My Evermore by @schnarfer

🛑 joel miller - The Other Woman by @evolnoomym

🐎 joel miller - @arcanefox207

🍷 lucien de leon - @gothcsz

🪙 marcus acacius - The Road to Rome by @myownwholewildworld

✒️ marcus acacius - I can't hear it now by @joelmillerisapunk

🚂 marcus pike - The Genuine Article by @secretelephanttattoo

🪦 max phillips - I Will Follow You Into the Dark by @jennaispunk

⛪ max phillips - @yopossum

🥀 oberyn martell - Of Death and Butterflies by @galway-girlatwork