#c; Steve Murphy

[ithinkwehitametaphor]

Incorrect Narcos Quotes

[devilmademewriteit]

Playing Dangerous

part 2 of Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: sure, the fact that he’d schemed up an entire, elaborate ruse to get between your legs was upsetting. more upsetting was the fact that he refused to fess up, insisting that you needed to be protected (or at the very least—cautious) because your life was in ‘grave danger.’ most upsetting, however? that would be the fact that through it all and above everything else, you still wanted him—badly.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of reader having long hair; bratty!reader; brat-tamer!javi; alcohol consumption; smoking; pet names (baby, sweetheart, cariño, hermosa); some angst; dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, age gap).

word count: 10.7k (sorry again)

no use of y/n in this fic

hello here is part twooooo! thank you for all the love on Salvatore I absolutely love all of you so much. you don't rly need to read p1 to enjoy this, just know that: reader is the ambassador's secretary and is an asshole, Javi is also an asshole, they fucked for the first time a few days ago b/c he took her home after someone seemed to be after her life.

don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty; feedback, asks, comments, smoke signals and carrier pigeons always welcome. kisses. -em<3

—

read part 3, Dark Paradise, here.

—

Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer! - Playing Dangerous

“I am not speaking to you.”

Murphy’s eyes come alive with exasperation, a striking shift from their usual half-asleep, perpetually vacant gawp. Not quite at the point of impatience yet, his voice is soft when he responds.

“Please.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. An impassive sneer makes its way onto your expression.

Not a fucking chance.

Not only were you not planning on ever doing Steve Murphy—and especially, his asshole partner—even the smallest of favours throughout your remaining time on this godforsaken planet, you’d come to the conclusion (quite recently, in fact) that you’d rather dance barefoot on broken glass than be in the same room as either member of the pair.

And it was a shame, really.

After that (now regrettable, once incredible) night at Peña’s place, everything had been fine.

More than fine. Not even awkward.

For a glorious moment, waking up next to him, ruined and sore and bruised and satisfied, sharing a morning coffee and then a ride to work—peace (and the planted seeds of something else, too) had finally settled across the worn-in battlegrounds between you, solid roots spreading with each passing second spent not bickering. For crying out loud, when he’d gotten called away to Bogotá that very same day, you’d put yourself to work keeping his place clean, going so far as to anticipate his return.

Everything had been fine.

Until, of course, you’d gotten the old Chevy serviced.

“Car’s running fine, señorita. Put that missing part back, s’good to go.”

“Missing part?”

“The spark plug—wasn’t in there when we looked.”

And the missing pieces fell into place.

How he’d waltzed into your car earlier on in the day, running his fingers along the hard, hot plastic of the dash—analyzing, observing, and finally commenting on your shitty engine. Then, he’d been conveniently there, waiting for you in the middle of the night, watching you wrestle your hood open in the parking lot after work. Hell, he took you to his place after he’d told you he'd seen a shady truck parked in front of yours… and you’d trusted him.

Without bothering to check for yourself, you’d trusted him.

You had to hand it to the man; it was a clever plan. Wear you down during the day only to corner you while alone, vulnerable, and at night, with no possible avenues for escape.

All to get inside your pants.

God.

Murphy huffs, bringing you back down to Earth. “Listen,” he rubs his temples, exhaustion weighing down the curves of shoulders, “We just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to stay with him, either; Connie—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes in full view of his own. “I keep wondering, though... seeing as you're… thick as thieves, these days,” you lean forward over your desk, studying his swallow. “Was it you that shot off that gun? Or did he get someone else to participate in his little scheme?”

The agent tilts his head to the side, putting on the air of a wordless 'really, sweetheart?' before launching into a recitation of a sorely well-versed explanation.

But you cut him off, unforgiving in your suspicion. “Don’t bother, alright? Even if I did believe that, what, some 'cartel sicario'—” you emphasize the ridiculousness of the statement by tossing up a couple of well-timed air quotes “—was after me…?” and then you’re gesturing wildly to yourself, fingertips pointed straight to your heart. “I would rather die—really, seriously, die—than step foot into your home—or-or fucking Peña’s—Ever. Again.”

The mounting ire behind your breathless rambling finally wears him down; he surrenders his complexion to a look of genuine defeat. His arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp.

As you try to appear busy, fidgeting with the scattered papers and documents lying listlessly across your desk, Murphy turns on his heels, stooping toward the exit.

For a brief moment, he hesitates, coming to a slow halt halfway down his holy pilgrimage of freeing you from his fucking presence.

“Did you…” and he briefly trails off, anticipating your wrath with a wince. “Did you fill out that form?”

Irritation clouds your thoughts. Its manifestations in your body feel almost violent.

“What do you think, genius?”

You scare yourself with the aggression underpinning each and every word.

Inside the safety of your mind, your inner dialogue treats him even worse.

Go, motherfucker. Go, go, go, go, go or I’ll tear us both apart, I’ll explode, I’ll—

You hope that it’s Luck listening to your prayers (and not God), because as soon as your brain has time to register the nature of your wicked, near sacrilegious thoughts toward the man, Murphy’s yellow-dusted crown is drooping down in eventual resignation, leading the way as he trudges back to his corner.

A relief.

A short lived one.

Too short.

Because…

Well, because those fucking memories won’t stop replaying inside your mind, etched like crude Botticellis on the backs of your eyelids.

Overlaying the non-stop highlight reel of a vicious fight with Peña, just that morning—

“Well, I didn’t see a car. What I saw was you, whipping me over to your fuck-pad—and now? I see your whole... fucking masterplan to get me into bed.”

“You’re talking fuckin’ crazy. There’s no pussy in the world that’s worth pulling all that.”

—are flashes of his bare, glistening chest, an almost tangible haze of longing obscuring his eyes. You’d taken him in your mouth; you’d felt him all over: against you, with you, inside you.

And when you’re not seeing him, you’re forced to hear him, over and over and over again.

“You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

So, you push certain memories away by calling on certain others, repeating every cruel word you’d ever exchanged with each other like a mantra, an affirmation.

They remind you of the man that Javier Peña truly was.

“You are the worst person I’ve ever had the shit-luck of meeting, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too crazy about you, either. Got some serious growin’ up to do, sweetheart.”

A loud snap wrenches you back to your senses. You unfurl your fingers to reveal the broken remnants of a poor, innocent pencil you’d been white-knuckle-death-gripping.

What really had you ticking was that, after you’d hurled accusations and insults at him for the better part of an hour—totally monopolizing the space of the familiar, dusty old filing room—he’d had the nerve to continue on with his little act.

“You don’t have to stay with me—”

And his voice had been coated in poison, laced with the kind of fiery contempt that surely only a guilty man could achieve.

“—but do me a favour and just don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. It’s shit work, hiring new secretaries.”

He hadn’t waited around for an answer, leaving you alone with his final words and a mountain of your own unsaid ones.

So, you’d hissed a “fuck off” to the lingering ghost of his presence in the room, trying, in vain, to slow your shallow breaths.

You heave a sigh, forehead dropping to lay heavy against the desk.

If only you could take your brain out for the day. If only you could run it under cold water. Better yet, if only you could scrub it clean with bleach, put it in the dishwasher, run it with the damn laundry—anything to make it shiny and new and untainted.

Peña was lying.

He had to be lying.

What kind of shit sicario goes after secretaries who, beyond not knowing what they’re supposed to know about, don’t care enough to actually retain any of it?

Not a good sicario. Definitely not one who would still be alive in Medellìn, today.

It was all bullshit.

~

You weren’t the kind of person who attended work parties.

They always ran excruciatingly long. On top of that, you had to watch traumatized coworkers drink. A lot. Then, there was, of course, after-hours work-talk.

None of that had ever screamed 'best night ever!' to you.

Tonight, however, you hadn’t been given a choice: the ambassador had needed 'someone there, you know, just in case work stuff comes up’ which really meant that she was banking on you to give her a ride home at the end of the night.

Like that was happening. She hadn't been pleased when you'd made it clear to her that you were out of commission, off-the-clock, done-zo starting at fifteen to ten. You'd hoped that, at that point, she would've rescinded her original request. 

She hadn't. 

Still, Noonan had spent the week being remarkably kind to you—maybe her invitation was her (deeply misguided) way of trying to make up for the shit-storm she’d watched you face over past few days (whether she believed Peña’s dystopian, hitman fantasy was uncertain; either way, she’d witnessed your torment at his hands, and both realities seemed equally as emotionally taxing).

Despite all the hints you’d dropped about wanting the night off, she either hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, or thought you were just trying to be polite.

Come on.

She’d been your boss long enough to know there was no chance of you pussy-footing around out of politeness.

The event was meant to commemorate some big accomplishment—a narco sting gone right (or else, some big narco boss gone six-feet-under). The reason behind the festivities wasn’t of any importance to you—getting through the next few hours as quickly and as painlessly as possible took up all of the remaining (albeit limited) space in your head.

Because, afterwards? You were going out. 

A good friend’s bachelorette, a shit-ton of dark tequila, and the warm lips of a total stranger.

God, you needed that. Every intimate spot on your body was in desperate need of a cleanse. Your tongue, the soft skin between your thighs, the peach-fuzz on your cheeks…

They remembered him.

They made sure you couldn’t forget him.

About half-way through serving your sentence in regulatory purgatory, someone turns on the stereo. A Queen song—the one that everyone knows. You’re looking around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It’s mostly administrative and political bodies crowding up the office's stuffy foyer. There’s an odd clink of glass meeting glass whenever someone new walks in, or else when a deal’s finally graduated beyond the negotiation stage.

It’s too highbrow, too boring and white-collar for restless DEA agents, you remind yourself.

Slowly, slowly the hours trickle by.

The music helps—every Diaz song has the minutes moving double-time.

And after what feels like centuries of excruciating small-talk, of brushing off endless, casual condescension, of staring at the clock hanging off the wall, finally, it’s time to go.

First, a last minute change (you’re not wearing a damn button-up to the bar—it’ll be a tight dress and cute shoes or absolutely nothing at all) and a quick refresher in the bathroom. Then, you’re trailing a bee-line towards the exit with 'home-free' on the tip of your tongue. 

Keep your head down. Nod. A chagrined smile to each pair of gawking eyes.

‘Cause soon? You’ll be dancing.

You’re straddling the office doors, left foot in, right foot out when an authoritative voice calls your name from behind.

Christ Almighty.

Turning slowly, you find yourself triangulated between Noonan and…

Fucking Steve Murphy.

That one looks apprehensive. The former?

A bit red in the face.

“Murphy, here,” the ambassador gestures sloppily towards the agent’s uneasy form, “Tells me he needs something. Papers, right? Think we can get that to him before you leave for your… little soirée—what do you say?”

She doesn’t catch it, but he does; your unbridled, aversive stare pierces him right between his eyes. Forcing it down (and oh, does it ever burn your throat) you etch a reluctant smile, nodding wordlessly to your boss.

God, if only money were an object. This damn job would be a short paragraph on your resume, a blip in your timeline on this Earth.

Noonan slaps Murphy on the back, harrumphing as though she’d just solved world hunger. Quickly, she finds someone new to accost (or be accosted by), swept into a different, equally-boring conversation before you can even begin to feel angry at her for putting you into such a… distasteful position.

And you whir on him.

Before the rush of accusations gets a chance to part from your lips, Murphy interrupts you, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing.” He sounds serious, sincere. “Swear. She came up to me and just… knew all about it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Nonetheless, your fingernails slowly retreat from their burrows in the skin of your palm.

It’s not because of his earnestness.

No.

It’s because only a serious maniac would flaunt their under-the-table bullshit so publicly, flying it right under the ambassador’s nose. Whatever those records were for (and whatever the reason why Peña and Murphy so badly needed them), it was becoming increasingly clear that they were not intended to land in either of their hands.

Murphy hadn’t been nervous because of you. He’d been nervous because of her. A little less drink, a bit more curiosity, and Noonan would've been privy to whatever it was that the pair was up to.

“Fine.”

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, dropping like stones with the release.

Without another word, you make your way down the hall, charging toward the alcove harboring your desk. Murphy trails behind, five feet back at all times like a recently-scolded school-child.

Good.

It takes a few, long minutes to get the job done.

He waits around anxiously, fiddling with your stationary (until you slap his hand away from your beloved pens and planners) and pacing around the room.

When it's done, you don’t read the form, you don’t investigate. The less you know, the better.

And frankly?

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

As the papers slide out of the printer, you warn him: “You’re gonna need a signature from their side, you know. I can only get you so far.”

He nods, taking the precious sheets in hand. “Think we got that side covered.” Then, he’s reading them over, checking to make sure everything's in order. You stand with your hand on your hip, waiting impatiently for his goddamn approval. After an eternity (really—by the end of it you’re genuinely wondering whether the man should get tested for dyslexia), Murphy hums in satisfaction, giving you an awkward, “Thanks, again.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your half-exposed chest.

Didn’t even thank me a first time, asshole.

He spins around, aiming for the exit, when another body appears before him.

And the man stops Murphy in his tracks, deep-brown eyes trailing down to the packet of papers cradled between his partner's hands.

“Noonan came through, then.”

It’s all he says.

Your nostrils flare.

The skin on your face positively burns.

Of course it had been him. He was probably the entire reason behind the ambassador’s unusual tipsyness, too. Hell, he’d probably fed her Prosecco and half-compliments ‘til she’d been more than happy to do him a million favours.

Wasn’t that his M.O., anyways? ‘Get ‘em drunk and get my way?’

Three comfortable, familiar words find themselves sliding—easily—off your tongue.

“Fuck off, Peña.”

You surprise yourself with the cruelty of your tone, the biting emphasis of each word.

He settles his onyx eyes on you. They glaze over with hunger, with amusement, with danger.

Fuck.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart—I will in a minute,” and he nods at his partner, effectively dismissing him.

Murphy hesitates, eyes jumping between the stand-off taking place before him. Likely, he was trying to decide which one of you was going to murder the other first.

Finally, with his beloved form tucked under his arm, Murphy heaves a sigh of resignation, and then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with Peña.

The corners of his lips pull back into an arrogant smirk as his eyes rake over your body—done up, dressed down, and positively fuming in your little kitten heels.

“You look hot.”

It’s all he says.

Some girls would’ve killed to hear those words from him. You’d spent years watching their eyes trail his movements in the office, listening to their puling voices—'is Javi there?'—over the phone.

But it just makes you want to scream.

Fearing the actual possibility of that coming to fruition, you keep your mouth sealed shut. Tight.

Silence won’t do for Peña.

“What’d you tell me, once?” He muses softly, making his way towards your desk. “Somethin’ about this place not bein’ a… a what’d you call it? A brothel?”

Dog.

He yanks a retort from your lips as if he had full command over them. “I’m going out, asshole.”

His face twitches ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to catch the hint of emotion. Then, it’s gone.

“No, you’re not.”

Casual as ever, he does that thing: runs a finger from the corner of his bottom lip down the length of it, looks up at you through thick, dark eyebrows.

You bristle at the sheer, unwinding effect it has on you.

“Yes, I am.”

He raps his knuckles against the desk in irritation; nevertheless, his voice is soft, imploring as he persists. “C’mon, baby. I need you to listen to me, right now. It’s..." and he undresses you with a mere look, "It's not a good time for you to be goin’ to those kinds of places.”

Just like any other man.

Probably, Peña’s ego was so over-inflated that the mere thought of any of his conquests colluding with another man had him on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

Because God forbid you fuck anyone else.

God forbid you even think of touching anyone else.

And this strange, uncharacteristic possessiveness, this… need for control—it was wearing extremely thin.

The man had zero authority over you. He certainly didn’t get to preside over the choices you made during your free time.

“Don’t call me baby, Peña—I’m not your baby.” The snapped retort makes you sound so young, to the point where, for a moment,  you understand why the agent had called you a brat so many times that one, fateful night.

Still, you soldier on, focussed on freeing yourself from yet another one of the evening's grueling set-backs. “And I’m not gonna ‘listen to you’ just ‘cause you think you’ve got some sort of… machismo claim over me.”

A deft muscle in his jaw tenses. He rounds the desk, moving just a half-foot closer to you; that alone is enough to jump-start your heart, and you’re almost sure he can hear it, jack-hammering away inside your chest. You both know that being the first to step away signified weakness—concession—so you stay put (even when your legs yield to a slight wobble).

And he’s almost crooning. “You can spread those legs for half the country, for all I care, baby.” A condescending look, cast down at you over the bridge of his nose. “Not what this is about.”

Yeah, right.

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Still working that angle?”

He takes a step forward. “Is it so crazy to think that I could just be tryna look out for you?” Meeting your gaze, he speaks earnestly—pleading through his irritation.

“I don’t need you to ‘look out for me’,” Your back grazes against the ambassador’s doors—you kick yourself internally for having subconsciously conceded to a back-step. “Especially not since the last time I thought that’s what this was?” your fingers gesture wildly between the (lack of) space separating your bodies, “You totally took advantage of me.”

A pause as the agent fluctuates from bafflement to genuine offense.

“Took adv—are you being serious?” he scoffs, shaking the coarse, dark hair on his crown. “I gave you, like, one drink.”

Victory courses through your veins at the sudden, intense flood of irritation marking his tone, the vein popping in his jaw. 

Anything to get to him, to make him tick, to scratch that itch. 

Dig. Dig. Dig.

A shrug. “Maybe you put something in it.”

His eyebrows jump up, eyes widening with the movement.

Just. So. Close.

“And… you know, I am a lot younger than you—”

“—okay, enough.”

Peña’s growled response has your voice fizzling out into nothingness. Closing what’s left of the distance between you, muscled form looming, he flattens you against the ambassador’s office doors. As one large hand slowly splays out next to your ear, the other comes up to grasp your chin. His fingers wrap around your jawbone, all the way from one ear to the other. 

You’re stuck, frozen under the weight of that dominant leer.

“Y’know,” he muses, deep and low, “It’s really fuckin’ obvious what all this is actually about, sweetheart.” Trapped in his glare, you watch his eyes grow dark, his gravelly voice falling into a register you’d never before heard it descend to. And he’s so, so close to you, close enough that you can smell him: that distinct, earthy scent of man that never failed to have your head spinning, your arms weak. “This… highschool bullshit you’ve been pullin’ since I got back… accusin’ me of all kinds of shit—"

You deny yourself the pleasure of looking at his lips when his words withdraw into an almost-whisper.

“Makes you feel real innocent, doesn’t it?

You don’t respond, concentrating on stifling the growing ache in your core, the thump-thump-thumps inside your rib cage, the lump forming in your throat.

A rarity, a miracle, Jesus turning water into wine: words fail you. 

“Know what I think, cariño?” His fingernails press into your cheeks, digging soft indents. Not to bruise—

To hold you steady.

To assure himself of his command over your full, devoted attention.

When he finally continues, his smoky breath raises the hairs along your exposed skin.

God, it must be, like, nine-hundred degrees in the room.

“I think”—and he’s toying with you, near-black eyes dancing with amusement—“You’re just embarrassed.”

Leaning in, his lips brush against the ridges of your ear, slow words washing over you in big, heavy waves. “‘Bout how easy it was for me to get between these legs.” Male, calloused fingers ghost over the skin of your thighs, creeping higher and higher up the length of your body.

“Remember how wet you got for me, cariño? Beggin’ me to fuck you so rough?”

And for a brief, suspended moment—

You do.

He leans back enough for you to watch his eyes harden, uttering an “I remember it all, baby,” as his thumb leaves your jaw to trace the highest point of your cheekbone.

And his tone turns to stone. 

“Especially when you’re acting like you need a fuckin’ reminder.”

Your cheeks grow red-hot. The ground feels unsteady under your feet—and the spell breaks.

Pig.

“You’re fucking vile, Peña,” you spit, wrenching his grip off your face. “And also, dead wrong.” Slamming into his shoulder, you aim to storm out.

He catches your arm, twisting you back around to face him. “If you go out tonight,” the man near-growls, lecturing down at you like a damn parent, “You’re putting your life and everyone else's on the line.”

You tear your wrist from his fingers, shrugging off his empty warning with a dramatic spin on your heels.

Strutting out, you leave him with a poison-coated, “Say ‘hi’ to the whores for me.”

And you’re gone.

~

It’s loud. Your feet are sore from dancing in your heels. A different, unfamiliar body is in reach in every possible direction from your own.

It’s perfect.

Five shots in and you still feel like you could take more, if only to forget the exhausting events of the day.

Less than 48 hours ago you’d been prepared—dear God, longing—to hand yourself over to a man you were now quite happy to never see again. With your hands wrapped around a stranger’s neck, you’re determined to cleanse yourself of his lingering traces.

He’s gazing down at you, male, hungry eyes gunning for the taking. Local, you guess, or at the very least South-American. After a daring look, you grab him by the collar, brushing your starved lips against his.

“Want to get out of here?”

The pronunciation isn’t great—but it does the trick. He nods enthusiastically, allowing you to take his hand in your own without hesitation. Too easy. The hard part is weaving through the agitated, bustling crowd with your nameless partner in tow.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But God, is it ever necessary.

Escaping your friends at the start of the night had been child’s play, and they could be counted on to be too fucked-up at this hour to notice your absence, anyway.

Good.

Your act of desperation would be remembered solely by its participants.

A gentle evening wind swirls around your tingling body, the day’s heat hanging thick in the air as you step onto the street, the syncopated thumps of Latin music fading unwillingly into the background.

Pivoting abruptly, you flatten yourself against the wall outside, pulling the stranger in close by the fabric of his blue button-up.

“Yours or mine?”

He smirks, gentle lines forming by his golden eyes. Internally, you commend yourself: the catch was quite pretty.

“Here is okay, I think.”

Then, his lips are on yours, parting you open in a sloppy, drunk kiss.

This could work.

His traveling hands already seem to be numbing some of the tension simmering under your skin.

This could work.

His rough kisses overwhelm your senses, slowly filling the hollow ache lodged at the heart of your core.

Please, God—let this work.

Just as a hand reaches up to cradle the back of your neck—

(let this work, let this work, let this work)—

Just as a pleased moan travels from your lungs into his own—

Tires screech against the pavement, slamming you back into your body, wrenching you straight into the dire moment. Tearing your lips from the stranger’s, you peer over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of a black Camino screaming to a stop right before you. Time stops; the windows are down, and what you know to be the barrel of a hand-gun pokes out from the backseat.

“Get down!”

Maybe it's in your head (after all, it would make sense for your psyche to summon his voice in a moment so violent); or maybe it's real. Either way, you listen to the command, hitting the ground without any reservations. And those stupid heels—you stumble, face-planting onto the pavement, scraping every exposed part of your body against hot, rough cement.

A cry of terror rips from your throat as the sound of bullets punctuates the warm, summer night—Jesus, it’s louder than anything you’d ever heard before. 

Somewhere along the chaos, the pretty stranger from the bar books it down the calle.

Everything happens so fast. A familiar Cherokee veers in the way, separating you from the attackers. The surrounding air becomes rife with lead, a terrified chorus of male and female voices joining the symphony, and you really can’t tell whether the pain in your chest is from the friction of your own harmonizing screams or if it’s bullets tearing through your body. From the ground, you watch your attackers’ vehicle take off down the street, haphazardly parting crowds of cowering civilians in its wake.

When it all stops, it doesn’t really stop.

Violence persists, ringing in your ears like a doomsday clock going off, an A-bomb alarm siren. The echoes are happy to prolong your torment.

The Jeep’s passenger door swings open. You scramble back, scampering down the pavement as adrenaline claims you in never-ending rushes.

“Get inside, now.”

You nearly sob with relief at the familiar voice. It hadn't all been in your head. Jumping up on unstable legs, you lunge into his car, jerking the door shut behind you.

Without sparing a moment, his white-knuckled hands yank the wheel to the side, veering onto a road just off the main strip.

Javier Peña’s never looked so stressed.

“You’re not gonna follow them?” It comes out as a cry, a desperate plea for retribution.

He doesn’t answer.

Which doesn’t stop you.

You want to see them punished for making you feel so helpless, and for the scrapes and bruises decorating your elbows, your knees, your palms.

“Javi,” a begging king of shout, “Why aren’t we following them?”

“‘Cause you’re in the fucking car!”

In the heat of the moment, the cutting edge of his harsh tone doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s gentle compared to the violent sensations stewing within your body and mind.

“So?”

He takes a sharp right, slamming your side against the Jeep’s hard interior.

“Been in enough…” He grits his teeth, trying to keep his irritation in check, “Compromising situations tonight, alright? Now, just shut up ‘n let me drive.”

You pipe down, not awfully interested in getting yelled at again in your fragile state.

At first, it feels like the full-body trembles wracking your entire being won’t ever cease. And yet, by the grace of God, after a few minutes, the thundering behind your ribcage slowly subsides.

It helps that you’re still a little buzzed.

It especially helps when his driving slows and the streets begin to empty—when the shops and houses become more and more recognizable, when the night grows more and more tame.

You know where he’s headed. The safety of the intended destination has you relaxing, finally level enough to take deep breaths.

Eventually, he stops the car, cutting the engine in full view of his building's front door.

The rumbling stops, and suddenly, it's very quiet. Javier groans, leaning back against his seat, bringing a hand up to his temples. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes closed behind the palm of his hand.

And oh.

He’s pissed.

“Go inside, lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.” His command, though dripping with ire, is underpinned with genuine concern. When you don’t respond, he finally shifts his gaze to meet yours, fixing you with an intimidating, severe kind of stare.

“Do you understand?”

At first, your impulse is to respond with a bitchy retort, to meet his intensity head-on with your own brand of unpleasantness. You stifle that reflex, taking stock of the situation at hand: Peña had just saved you from a flurry of bullets.

Peña… had just saved you…

And the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

He’d been telling the truth.

Someone was really after you. Twice, now, they'd tried to take your life.

And, still? Your addled brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea of Peña’s innocence. Your bursting question takes you both by surprise.

“So, you didn’t take my spark plug?”

He stares at you, full mouth parted in genuine bewilderment. Then, he scoffs, breathing an exhausted exhalation. “No, I didn’t take your damn spark plug, sweetheart. That’s what I’ve been saying. If you’d bothered to actually fuckin’ listen for once in your life…” he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “‘Could’ve avoided all… this.”

Shame tries its best to seep into your core. You resist it, scrambling for reasons to justify your actions to him.

To yourself.

You hated being wrong. That feeling had a tendency of overwhelming everything else—of overriding rationality, itself.

So, you turn to a classic defense, an ol' reliable: deflection. “After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, can you blame me for not, just like, blindly trusting you?”

He scowls, angling his shoulders to square off with your own.

“Never asked for you to ‘blindly trust’ shit, though, did I?” He huffs, “Jesus.” 

You try not to wince as he continues on, as the truth of his words and the seriousness of his delivery render you mute. “You’re a secretary, sweetheart. This is my job—my life—okay? When I tell you to be careful, for the sake of your own damn good, you need to listen to me.”

There’s a long pause as his words tease out your final, entangled threads of resistance.

He was right. You’d been stupid in your denial, putting yourself and dozens of others in danger.

Putting Javi in danger.

It takes everything you have to fight the tears threatening to well along your lashes. But there's no sense in allowing yourself to mourn your mistakes—at least not at this very moment.

No, now was not the time to work through your shame.

Now was the time to seek forgiveness.

To make amends.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to catch his downcast eyes. 

And it’s true.

Javi shakes his head, resisting your apology. He says nothing, and your heart aches for him.

Whatever this man was—he hadn’t deserved a fraction of the hell you’d given him.

The hell you’d given him because…

Because he’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to soften you, to see you in a way that not one single person had the right to. He’d been a novelty: the first man you’d trusted enough to be capable of handling the full breadth of yourself. And when that had started to feel volatile—as though he’d gained too much of you?

Well, you’d needed a reason to push him away. To wrench yourself back from him.

Because you’d been embarrassed.

Knowing that he’d been right about that, too, makes you feel so small, so young, and deeply naive.

Immature.

You lean over, crooning at his turned profile.

“I mean it, Javi.” His name is your weapon—you will it to wear him down—a reminder of what it sounds like leaving your lips. “I’m sorry.”

Again, silence.

It’s fucking unbearable.

Placing an unsteady hand on his knee, you trail it up his thigh—slowly. His chest hitches with the force of a deep, sharp inhale and yet, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

But you catch his reflection in the glass: a slight twinge of the eyebrows, a delicate parting of the lips, and a hint of longing within those furious eyes.

Wiggle room.

“Could you ever forgive me?” You ask timidly, seductively, fingers creeping towards the crease of his trousers and that big silver buckle looming right above it.

Finally, he turns, his expression meeting yours with a hungry (albeit still deeply annoyed) look.

That wanting you’d learned to recognize…

It excites you.

And as you tug at his belt, releasing it with tantalizing slowness, you keep your steady gaze on his undecided one, uttering a pleading, “I can make it up to you, baby.”

Wordlessly, he watches your fingers move to the button of his pants, then to his fly, working with dedication, with delicate care.

There’s movement as you reach your fingers underneath the fabric. He grows hard for you, burgeoning out of the fabric in a matter of seconds.

It’s all the invitation you could’ve possibly hoped for.

His skin is hot against your knuckles as they slide down his lower abdomen. Grasping the base of his cock, you use two hands to spring him free.

God, he’s even bigger than how you’d remembered him—bigger than even your guiltiest fantasies.

Javi groans softly when you pull him, releases a hot, shallow breath when you stroke him, and a low, breathy “fuuuck” when you finally, finally take him in your mouth.

He tastes like the salt of the ocean. This close, you can smell men's cologne mingling with sweat.

It’s heaven.

And you just don’t want him to be angry anymore. It’s all you can think about—lips cradled adoringly around his cock, tongue running up and down the long length of him—as he throws his head back in pleasure.

He eventually relaxes, conceding to the ecstasy you persuade him with. Almost drinking the uncertainty—the resistance—right out of him.

“Christ,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair, forcing you to take in every last inch of him. “Wanted to shut you up like this all fuckin’ day.”

It becomes a challenge to breathe, but air simply isn’t a priority with a man like him at your fingertips, as your responsibility. This, he knows, his heavy hand determining the slow, careful pace, the impossible depth, and the angle of your unspoken apology.

Growing wet and lightheaded at the same time, you loose a moan against his velvety skin.

Javi laughs, darkly. “Always got somethin’ to say, huh? Even with a mouth full of cock.”

You smile around him—taunts are good. Better than silence, anyways. “Mhmm.”

The sounds of his laughter rumbles soft and low throughout his middle—so different, so sweet and innocent compared to the wet, filthy ones produced by your mouth’s ministrations.

You give him everything you have, ignoring the droplets forming in the corners of your eyes and lips, the dull burning inside your lungs. When the tip of his cock lodges at the back of your throat, you keep him there.

Whatever Javi gives you, you take.

Happily.

Every last drop would find its home inside you, traveling down the length of your tongue and into all of your warmest places.

It was the least you could do for him.

But he has other plans. His hand bunches up your hair, tightening into a fist to pull you off of him. His cock pops out from between your lips; you’re guided up to face him.

He looks stern.

Dangerous.

Out of breath, tears sliding down your cheeks, lips glistening with the slick of your own spit—you’re a welcome sight to any man of his kind.

“Say it.”

He makes use of his free hand, wiping the coarse pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, clearing the string of saliva collecting there.

It’s not rocket science, figuring out what it is that the man wants to hear.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

Neither of you had ever known how much an apology could sound like a prayer.

“Yeah?” Despite the gentleness of his tone, his eyes darken with lust to the point that you feel genuinely nervous about his intentions. “What are you so sorry for, hermosa?”

Fuck, the pet-names... the way his voice changed when reverting to its native tongue—rolling with confidence. At such an awkward angle, you’re forced to grip onto his forearms to keep balance. They feel strong and unbending beneath your fingertips. 

Everything… everything about him draws you in.

He just makes you crazy.

Crazy enough to smile, to turn your profile to the side, laying a long, careful kiss to his palm. Crazy enough to answer his question in a needy, whiney whisper: “for being such a brat.”

He almost smiles, near-black eyes dancing with hunger, with approval, with a playful kind of ire.

Jerking his head to the right, he gestures to the backseat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, cariño?”

You’re nodding before the question really even registers.

He releases his hold on you, deft fingers quickly untangling from your hair.

Victory. Victory. Victory.

Then, you’re stumbling out of the passenger side, opening the door to the backseat.

(You take a second to commend yourself for driving a man so wild, making him so impatient that he couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet required to fuck you inside his apartment. Or, maybe he just liked letting the neighbours watch.)

Before you can even step foot inside the car, you’re being hauled by your upper arms onto Javi’s lap. He manhandles you into his desired position, spreading your knees around his thighs until your dress is hitched up, only covering your ass half-way.

After snaking a hand between your bodies, the agent runs his thumb down the slick fabric of your underwear.

Already, you’re holding back a slew of pathetic whines.

“Next time you give me head”—God, the feeling of those fingers against your clit, the bliss of them pushing your panties to the side, assessing your readiness for him—“Wanna be able to see that pretty mouth while my dick’s inside it, sweetheart.”

His lust has him speaking a bit out of breath. It makes every crude, filthy word sound sweet, almost endearing to you.

Nodding in response, you work with him—lowering yourself onto his fingers as he pushes them between your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, head falling back in appreciation, “You’re soaked.”

His fingers curl up, pressing to please in all the right places. Your answer arrives between gasps: “You tasted good.”

That pleases him.

“Yeah?” and he’s dragging his digits out of you, letting them trail through your folds and along your heavy, sore clit before leaving you wanting, leaving that needy cunt clenching around nothing. “I bet you taste even better.”

Then, his grip is on your jaw, pressing damp spots into your skin under his index, middle, and ring fingers. With the pad of his thumb pressed firmly to your bottom lip (and the row of teeth behind it), Javi eases your mouth open, wider and wider and wider for him.

“Show me—show me how good you taste.”

His index crawls onto your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking him in until his fingernail scratches the back of your throat. He wants to be shown, so you show him: gazing intently into his eyes, you watch his brow furrow as he studies your every movement, as he drinks in your every moan.

“Fuckin' hell,” he groans, commending your efforts. “You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, hermosa?”

Your bottom teeth graze the undersides of his index as you pull off—“yes, Javi.” Almost instinctively, you’re reaching your hand down, letting it coast down the hardness of his chest to rub circles around the slick tip of his cock, still peeking out from his open fly.

“Not yet,” he clicks his tongue, pushing his index, and this time, his middle and ring, too, back through the opening of your lips, “Need to clean yourself off every one of these fingers, first—thaaat’s right.” You listen, obediently sucking everything he gives you. He instructs and praises, “easy—easy, cariño, there it is,” as he watches you glide up and down him in slow, big pulls, all the way down to his knuckles.

It’s fucking filthy, and he loves it, unable to keep that arrogant smirk off of his face.

He’s practically in paradise, coming up with a mental list of creative ways to shut you up.

Still, Javi allows you to multitask: all the while, your fingers continue to explore the exposed parts of his cock. Only when he’s satisfied, when his length couldn’t possibly get any harder—only then does he free your mouth, letting his damp fingers trail down the side of your neck.

The feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

Without warning, he yanks down the straps of your dress and bra, pulling them all the way down until you’re postured on his lap, chest fully exposed; his abrupt movement has you loosing a stunned "Javi!" He runs his palms over the most sensitive peaks of your breasts, a hungry smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Then, he shrugs. “Told you last time I wanted to see them. Got the prettiest fuckin’ tits, hermosa.”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes, to laugh, or to really even register the vulgarity of his words, nor the taunting, degrading way they’re delivered to you. Javi’s already holding both you and himself up in one arm (and, oh, how you’d simply ached for the feel of his strength) pulling down the waistband of his pants. He maneuvers you into the proper position to receive him in, two pairs of downcast eyes watching his cock spring free, tip curving in, grazing against the fabric of his shirt.

He rushes, but it still feels torturously slow. You’re craving, needing, as he uses the dark head of his cock to ease your ruined underwear to the side, guiding himself towards your dripping opening.

This time, he’s far too impatient to make you beg for it.

Ecstasy forces your back into an arch as he pushes himself between your walls, as you feel him filling you up, up, and up—wordless mouth falling open, your heavy head collapses aaall the way back.

Immediately, a hand is at the back of your skull, forcing your gaze back downwards. “No, no, no, baby, you let me see—let me see you when you ride,” and his voice is a little strained, a little desire-stricken, a little bit softer as he settles his every last inch inside your cunt.

Your irises could be forest fires as you set your sights on his own, seeing nothing, absolutely nothing but Javier in that moment.

Moving your hips in tandem, you set your pace.

Mother Mary—it’s hard, so fucking hard to keep your legs steady when he stretches you open—wide fucking open—and as his head grazes that spongy spot inside.

He doesn’t help, either. In fact, while your hands dig anchors into his shoulders (sometimes his chest, his neck, his waist) just to keep yourself upright, his own are trailing up to the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pack of smokes.

You mewl softly at the heat building inside your cunt, loosing an indignant whine as Javi neglects his responsibilities toward your climax.

“Gave me such a hard time today, baby,” he muses, placing a cigarette between his fingers and tossing the rest aside, “Wanna hear a fuckin’ ‘thank you Javi’ every time you come.”

His words dance around you like streetlights passing in the night, barely registering inside your disintegrating mind. How could they? With the feeling of his thighs grazing the undersides of your own, the buttons of his shirt nudging against your aching clit… how could anything else even exist?

All you can give him is an “Mhm.”

He pulls a lighter out, smirking. “‘Tough-talker ‘til this pussy’s all full, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, baby, I’m s-sorry.”

And he laughs. “Don’t say it, cariño,” he takes your hand, placing the light inside your fist. “Fuckin’ show me.”

He rolls his hips. Your weight collapses against his chest.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing you off, straightening you up before placing the cigarette between his lips, “Aaall you gotta do is light up the tip. You got it, sweetheart.”

His hands travel down to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before his fingers splay out. He spreads you open over his thighs, watching the etchings of your lust corrupt your expression as he fucks himself—slow, deep, hard strokes—inside you.

“Fu—please, Javi—I can’t, s’too much, baby—please—”

A smile, full lips parting around the dart. “S’wrong, baby?” The words are low, breathy, teasing, contorting around the smoke in his mouth. “Can’t focus?”

God, just make him happy.

It’s the only thought you seem to be able to form. His request doesn’t seem to be up for debate, either.

So, summoning every last bit of control still lingering inside you, you bring a trembling hand up to the unlit end, a string of moans and ‘Javi’s rising from your throat.

And fuck, he’s beautiful, brimming with playful passion, orange filter hanging off those pretty pink lips.

Trying to still yourself, you flick the lighter on—the flame dances between you, illuminating the expansive darkness lurking inside his gaze. It takes everything, everything you have left to light it for him, to make that white tip glow red hot, to stay steady enough, to keep from burning him.

And also, to hold your pace. That grip of steel wrapped around your hip serves as a constant reminder—

Keep taking it.

In those final moments, he picks up his pace, of course. Your simmering blood bubbles to a boil, the flutters inside your cunt graduating into pulsing throbs.

As the flame finally takes, you feel every muscle inside your core tense—when Javi inhales his first drag, you straddle the precipice of your orgasm.

Your weight falls onto his shoulder. One of his arms reaches up to ash the cigarette; the other wraps tightly around you, bouncing you against him as exhales a cloud of smoke into your hair.

“Baby—Javi, I’m coming, I’m coming, I'm c—”

Heat builds between your thighs, and as that bundle of nerves grows heavy, pulsing with the rush of your orgasm, his thrusts only deepen.

He pulls you in close.

“I know, cariño,” Javi coos, condescending into the shell of your ear, basking in the feel of your cunt near-strangling him in adoration. “Can feel you, y’know? Got such a grateful lil' pussy,” he places a kiss to the side of your neck, groaning against the soft skin. “Always lets me know how much you love having my cock buried inside it.”

As he speaks, you try to catch your breath. To come down from your high.

It doesn’t work. Not while his hips continue to grind against yours, not while cradled between his arms like his holy beloved, and especially not with his tip still pressing against every available, wanting spot on your walls.

Javi takes another long drag from the dart. “What do you say when you come, baby?”

A big, laboured inhale, and the words come out in one, rushed exhalation. “Thank you, Javi.”

He responds with a downright cocky laugh. “You’re welcome, cariño. Good girl.”

The praise… it makes you melt.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, nails grazing the skin of your scalp, he pulls you off of his chest. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the stale heat of the Jeep Cherokee. 

You buck up, doing your best to keep pleasing him as he studies your devoted movements, as he leans back against the seat—groaning.

His hand—often glued to your rolling hip—provides you with only a mere hint of stability.

“That guy you were with,” he takes a drag from his cigarette, using his free hand to toy with one of your peaked nipples. “At the bar. You’d’ve done this for him?”

Your lips part, but no sound crosses the threshold of your lips. You’re dazed—still coming—and building to yet another peak. His unwillingness to move starts to ground you; the long length of every hard muscle beneath his arms, the round, bulging ridges of his shoulders… they become your salvation, places to lay your weight into. Riding him becomes second nature: you’re attuned to his rhythm and the desperate, commanding desires of your body.

Suddenly, you’re a part of him; when he exhales, the smoke creeps out of his lungs and into your own.

You burn right along with it.

He drops the still-smoking cigarette onto the seat next to your entangled bodies, bringing both his hands to rest against your dampened skin. One comes down hard, delivering a quick, harsh slap to your ass.

It would leave a mark.

“Tell me. Use that pretty mouth, hermosa. ‘Know you know how—used it—ran it all fuckin’ day.” Javi grunts, angling to bend over you, pushing into your guts as he wraps you in his arms, finally taking the burden of your weight off of your scraped up, wobbling knees. He continues on, “Tonight, too—been so easy, baby, lettin’ me put anything I want in there like a good lil' slut,” drinking in your cry of pleasure. He almost says it to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he reminisces, as your cunt begins to throb around his hardening cock once more. “You'd've done that for him, cariño?”

You swallow, trying to clear the stars dancing before your eyes, and that fuzzy sound of static. It muffles the symphony of Javi’s hoarse breaths, your own, helpless cries, and the filthy sound of skin colliding with—grinding against—skin.

He quickens, now, using you like a damn toy. Every rough thrust brings you closer to heaven; every ardent, breathtaking squeeze of his arms around your middle feels like angels sighing.

“No,” you breathe, closing your eyes. Your arms cling around his neck, fingers fanning through his thick hair—everything is him, him, him. He leans forward again, ducking down to kiss the hollow of your throat; you pull him in faithfully, moaning softly at the feel of his lips, his teeth under the valley under your jaw. “Only you.” It sounds like worship, sliding up an octave as that low ache worsens, as he compells a second climax out of your already-quivering body. “Only you, Javi.”

He growls, lips dragging up to your ear as the hairs of his mustache tease your cheekbone. “Prove it,” he breathes, deep thrusts growing even more erratic— needier, sloppier. You can barely hear him over your own noises, but he continues his gravelly coos inside your ear nonetheless. “Gimme another one, baby—wanna feel you comin' on my cock when I fill you up so fuckin' full, baby—show me that you’re mine—z’this pussy mine, hermosa?”

“Yesyesyes—oh God, y-yes—m’yours, Javi, y—”

Your legs seize as yet another release tears through your body. The skin of his neck anchors you in place, and you hang off of him like a rosary, digging your fingernails into the warmth of his flesh with every ounce of strength at your disposal.

He fucks you through your second climax, headed straight for his own.

“S-such a good girl, cariño—f-fuck—” Arms, wrapped around your waist, tighten enough to snap you in two as Javi crushes you against his chest, using the momentum of your entire, shaking body to finish himself off. He comes with a grunted “s-shit”—and you pay attention, wanting to commit the divine sound to memory. Swelling between your silken walls, Javi spills everything he could possibly give inside you.

A final, abrupt thrust, married with the non-stop, involuntary clench-and-release of your cunt works to cover every square inch of you with him.

When it’s over, the man refuses to let you part from him (not that you had any real desire to do so, anyway). A big, shaking hand keeps your head cradled in the firm crook of his neck, and he slowly, slowly  softens inside you. He basks in the final, weak flutters of your cunt as you lose yourself in the smell of his cologne.

His heart hammers in his chest. You can hear it with your ear pressed to his neck. Going limp, your damp forehead rolls onto the hard roundness of his shoulder.

That aching, sore opening soaks the skin of his thighs. You shiver softly, dripping onto the base of his shaft.

“Say it, cariño,” Javi murmurs, laying a rough kiss to your temple. He runs his hands up and down your bare spine, fingers dancing along your sticky skin.

You loose a breathy laugh against his golden skin. “Thank you, Javi.”

And you pull back just in time to catch his genuine smile.

It fucking melts you. Adoration, pride… spreading like tree-roots under rich, forest soil throughout your still-heaving chest.

He rubs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, wiping clean some of the going-out makeup that had no-doubt become a total, leaking mess.

“‘Pretty when you’re nice, y'know,” he mutters, moving to cup your cheeks between his warm, hardened palms. And then he pauses, reconsidering his words. “But fuckin’ hot when you’re mean.”

A breathy giggle. “What can I say,” you whisper, trailing a few appreciative fingers up and down his forearms. “You bring out the very best in me, Peña.”

He scoffs, but smiles all the while.

Off in the distance, there’s music. Sounds of debauchery and excitement travel through the warm summer air, audible even through the closed windows. The night is alive for the rest of the city; somewhere far, far away, an engine growls, rubber tires squealing against the pull of hard pavement.

It takes him away.

Javi grasps your shoulders, pushing you up and back to effectively slide you off of his half-soft length. “I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he says, yanking his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Make sure you lock the door, alright?”

Pause. 

What?

“You’re leaving?” You mirror him, hastily rearranging yourself—skinny straps find their way back above your shoulders, your short dress finds itself yanked down to its rightful place.

It’s awkward work, given the confines of the space.

The agent slips out from underneath you. He opens the door, rising from the backseat and straightening up with a groan. “Think I know where he was going,” he responds, mostly to himself. “I’m only, what…” a flip of his wrist as he checks the time, “Thiiiiiirty? Thirty-five minutes behind him?”

Before you know it, you’re bristling with irritation.

Again.

You throw your heels down on the street, unceremoniously shoving a cramping foot in each one. “Don’t be an idiot, Peña,” and you try your hand at standing, buckling slightly on a pair of Jell-o legs.

He comes around to your side, steadying you on your feet. Reflected in his deep-brown eyes is the same annoyance flashing across your own gaze. “D’you just expect me to be there, sweetheart? Z’that it? Every time your ass needs saving?”

Shame heats the soft skin of your cheeks. Your eyes trail down to the ground, volatile, incomprehensible emotions building with every passing second.

“It won’t happen again—I won’t-I won’t be so stupid, or-or—I won’t go out, anymore.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s nice 'n all, but it’s sure as shit not gonna change anything.”

When you don’t respond, when you don’t look up, his edges soften. “They went to your house, sweetheart.” With his hands on your shoulders, he implores you to see sense. “It’s either we get them or they… get you.”

You exhale, hard. “You’re being dramatic.”

That does it for him.

After an exasperated shake of his head, he’s grabbing your hands in his own, placing a set of keys in the cradle of your palm.

His tone is low, demanding, unbending. “Lock the doors.”

Then, he’s turning to leave, walking to the front of the Cherokee.

Before rounding the corner, he turns his hardened profile to the side. The glare of the building’s lights dance on his tanned skin, turning the whole scene into a sort of lucid dream.

“Y’know, you’re really starting to piss me off with this whole… utopian fantasy you’re livin’ in.” He barely even addresses you, mumbling the rest of his sentiment mostly to himself. “I’m fuckin’ tired of being the only one looking out for you.”

Utopian fantasy?

You try to dismiss him—to call him ridiculous, to throw yourself into the familiar task of poking holes in his arguments—but… you can’t. Over and over, his words rush you in waves: “the only one looking out for you” “utopian fantasy” “the only one looking out for you” “utopian—”

Suddenly, you’re on a different street. In the same clothes, and in the same body, but somewhere far, far away, facing a different man. It’s somewhere very loud, where tires and knees come to a screeching stop against cement, where the downbeat of every Latin measure is punctuated by the sound of a bullet, inscribed with your initials, ripping through the static summer air.

Panic hits you like a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t go away, either.

Not even once you’re back on Javi’s street, fossilized in amber, watching him move to the driver’s side of his Jeep.

All the fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel…

You’d forced him to shoulder it for you, instead.

But, inevitably, what goes around comes around. And he’s dropped your burden right back onto you with a few well-timed words.

Truth bares itself to you, settling heavy atop your bones like an ancient, primal wound. The result is a pair of unsteady legs, a perennial tremor in both, white-knuckled hands, and a crackling voice, resisting use.

“Javi…”

Only when you hear the sound of your own terror echoed back to you do you permit yourself to cry.

And there you stand. Disheveled, confused, broken—clothing misplaced, ruined, broken—

And you just don’t want him to leave.

Not now.

Not when you need him.

Not when you need someone.

Not when you think you’ve finally got it figured out, and especially not when you’re so damn close to speaking it into existence.

Realization. Acknowledgement. Expression.

It’s not a customary pattern, in your experience.

Javi stops in his tracks, stunned to a halt at the sheer emotion in your plea.

It stings when you clear your throat. “I just…” and you falter, strange, unfamiliar words sticking to your throat, sickly-sweet dried honey. Each vowel reverberates back to you, amplified by the acoustics of the empty street and their novelty.

Still, you’re not quite sure how he’s able to hear you, given that you can only bring yourself to speak a handful of decibels above a damn whisper.

“I’ve just never been important, Peña.”

You wipe a self-conscious hand across your face, clearing the sea-salt from below your downcast eyes.

Before you’re able to put a stop to it—it all comes rushing out. Averting his gaze, you ramble on in agitation.

“Not beyond being a-a pair of hands to make fucking photocopies—or as the butt of some sort of “prissy receptionist” joke or even just as some—as-as a kind of fucking challenge to men—men like you, Javier—because I… well, because I’m mean, and I-I guess it’s just fun for everyone to see how far they can take it before—before I…” You give your head a fervent shake, trying to reel yourself back in, trying to close off the monologue.

But the cracks had formed, and with nowhere to go, the mounting pressure of the seven seas washes away the rest of your weakened dam.

The agent can't even get a word in.

“Anyways, that’s-that's not the point. The point is that it just… it didn’t seem possible that anyone in this whole fucking country would even think twice about me—even if it was just to… to kill me…”

A lump forms, lodging behind your larynx.

You start to rush.

“So I really am sorry that I acted like such an asshole, but none of this makes a fucking lick of sense to me—I’m-I’m a secretary, for fuck’s sakes—I’m nothing, no one, I’m not—” and then you’re frantic—

The gunshots, the tires, the music, the spark plug, a Camino—

“Just please, don’t go, don’t—I-I know you’re mad, just—please, just don’t—”

It’s impossible to catch your breath. Every heaved sob racks your lungs, shaking you all the way down to your buckling knees.

You want to turn, to run and hide, to fling yourself into oncoming traffic—anything to end the interminable humiliation you couldn’t seem to keep from putting on display in front of Javier Peña.

And shit. No man could see a woman in the same way after this. No man would care for a woman like this, destroyed and pathetic and—

“Oh, cariño—”

And he’s there.

Those arms—so used to taking—they wrap you up, pulling you into the heat of his body, protecting you from the pointed echoes of laughter and song breezing through the night air. Those hands, the ones that bruised, slapped, grabbed—they hold—the right unburdens you of your oppressive weight, pressed flat against the small of your back. His left cradles the back of your head, laying your temple to the side of his throat.

“You’ve always been important to me, sweetheart.”

His soft murmurs tumble down your spine. That smoky breath envelops you; it reminds you of those blankets in the movies—the ones that the firemen hand out after the disaster’s over, the survivors rescued. In the denouement.

“S’okay, S’okay. I’m sorry, baby, alright? I’m not mad, cariño, it’s okay.”

Running his fingers through your hair, supporting your head like a delicate, sacred object, murmuring comforts against the softest parts of your neck—Javi goes on and on. Despite the frequent shifts between Spanish and English, you manage to catch the main gist of his crooning.

“I could never be mad at you, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad, cariño.”

“And I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

After an eternity, you feel calm enough to pull away. You’re a wreck, gazing up at him with big, silver-lined eyes.

And it’s then that you see him.

That you really see him.

The concern, the anguish, the affection… You’d punished him for doing the very thing that you were incapable of doing.

Protecting you.

Caring for you.

As tears continue to leak from your eyes, you take note of his beauty. Not just of his looks, but also in the sheer power radiating from him, towering like a knight over you. In those capable, caring hands—hands that had torn others apart, that had put you back together—there was beauty in them, too.

You wipe your face dry.

And you soften your tone, aiming to lighten the mood. “Stop trying to get in my pants, Peña." A sniffle. "I don’t sleep with cops.”

He rolls his eyes, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know,” he cups your face, drying the final, lingering remnants of your melt-down off your cheeks, “I waited outside that fuckin’ bar for hours  tonight. Just in case.”

Oh.

God, you’d never even bothered to think about how he’d gotten to you so quickly.

Of course he’d been there.

That truth feels… warm.

He goes on. “Watched you… saw you with that guy.” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Had to look away when you came outside. S’why it… took a minute. To get there.”

That has your gaze trailing off, eyes cast down in shame, studying the worn-in rubber on the Jeep’s tires.

It would have never worked, anyway. There wasn’t a man on Earth who could ween your mind off of this one.

With the pad of his thumb against your chin, he brings you back to him. Javi commands your full attention with the just the sincerity of his stare.

“Even when you want nothin’ to do with me... I’m there, alright? I’m here, baby.”

Those eyes… softened with affection, hardened with conviction. Javier always had a way of straddling both worlds at once.

He waits for your signal, your quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then, he’s kissing you—softly. Fingers curling around his forearms, you borrow his strength to keep yourself from swooning. He holds your face as tenderly as he caresses your lips, and with every synced inhalation, he speaks yet another unspoken word into existence.

After giving you enough to make you feel whole again, he pulls away.

With his great-big-palm to your cheek, he says everything you need to hear.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

—

part 3

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmood @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @totallynotastanacc @dzaga890 @swedishscumfuck @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @jazzerbelle14

—

Officer Officer Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer No, I wouldn't do a thing like that, that's for sure The house was already on fire, I swear I'm not a liar (Well) I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking Tell me, do you always work alone so late? Gosh, I'm a little shy standing here in my night gown Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on?

Looking at me, then suddenly

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer You can ask me anything you want Anything, anything

Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger Well, that's interesting Have you ever thought of dating a singer?

The flames are getting higher So is my desire It's kind of exciting Don't you think?

Then suddenly he's uncuffing me

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I can be the bad girl I'm getting you so hot You can be the good guy Tell him please stop

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

You can be the good guy (Officer) I'm in love Tell him please Stop (Officer) (Officer) You can be the good good (Officer) I'm in love Love in a hurricane

—

[gothcsz]

I can't stop thinking about reader being an overworked secretary, always so uptight, on the edge and Javi teases and mocks her about it all the time, is slightly mean, making the days insufferable for her until one day she breaks for him and Javi pounds all that stress out of her until she cries ♡

your beautiful mind, anon. i hope you enjoy this 🖤

tags: unprotected p in v sex, semi public sex (parking garage), dirty talk, javier has a big dick, hate fuck kind of, era typical sexism/misogyny, dubcon, no use of y/n, reader doesn't like javi at all but that doesn't stop her from fucking him, crying during sex, javi's cuffs make an appearance, unbeta'd, if i missed anything let me know thx. ~ 2k w/c

You’ve had it. Swear to god, if you have to sit in this uncomfortable chair, type up some useless report, or fetch another goddamn cup of coffee— you might just explode. 

Get an office job, they said. Secretarial work is easy and less fast paced than what you’re used to. So how come you haven’t seen a day of peace since you started working here?

Every agent in the office sees you as nothing more than the eye candy that gets the signatures they need for their dick measuring contest-esque operations. They don’t take you seriously, they flirt as if HR doesn’t exist, and worst of all— they patronize you like your head is full of air. Like there’s nothing between your ears.

Snickering behind your back, hushed whispers and tapered conversations when you enter the room, purposefully dropping things by your desk just to watch you bend over to pick them up.

The only one that treats you somewhat like a normal human being is Steve Murphy, and that’s only because he’s married. But even then, he barely keeps his colleagues from fucking with you.

Especially his partner— Javier Peña, whose reputation preceded him. You were getting warnings about the agent before you even touched down in Colombia. His affinity to fuck anything in a skirt. The unorthodox practices he indulged to gather intel. A playboy. A womanizer. How the fuck he manages to not get fired is beyond you, really. 

Especially with all the sexual harassment workshops that the office has to endure. Now you’re wondering if there’s so many of them because the asshole with the mustache can’t keep his hands to himself.

He’s no better than the rest of them, either. The flirting to get his paperwork further up the chain, asking you to go out for drinks after work, in which you decline because you’d rather be caught dead than tipsy enough to take a ride on the Peña express, chastising how ‘uptight’ you are and offering to help you relieve some of that stress.

My stress stems from assholes like you— the ones that treat women like sexual objects rather than people.

No matter how handsome or suave he is; the man is dick and apparently you rejecting his advances multiple times does nothing but fuel him to stay persistent.

Which blows your mind. You’ve seen the informants that stop by to ask for him, the women that approach him at office parties— he’s a total babe magnet. Why does he waste his efforts on you— the secretary?

You let out a frustrated groan, not giving a fuck if you get written up for leaving early today. It’s Friday, the office is dead, and if you’re approached one more time by any of these arrogant, good for nothing agents; you will get mouthy and possibly even land a bitch slap.

The gag is, you’re usually good under pressure… something about being surrounded by men like them all day just frayed your nerves like no other.

Gathering your things, you damn near book it down the hall, then elevator, until you’re in the parking garage and fumbling for your keys.

You’re so honed in on getting the fuck out of there that you don’t notice that not one— but two of your tires are as flat as pancakes and that, unfortunatley, is what tips you over the edge.

“God fucking damn it. Fuck this car, fuck this place, fuck everyone in this stupid,” you kick the tire, “fucking,” another kick, “building.” The last kick is misplaced and your toe digs uncomfortably into the pointed tip of your heel which has you cursing the heavens even more and bringing exasperated tears to your eyes.

Will you ever catch a fucking break?

And it’s like the universe is having a good ‘ol laugh, probably because you’ve just cussed it out, because a familiar jeep rolls by— being driven by the aviator wearing, habitually unbuttoned shirt adorning, smug jerk that is the root of your frustrations.

“Having car problems, nena?” He speaks to you from the rolled down window, perpetual smirk on his pouty lips as he eyes your flat tires then your rigid figure.

“Fuck off, Javier.” You turn from him, not wanting for the tears in your eyes to be noticed; but again, this motherfucker is persistent if anything, and he parks in the empty spot next to yours, cutting the engine and hopping out to join you.

“There’s that dazzling attitude. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you just smiled every now and again.”

Your hands curl into fists, sharply turning to face him, your face hot.

“Why the fuck do you always have to do that? Huh? You and everyone else— treating me like I’m beneath all of you—”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re beneath—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You exclaim, chest heaving, “I can’t even fucking talk without getting cut off. Nothing I say or do matters to any of you pricks. Not unless I’m bent over, picking your shit off the floor or running around like a headless chicken fulfilling your coffee orders. The weaponized incompetence, t-the unwanted advances; I’m more than that— more than anything you all think I am. I hate this fucking job, I hate all you government assholes and I’m half tempted to quit but I can’t because I’m stuck here!”

You hadn’t noticed how close you two had gotten during your outburst, standing toe to toe with him. His brows pull into a frown, lips turned downward beneath his stache as he turns over your words.

“You really need to get laid.”

You snap, you do. Your fist coming up to sock him square in the jaw, which surprises him but you don’t stop. Landing blows wherever you can, kicking him repeatedly.

Javier lets you get a few hits in before he exerts his strength and grabs your wrists, dragging you over to his jeep and pressing your chest flat against the cool surface, the force of it leaving you breathless.

“Let go of me!” You squirm in his grasp but all he does is tighten his grip on you.

You don’t know if it’s because emotions are high and there is some truth to his words, but you feel the static of arousal at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing at the position in which he has you in.

“You know how to land a punch. Should get you out into the field. Maybe some excursion would calm you the fuck down.”

With both your wrists in one of his large palms, he uses the other to grab his cuffs and you don’t realize it until you’re restrained and your eyes widen.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing—”

“I’m giving you what you need, sweetheart.” His statement is laden with suggestion, tinged with lust. You look around the empty parking lot and how convenient that you’re both parked way in the corner, far from the elevator or any wandering eyes.

This is a bad idea. What you’ve been actively avoiding since you started. But fuck, are you pissed off and tired and you won’t lie— there is some appeal to getting your brain screwed out of your head after being screwed day after day in the office. 

Your resolve drops and you turn off your logical thinking, giving yourself over to Javier completely. 

“Then give it to me before I change my mind.”

Those words spur him into action, gun calloused hands bunching your skirt up around your waist, ripping your stockings and you gasp, heart beating wildly in your chest. His fingers work themselves into your panties, dragging along the wet seam of your cunt and your forehead falls against the exterior of his car, eyes fluttering close at how good it feels.

“So wet. Knew this little pussy needed to be taken care of. Don’t worry, reina, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he rubs your clit in slow, tight circles and you bite your lip. “Make you feel appreciated.”

Spreading your wetness, he slips two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt and you moan out his name, feeling so full. Much better than when you do it on your own.

He fucks you with his fingers, pressing himself fully against you and you can feel his hard bulge digging into the small of your back and that only heightens your arousal. His surprisingly soft lips are kissing along the back of your neck before he’s licking at your ear lobe, whispering how good you feel clenching around his fingers.

You come undone in record time, whimpers spilling past your lips and you’re not usually one to enjoy the fingering aspect of foreplay but goddamn— Javier is good. You can at least confirm that half the rumors about him are true.

It all happens so fast after that, him kicking your legs to spread wider, tugging your panties down to your thighs before he’s undoing his belt, releasing his hard cock from those tight jeans, spitting into his hand and using the mix of your release and his saliva to lube him up as he strokes himself one, two times before he’s lining himself up at your weeping entrance.

Your forehead remains pressed to the car, pussy fluttering in anticipation of being filled by a man you can’t stand.

He feeds you his cock in one swift motion, causing you to jerk forward and yelp loudly, the stretch of him inside your tight cunt burns as much as your hatred for him.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes as he begins to set a deliciously brutal pace. His hips snap against the back of your thighs, the flesh of your ass rippling with each thrust.

“Puta madre, nena, this pussy is so fucking tight.” He grits through clenched teeth, fingers digging into your waist, fucking you so good that you’ve lost your ability to speak.

All that flows from you are needy moans and broken sobs. The obscene sound of your pussy squelching, skin meeting skin, echoes through the parking garage and you forget how exposed to the public you are but you really can’t bring yourself to care at the moment; not with how good this man is giving it to you.

Your needy pussy takes and takes, walls pulsating around his thick cock— each time she spits him out, the creamy evidence of your arousal smears all over his shaft and this has him smirking, large palm coming down to spank you.

“Fuckin’ creaming all over me, baby. Knew you wanted this. Needed it so bad. This dick is gonna calm you down, won’t have you acting like such an uptight bitch anymore.” 

You gasp, both at his words and the sting from the spank, eyes snapping open as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder to the best of your ability, shooting him the best disdainful glare you can muster despite being rendered damn near immobile by his big dick.

“F-Fuck off,” though the bite in your words is fucking toothless as your legs tremble and your orgasm begins to sneak up on you, starting at your neglected clit which is pulsating— begging to be played with.

As if reading your fucking mind, he slips one hand around you, pinching the raw flesh between his thumb and pointer fingers, rolling it around, causing your hips to inadvertently snap back against him.

“Oh, you like that. Can feel how good she’s grippin’ me when I play with your pretty little clit. You gonna come all over me, muñeca?”

His lips are at your ear, spitting more filth out and those tears from before have messed your eyeliner and mascara up, dark streaks painting your cheeks. Your head falls back against his shoulder, the entire world around you looking like a hazy filter has been applied over it as you succumb to the orgasm being given to you by none other than Javier Peña.

“J-Javi I’m gonna…” he continues to toy with your clit, cock pistoning into you even harder as his other hand leaves your hips and moves up to wrap itself around your throat.

“That’s right baby, let loose for me, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip around your neck at the same time that he delivers a harsh slap to your pussy which has you screaming his name, the walls of your cunt squeezing his cock as your cum coats the velvety skin of him. He grunts in your ear, fucking you through your climax before he pulls out and tugs at his dick, spurts of his milky spend landing across the soft skin of your ass.

You’re both left a panting, heaving mess. Sweat mixes with your tears, your poor pussy swollen and sensitive, feeling his warm cum dripping down from your round cheeks to the back of your thighs. 

“Uncuff me.” You demand, not wanting to drown in the euphoria of how he’s just made you feel, opting for that post nut clarity that grounds you back to the shitty situation that led to these coital activities. 

He scoffs, “Just got fucked stupid and you’re back to being like this.” He tucks himself back into his pants, reaching for the keys to the cuffs and releasing you from them.

You rub at your wrists, taking your panties off and using them to clean your mixed release off you as best as you can. “It’s almost like good dick wasn’t the key to fixing all my problems. Who would have thought?” You quip sarcastically, using the back of your hand to wipe away the tears and ruined makeup, knowing you look like a goddamn mess right now.

You take your ruined stockings off and fix your skirt, really not wanting to do the walk of shame by going back to the office to call someone to help you out with your tire problem, but you must.

“How are you getting home?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair, standing almost awkwardly before you and you narrow your eyes.

“None of your business.” You state, pushing past him to grab your purse and keys, talking yourself up to march back to your desk and call for a mechanic.

“Let me help,” he offers and you chuckle dryly. 

“You’ve done more than enough. No thanks.” You begin to walk past him and towards the elevator but he stops you by grabbing you by your forearm.

“I’m serious. It’s the least I can do.” His eyes soften, and it’s in this moment that you realize how warm they are. A beautiful shade of brown, the shape of a baby cow’s with dainty lashes that compliment them perfectly.

Nu-uh, snap out of it. This is how you get hooked.

“No, the least you can do is leave me the fuck alone, Javier. You got what you wanted.” You snatch your arm back, glaring at him, before strutting off back into the building. 

[longwuzhere]

Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers pt2

Episode 1 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 3 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 4 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 5 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 6 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 7 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here and here

Episode 8 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 9 of My Adventure with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 10 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

(SPOILERS obviously):

An obvious one, but a classic, the "up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!" line reference. This one never gets old.

Jimmy next name drops Flamebird. in the comics Nightwing and Flamebird were Kryptonian superheroes adopting their names from a species of Kryptonian birds. This is where Dick Grayson gets his Nightwing identity from. The page here is from Who's Who: The Definitive Directory of the DC Universe #17 (1986) drawn by Curt Swan and Karl Kesel.

At the climatic battle of part 2 of Adventures of a Normal Man, we see Leslie Willis become blue and look more like her traditional Livewire look. Her first appearance was in Superman the Animated Series, season 2 episode 5 "Livewire" where she was voiced by Lori Petty, a.k.a. Tank Girl. In the show Leslie was a shock jock radio DJ slinging hot takes live on air knocking down Superman a peg or two

Obviously MAwS took Leslie in a whole different direction, design choice, and occupation change, but I am excited to see what happens next for her.

Before we see Clark battle Leslie we see this guy. White hair, wears orange and black, its Slade Wilson a.k.a. Deathstroke. This fool here in like 20 to 25 years will have his life spiral out of control and get his ass kicked by a bunch of colorfully dressed teenagers.

Deathstroke makes his first appearance in New Teen Titans #2 (1980) (W: Marv Wolfman and George Perez, P: George Perez, I: Romeo Tanghal, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda) where he is hired by H.I.V.E. to kill the Teen Titans. In the comics he's a major piece of shit, but a damn good assassin.

After the fight we see Supes clean up and he picks up a billboard that reads Amazotech.

This is a good reference to Professor Anthony Ivo, a mad scientist of the DC Universe who built the Amazo robot who could adapt and replicate any power that the Justice League has and weaknesses. Both Ivo and the Amazo robot make their first appearances here in Brave and the Bold #30 (1960) with the cover art done by Mike Sekowsky and Murphy Anderson.

At the end of the episode Slade name drops Task Force X better known as the Suicide Squad. The name "Suicide Squad" is from the Brave and the Bold #25 where it was the name of Rick Flag's unit in the military. The Suicide Squad pop culture knows first debuted in Legends #3 (1987) as seen below (W: John Ostrander and Len Wein, P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tom Ziuko, L: Steve Haynie).

The team at this time was composed of Rick Flag, Bronze Tiger, Captain Boomerang, Deadshot, Enchantress, and Blockbuster. The team members have changed out with each new Task Force X/Suicide Squad iteration.

Behind Slade, here is Amanda Waller, the most fearsome woman in the DC universe. She's ruthless, politically powerful, and will not hesitate to blow up anyone in the Suicide Squad if they screw up. She makes her first appearance in Legends #1 (1987) same comic series in the previous picture. Very excited to see where My Adventures with Superman goes with this cuz you don't see Superman interact with Deathstroke or Suicide Squad all the often.

Link to Episode 1 of My Adventures of Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 3 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 4 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 5 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 6 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 7 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here and here

Link to Episode 8 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 9 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 10 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[wardenparker]

Hi it’s me again 🥹

Could I also pleeeeeease request my grump baby daddy Javier Peña with “should we make it official” ? 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Javier Peña. 3,017 words. "Should we make it official?" Co-written with @absurdthirst

Established relationship. Pregnancy. Lying to friends to hide a relationship. Revelations. Talk of marriage. Committed with a capital 'c'. Alcohol/food. Cursing.

“Are we sure we’re doing this?”

Javier turns to look at you just outside the Murphy’s apartment door, eyebrow raised at the slight panic in your tone. You are normally the calm one of the two of you. This….this has you rattled and Javi surprisingly calm. He glances back at the unopened door and then shrugs. “We can always blow off the dinner Connie has spent hours making.” He tells you, knowing you would feel guilty if that happened.

“Noooo.” Your face scrunches into a sulking pout for a second, knowing that you would never do that to your friend. But there is still enough fear in your system to wonder if you’re making yourself sick with anxiety or if the morning sickness is coming in the evening now. “People are going to start to notice pretty soon…they really should be the first people we tell.”

“They should.” He’s thought that for some time, but it’s honestly more fun to fuck with Steve this way. “Should we make it official?” He asks, hand raised and ready to knock.

“It’s probably about time,” you admit with a laugh. It’s been sneaking and secrets and bickering at each other at the office for almost as long as you’ve worked together, but it’s time to come clean.

“Make sure to look annoyed at me.” Javi shoots you a wink before he raps on the door. “You know what that does to me.”

“That’s how I ended up like this in the first place,” you tease, smothering a laugh as he knocks on the Murphy’s door.

Javi’s grin is quick to drop into a scowl when he hears the footsteps come towards the door. It’s been interesting, fun, convincing Murphy that he couldn’t stand you. The entire office believed that Javier Peña had finally met a woman he didn’t want to fuck – obviously not the truth – and that would be revealed tonight.

Steve pulls open the front door to the apartment he shares with his wife and their adopted little girl with a bright smile on his face and Olivia in this arms. “Nice of you two to not kill each other on the doorstep,” he jokes, surveying your scowling faces.

Javi scoffs slightly, rolling his eyes. “Just let us in, asshole.” He grumbles. “Or you’ll have to witness it.”

“Connie Murphy, love of my life.” Nudging past Steve, you find Connie bustling happily in her kitchen and wrap your arms around the other woman for a tight hug.

Javi greets Steve, chucking Olivia on the chin and suppressing his grin when she squeals happily at him. He hadn't encouraged the Murphy's to adopt her, but she was a cute kid, growing on him and the guilt of her mom's death is slowly ebbing. "So dinner, huh? You can't get enough of us at the office?"

“Connie thought it would be a nice thing to do,” he shrugs, glancing back over his shoulder toward the kitchen before he and Javi start to stroll back into the apartment. “Me? I get enough of the bitching on a daily basis.”

"How would you know we are still alive if we weren't bitching?" He snorts, winking at Olivia as she watches him from over her father's shoulder. She gives him a slobbery grin and he chuckles when she flutters her lashes at him. She's not even one and she's already a flirt.

“You might try being nice to another human once in a while,” Steve points out, though he knows better than to think Javi will take the suggestion seriously.

“I’m nice.” Javi grunts, frowning slightly. Walking into the kitchen, he spots you and his frown deepens, wondering why you are looking a little green.

“If you’re nice then I’m Princess Di,” you drawl, shifting past the boys carefully so you don’t brush Steve with your bump. Connie had offered you a beer and opened one for herself, and you need to get away from the smell. “I’m going to go powder my nose.”

There’s a beer in your hand and he’s instantly aware of why you look sick. Reaching out, he plucks the beer from your hand. “Thanks.” He chuckles. “Don’t think you should be drinking tonight.” He huffs. “You get all pissy.”

Not feeling well enough too banter with him, you just throw Javi a characteristic scowl and continue on to the bathroom. You’ll thank him for grabbing the bottle later.

Steve shakes his head and throws a pout towards his wife. “Why do I have to put up with this shit tonight?” He whines, making Javi smirk as he tilts the bottle back and drains it quickly. “How about some whiskey?” He asks, knowing the smell of that doesn’t affect you.

“Always after the good stuff.” Steve chuckles but grabs down three glasses. Connie isn’t partial to whiskey so he knows she’ll stick to beer. “You have a good weekend, Jav? Considering we actually had one this time?”

“It’s good.” It’s dealing with a sick lady and working through the very real anxiety that has gripped both of you, but that can be admitted to later on. “Don’t pour that pain in the ass a drink.” Javi snorts. “Otherwise she’ll be busting on my ass all night.”

“What if you deserve it?” Steve counters, lips curved in a smirk.

He shoots Steve a sour look and watches as he pours three drinks, knowing he will be downing the third as well.

“Did you guys piss her off already?” Connie huffs playfully at both men when she moves through from the kitchen to the dining room table with a large pot in her hands. “Steve honey, will you put Olivia in her highchair and grab the plates?”

“She’s just naturally pissy.” Javi snorts, taking the drinks from Steve when he’s distracted and drinking one, setting the glass down and bringing the other two into the dining area.

“So what’s for dinner?” Thankfully, your morning sickness — a misnomer since you usually get it in the middle of the night and now in the evening — and other food related sickness seems to dissipate quickly after you’ve actually thrown up. You can stroll back into the dining room with no one any the wiser now that you’ve started stashing a toothbrush and toothpaste in your purse.

Steve missed the way you nod at Javi, assuring him you’re alright and he frowns to cover up his worry. Scoffing, he sets the whiskeys down on the table. “Anything should be better than your cooking.” He huffs. The one time you had him and Murphy over to your apartment, you had burned the store-bought lasagna.

“I never claimed to be a chef.” He will never let you live that lasagna down. Although now the two of you laugh about it. “That’s Connie’s realm.”

“Can you two stop clawing at each other for one damn night?” Steve shakes his head and huffs as he pulls the cigarette from behind his ear.

“I mean…” Glancing over at Javi with mischief in your eyes, you shrug at Steve. “If you’re gonna be cranky about it, I guess we might manage to be a little friendlier.”

Javi chuckles as Steve narrows his eyes in confusion. “You two better not start shit tonight.” He warns, pointing between the two of you. “I’m ready to turn you over to Escobar myself for the reward.”

“Come on, Peña.” Rolling your eyes for show, you beckon Javi toward you and hold out your hand for a performative truce. “Murphy doesn’t want any trouble tonight.” When Javi steps forward to make a grand show of shaking your hand you tug him in, practically grinning when you lean forward and press your lips to his.

The groan of your lover covers the choked sound of surprise from Murphy, one that Javi would ignore anyway as he curls you closer into his arms and deepens the kiss.

“What the hell?” Connie had walked back into the room with forks in her hand, but promptly drops them on the floor in a clattering shock.

Javier smiles against your mouth, taking his time to kiss you and his hand cups your cheek tenderly before he pulls back and gives you another soft kiss before turning back to Steve. “Is that better?” He asks with a smirk. “All friends now.”

“What the fuck was that?!” A gob smacked pair of Murphys is just standing there staring at you, and the nonchalant expressions on your and Javier’s faces isn’t helping at all.

“You said you wanted us to be friendlier to each other.” Friendliness had nothing to do with the way Javi’s arm stays around your back, protective as it rests on your body.

“We’re just trying to be good friends,” you reason, leaning in and putting your head on Javi’s shoulder.

Connie stares at you two, her mouth open and she shakes her head. “Oh shit.” She gasps out. “You two are sleeping together!”

“What a shocking thing to say.” Even with your voice completely deadpan, you still can’t help but crack a grin. “That’s a mighty big accusation, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Sleep with her?” Javi sneers, even as he jostles you against him slightly. “Why would I do that?”

“Gross.” You agree, nodding once like you’re punctuating a sentence. “Definitely haven’t been doing that at all.”

“Never.” Javi hums, his fingers caressing your back and he twists the shirt you are wearing around his fingers to pull it tight against your stomach.

You can’t really blame Connie for squawking in surprise. It is surprising. Especially because you’ve been religious about your birth control. But things happen, and having made the decision to have this baby has made you and Javi both anxious and giddy in alternation. “Surprise?” You offer, surveying your friend’s pale expression of shock.

Steve’s jaw is on the floor and Javi casually reaches over and taps his chin. “Never seen a pregnant woman before?” He asks, amused by the reactions.

Once Steve swallows, he goes from just surprised to being giddy and surprised. “I have so many questions.”

“Can we eat first?” Javi asks, turning back to you and frowning slightly. “How is your stomach, now?” He questions softly, worry shining in his eyes.

“It’s fine.” The smile you offer him is grateful, and you soothe one hand over your bump in relief. “Beer isn’t going back on the acceptable smells list any time soon.”

He nods and shrugs apologetically. "I'm sorry, cariño." He reaches down to stroke your stomach affectionately. "He'll like beer later."

Once he manages to put his eyes back in their sockets, Steve hustles you over to the table to sit and starts to serve. “I don’t understand,” he admits easily, shaking his head at the two of you. “How long has it been?”

Javi sits down easily beside you and gives you the glass of water he had poured when he had brought the whiskey to the table. "Do you want to answer, or me?"

"It's been about a year and a half." The actual start of things is a little fuzzy, since you and Javi had started out in a friends-with-benefits casual sex to blow off steam scenario, and the feelings had developed over time.

“A fucking year and a half!” Steve sits down rather abruptly and shakes his head. “How the fuck have you been fucking for a year and a half and I didn’t know?”

"Because it's really fun to mess with you," you admit and Javi grins. "It's pretty much our second favorite pastime."

“But you two fight all the time!” He looks over at Connie as if to confirm he’s not crazy. He bitches about the two of you to her often enough and she’s been around you both.

"Aww, c'mon, Murph." When Connie passes you a plate you inhale cautiously, but everything seems to be okay as far as scents go. "You've never heard of couples who bicker as flirting?"

His eyes widen in horror and his nose curls in disgust. “Oh fuck! You two have been flirting and fucking all around me. Where the hell have you— no, I don’t want to know.” He points at the two of you seriously. “You better not have fucked on my desk.”

Now that he mentions it, you actually can't recall whether or not you've ever had sex on Steve's desk. Tilting your head in curiosity at Javi, he reads the question in your furrowed brow and shakes his head, though he does end up laughing. "Apparently not," you assure Steve. "Though we have definitely fucked on my desk."

Steve slumps back into the chair and covers his eyes with his hand. "I can't— fuck, I don't believe it. I just— fuck...."

"Everything's okay, Murph ." If you tried to reassure him that nothing is going to change that would be a complete lie, but at least you can tell him that nothing bad is going to happen. "If anything, I thought you'd be thrilled. Once this is out, less bitching to deal with on a daily basis."

“Not if it’s foreplay for you two assholes.” He grumbles, sliding his hand down his face before looking at the two of you again.

That makes both you and Javi snicker, and even Connie chuckles a little behind a bite of her dinner. “It is, a little,” you admit with a shit-eating grin. “But we promise to leave your desk alone.”

“You better.” He huffs and tilts his head. “How far along are you?”

“Nineteen weeks.” Whatever this crazy pasta dish is that Connie made, it’s seriously hitting the spot, and you fork up another bite. “It’s going to start getting hard to hide soon, so we figured we should start telling people.”

“Next you’re going to tell us you got married.” Connie snorts, shooting you a grin. She’s absolutely thrilled for you, even if it makes her sad that she is not pregnant yet after years of trying.

“Let’s not be crazy.” It isn’t as though the thought hadn’t crossed your mind in the last few months, but you’ve kept it to yourself. The baby is plenty enough change in both of your lives.

“That comes after the baby is born.” Javi tosses out causally as he forks up another bite of his plate and groans in pleasure. It’s been a long time since he’s had pasta this good. Since you’ve been having food aversions, it’s been a lot of eggs and toast.

When the other three of you all stop and stare at him simultaneously, Connie is the first to break. The disbelief on your face says absolutely not before she can even ask her question, but she still poses: “You’ve talked about it?” With only polite and mild surprise.

“Not exactly.” Javi looks up at Connie’s shocked face and shrugs. “But she’s having my kid.” He stresses. “Figured she wouldn’t want to be pregnant getting married.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to get married.” As painful as it is to admit, you really hadn’t expected it. Hope? Sure. But that isn’t the same thing at all.

Javi straightens up from his plate and narrows his eyes slightly. “What made you think that?” He asks, confused to why you would believe that. Sure, there had been many conversations about what to do when you found out you were pregnant, but he had told you he was all in.

“I just…” This really isn’t the time or place you imagined having a full conversation about it, but you swallow and try not to let the enhanced emotions of pregnancy bubble to the surface. “Mainly because we’ve never really talked about it. We’ve barely talked about how we’re going to raise the baby after we catch Escobar and we get reassigned.”

“If we are married, the DEA works to assign agents to the same station.” He knows that you should know this as well. “I just wanted you to focus on your health.” He admits. “You’ve been getting sick a lot. Didn’t want to add more stress to you.”

You’re touched that he’s been trying to keep your stress level down, but you put your hand on his arm and squeeze gently. “You can always talk to me about the important things. Even if I’m not feeling great. That’s the partnership angle of this whole thing. And wanting to get married definitely qualifies as important.”

Javi glances as Connie and Steve, both of them trying not to appear as if they aren’t soaking this up like the newest Telenova. “It won’t change between us, cariño.” He murmurs his eyes turning to you and softening. “We will be like we have been, just two agent Peña’s instead of one.”

“The time we’re changing things is right now.” Your hand inches down his arm, tangling your fingers together and nudging in Connie and Steve’s direction as if he might have forgotten they’re there when he was just looking at them. “We’re not a secret anymore. That’s going to change things. But that’s okay.”

Javi nods and straightens back up, looking towards the other couple again. “Dinner is good, Con.” He compliments, eyes sliding over to Steve. Watching to see what Murphy will bust his balls over.

“If you guys need help with anything, you let us know.” Steve says instead. It isn’t a question, or even an invitation. It’s an expectation from one friend and colleague to another. The three of you have been stuck in this battle together for a long goddamn time now and he’s not about to let a plot twist change the team you’ve formed — even if he’s still completely shocked at the twist to begin with. “Baby. Wedding. Whatever. Just say the word.”

Javi nods and takes your hand, knowing that this is a lot of change in a very different way. Most would never consider that Javi was capable of loving you, staying with you and creating a family. He was a lot more than people gave him credit for, and that was fine. As long as you knew where he stood – and that is right beside you.

______

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My Masterlist!

[jake-g-lockley]

Wherever You Stray, I Follow (Javier Peña x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

gif by @bruhlpng

Warnings: Angst, canon-usual violence.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: I wanted to write soft!Javi first, idk everything he does just seems so pure to me and eee I love him. Most of this was inspired by Taylor Swift’s Willow heh so enjoy <3

Tagging: @brekkers-desigirl @in-between-the-cafes @senassn

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Javier Peña was knee-deep in shit. It might not have been literal shit but it might as well should have because he would have preferred that over anything that was happening to him. 

It all started a few months ago, when everything in his life decided to take a confusing turn. It was a gloomy Monday and after a failed late night stakeout with Steve made sure that Javi overslept, stumbling around finding his clothes and trying his best to look put together. His sleep for the past few weeks had been restless, his mind flooded with thoughts that he wanted to forget. He was admittedly tired but had slipped on the hardened mask that he always wore whenever he was out and about chasing cartel members and wiping scum off the streets of Colombia. 

He had a gut feeling that that Monday was going to be a long one, with the way nothing went right for him. Still, he collected himself and went through every single page of paperwork that was left on his desk, eventually letting himself get lost in the momentum that he had created. He was, unfortunately, rudely pulled out of his deep concentration by a loud bark followed by a shrill whistle. He instantly stood up from his desk, as if he had been hit by a Pavlovian response, only to be hit by darkness as he felt his body hit the floor below him. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

On your first day at the DEA office in Bogota, Colombia, all your walls were up high. You’d decided that arrogance triumphed over whatever pleasantries you had in you because you were only here to do your job. Your six inch red bottoms clacked intensely against the cold marble floor as you strut into the office holding your chin high as Artemis cleared the way for you. People around you scrambled, gasping as their eyes landed on the unleashed rottweiler before you. You scanned the lobby, looking for any sign of a man that fit the descriptions of Steve Murphy. You finally found him leaning against the reception counter smoking a cigarette. You whistled for Artemis and she led the way again before stopping in front of a bewildered Steve.

“Nice doggie, please don’t bite.” he murmured under his breath, a little softly but you caught it nevertheless and it elicited a laugh from you.

“She’s very well trained, you have nothing to worry about Agent Murphy.” you assured, placing your hand atop Arte’s head, giving him your most elegant smile. 

“You’re the new recruit?” Steve asked, clearly floored by your appearance.

“You sound surprised?” you questioned back, your gaze hard and unfaltering. 

“You were supposed to be a man.” Steve chuckled before extending his hand for some formal introductions.

He cautiously led you around the place, warily stepping around the dog, before finally taking you to the room where everything goes down. 

“Your office will be here, Agent. Once again, welcome to the team.” Steve said, beaming.

Suddenly, you heard a loud bark. You whistled loudly for Arte to stop whatever she was up to but it was too late, she had pinned down a man onto the floor. You rush to get to Arte, worried that she had found someone who had been a threat to you and was about to kill a man right here in your new office. But instead, to your absolute confusion, you found her tail was wagging happily as she licked the man’s face. 

You whistled once more and Arte jumped off the man, revealing who it was she had pounced upon. Your jaw dropped and all the air left your lungs as you stared down at the person before you, the unmistakable unconscious face of Javier Peña bringing back a flood of memories to you. For a split second, you felt the insecure child that you had left behind years ago attach itself back onto your new frame, but you pushed it away instantly as you teared your gaze away from Javier. 

You looked around you to see guns drawn and looks of fury on the officers faces. All of them were mad, except Steve. Steve was howling with laughter, clutching his chest as he struggled to keep himself upright at the sight of the unconscious Javier. The officers lowered their guns at the sound of Steve’s laughter, looking at him as if he had turned up to work in a clown outfit. 

“Knocked out by a dog!” Steve heaved as you knelt down to slap Javier across the face to wake him up. 

You knew that wasn’t really the best thing to do to someone you hadn’t seen in the last six years but it sure felt good to watch him stir under you as the singe of the slap burned a satisfying tingle on your palm. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Maybe god, whoever god was, had taken Javi back to heaven for all the things he had done right. A sharp sting followed by a bright light greeted him as he awoke. The one thing that had him concluding that he was dead was that he was looking at you. You, his first love, standing above him looking like a real goddess, in a full black suit that made you look like a badass, your hair flowing and your eyes sharp as you glared down at him. He smiled up at you, a big goofy smile that made him feel dizzy. 

And then he heard it.

The cackling laughter.

“Oops, nevermind, I might just be in hell.” Javi thought as the laughter just got louder and louder as the ringing in his ears cleared. 

Then something clicked and Javi recognised the voice. It was Steve.

“Shit, Steve, you’re in hell too?” Javi called out but his voice sounded wobbly. 

Suddenly, something big and wet dragged across Javi’s face. He sat up abruptly only to be faced with a rottweiler. Hell hounds are not this happy are they? Javi took a while to right himself, looking around from the rottweiler to you and to the people around him. He had the itching realization that he was in fact still on Earth, in Colombia, in his office. But that couldn’t be, then why were you here? His heart raced and he panicked for the first time in years, his feelings jumbling up his thoughts. 

“Agent, meet my partner, Special Agent Javier Peña.” he heard Steve say. 

Javi looked at Steve, still trying to process what was going on. He realized he was on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him and he jumped up and stood properly in front of you, stretching his hand out for you to take. You shook it and dropped his hand quickly as he sat back down at his desk rubbing his forehead. You felt real, so Javi might not have been dreaming. 

“Apologies Agent Murphy, Artemis never really does this.” You said to Steve watching as Artemis stares up happily at Javi.

Of course she was excited to see him. Arte’ mother, Leto was Javi’s dog and she clearly remembered him, or at least remembered his scent. You watch as Artemis turns back into a puppy, licking Javi’s hand as he pats her snout. The sight of Javi had short circuited your own brain and you couldn’t help but stare at him, not believing that you were actually looking at him. You had to physically get a hold of yourself when you caught the dimple that pulled on his cheek as he smiled at your dog. Your hand found your throat, fingertips tracing the same lines it did six years ago when you screamed your throat hoarse trying to get Javi to stay home. 

Why are you leaving me?

You and him had engaged in competitive battles with everything, from school to sports to even hobbies. It lasted for years and shaped you into the person that you were today. You had to be better than him and he had to be better than you. Weirdly enough it brought the two of you closer. Javier was someone you can hold onto, someone you had trusted to be with you forever. He was your everything and you had no relationship purer than the one you had with him. 

Until that one harrowing day, where everything turned upside down for you. He had turned up to your home on your 21st birthday with a bouquet of flowers and Artemis who was sitting in a basket with a red ribbon tied around her neck. The both of you talked for hours over rum centered chocolates and little pretzels with little Artemis curled up in the little space that your folded legs made. He pulled you onto your feet after a while, holding onto you and spinning the both of you around to a song on the radio. 

The both of you danced till you were dizzy and that was when he stopped and held you close, his nose grazing yours as your breaths mingled with his. It was then when he told you his real plans. His plans of leaving the states. He didn’t tell you where he was going or what he was going to do no matter how much you begged. The giddy few hours that the both of you had spent together dissolved into chaos as you screamed at him, throwing the closest pillow at him.

“Please, please Javi, don't leave me here. I have no one, please.” you sobbed, clutching at his button down shirt as he pressed his forehead to yours.

Tears were streaming down his face but he reached out to wipe yours away. He held your face in his hands as he shook his head at you, willing for you to understand. The second he let go of you, you sank onto your knees and watched through teary eyes as he walked out your front door, never turning back. He was gone, it was as if you had lost him to the winds and you hadn’t heard from him since that day, not even a single phone call. Now here he was, dimple and all, as if fate had just decided to lead you back to him. 

He was looking at you now and he looked lost for words with the way his mouth was hanging open a little. Before he could say anything, you subtly shook your head at him, indicating that you didn’t want to cause a scene now. He gave you one sharp nod and turned to Steve, and started to chastise him for laughing at Arte knocking him unconscious. 

Frantically, the both of you pushed your emotions aside and layered on the masks thick, not willing for anything to slip out. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That was two months ago, but till the present day, Javier and you had been skirting around each other, not acknowledging the fact that the both of you were old friends and that he probably knew more about you than he let on and vice versa. Now, you and him were crouched behind a wall, guns drawn, silence shrouding the both of you. Javier had some information about the location of one of Escobar’s sacarios and the both of you were waiting to gun him down. 

“Where did you get this information anyway?” you found yourself speaking to him directly for the first time in six years.

It must have surprised him because he looked at you as if you were speaking gibberish.

“I have my sources, muñeca.” he murmured, wincing slightly at the nickname that left his mouth. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing what the possible answer could be. You heard rumors but you were smarter than that, your eyes frequently caught the dark tinges on Javier’s neck, turning your stomach and coating it in poisonous jealousy. 

“When are we going to talk about it?” Javier said before he could stop himself.

Silence weaved in between his question, lacing the both of you in an awkward position. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” you declared, your eyes sweeping for any sign of movement. 

Javier sighed your name and the sound rang in your head like a sweet melody. You turned to glare at him but your hardness faltered when all you saw was sadness etched onto his handsome face. 

“I’ve moved on and I have nothing to say to you, Peña.” you insisted, refusing to cave. 

“There's no one here, you can just call me Javi, like you used to.” he sighed.

“Never.” you said, keeping your eyes trained into the darkness over the wall.

“I’d kill to hear you say it.” he murmured.

His words were drowned by the sound of bullets flying through the air, one flying right in between the both of you. Javier was faster, launching himself into action and shooting with precision. You watched his six, pressing your back against his, the feeling of him grounding you. Once you found nothing, Javier walked away from you and stood over one of the sacarios, his gun held in front of him. He pulled the trigger and pulled it again and again and again and you stood there rooted watching blood splatter everywhere. 

“Javi, stop!” you yelled and he finally stopped, his shoulders heaving. 

He turned to you, and your eyes widened at the dark look that was painted on his face. The cops swarmed the place and Javier grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the scene. 

“Why are you here?” Javier said, pushing you against a wall. “You come back to me after years and you’re suddenly a DEA Agent too?”

Javier was seething with anger, pent up anger that had pushed far past his breaking point. He had been watching you for months, putting your precious life out on the line right in front of him. 

“ANSWER ME!” he yelled when you didn’t answer. 

Your heart jumped at the sound of his voice and before you could stop yourself, you raised your hand and let your palm collide hard with Javier’s face. 

“The same fucking reason as you, Javier! I’m here to take down fucking narcos and their fucked up empires.” you said, grabbing onto his jacket. “And don’t fucking yell at me!”

“Fuck, you know how dangerous this is, muñeca?” he said desperately, searching your eyes. “A few more centimeters and that fucking bullet would’ve hit you.”

“THAT'S MY RISK TO TAKE!” you yell back. 

“I can’t lose you again, please, not again.” he pleaded, grabbing ahold of your arms and pulling you closer to his chest. 

“I’m not yours to lose anymore, Peña.” you spat, wrenching your arms out of his grip and walking away, leaving him to stare at the wall before him. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had been years since you’ve cried this hard. You buried your nose in Arte’s coat and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing out of your eyes. If you had a penny each time Javier Peña made you cry, you’d be so rich that you could take over Escobar’s entire empire. You felt unreasonable, stupid even, crying like a stupid school girl. Arte was probably fed up with your shenanigans, but she sat in front of you quietly as you hiccuped through your sobs. 

A loud knock sounded at your door causing both you and Arte to jump. You pulled out your gun as Arte darted towards the door. 

“It’s me.” 

You scowled at the sound of Javier’s voice but Arte barked happily. You shushed her and leaned against the door, crossing your arms. You refused to see his face, not after how he decided that your choices were now his choices. 

“Look, I can hear you and Arte, cariño.” he sighed. “I know you don’t want to see me but I really just need to talk to you.”

Javier knew he fucked up. It was as if he voluntarily stepped into the world’s biggest pile of shit. He’d rather have Escobar piss on his face than to sleep knowing that he had upset you. 

You stayed silent as you stared into the door, wondering how Javier looked behind it. 

“Can we just go on a ride? Bring Arte too, it’ll help calm you down.” he said softly, pulling out his big guns. 

When you and him were younger, he used to take you on random car rides whenever your parents would fight or when things got too tough. He would drive you around until you fell asleep and you’d always find yourself tucked into your bed the next morning. When he was gone, you’d find yourself doing the same thing, but it didn’t feel the same when you had to drag yourself out of the car and into your house. 

You opened the door a little so that you could see Javier between the cracks. His hair was a mess and he had a cigarette between his lips. His guard was clearly let down as he looked more like your Javi and less like a hardened agent. 

“Only if you get me a hamburger.” you mumbled, watching as a small smile creeped onto Javi’s face. 

Javi carried Arte’s dog bed down the stairs and into his truck as she scampered happily at his heels. You watched on as Javi knelt down and gave Arte a big kiss on her snout and encouraged her to jump into the back seat. Your heart almost seized at this as you remembered the way he used to talk to Leto and bring her out on walks with you everyday. 

You slid into the front seat as Javi held the door open for you. You clicked the seatbelt on and went on to stare at your hands as he got into the car and ignited the engine. You zoned out on his scent, breathing him in, occasionally turning to watch him talk to Arte. Once you were satisfied with your hamburger and fed some to Arte, you settled into the seat and turned your whole body towards Javi, not caring whether you were being subtle or not.

You deserved this, you deserved to absorb as much of Javi that you could after years of being deprived of it. You loved him and it was as if something had been looking down upon you and is letting you have a second chance at everything. You soon found yourself being lulled to sleep as the emotional exhaustion took over your whole body. You awoke to the feeling of being carried. You gasp and hooked your arms around Javi’s neck as he chuckled and lowered the both of you down onto a blanket on … grass?

“Where are we?” you whispered scanning Javi’s face. 

He didn’t say a single thing instead he pushed you down and laid down next to you. The pitch black sky was littered with millions of stars, and your eyes widened as you stared at the void of space above you. When you got the chance to tear your gaze away from the heavens, you found Javi staring at you, the soft look in his eyes turning you into a human puddle. He had lit a cigarette and was running through it quickly, making you roll your eyes at him. You rolled your body on top of his, straddling his abdomen and taking him by surprise as you snatched his cigarette away. 

“You gotta stop smoking these, they’re bad for you.” you say sternly.

“You’re bad for me yet, here we are.” he mumbled, staring at the way your body connected with him.

You placed the cigarette onto your lips and took a long drag, coughing when the smoke hit your lungs. Javi laughed under you, and you scowled at him, stumping the cigarette out on the grass. Javi thought that there was nothing more beautiful in this world other than you. He gathered his last bit of courage and pushed you slightly downwards so that he could sit up and look at you before reaching out to cupped your cheek with his hand. He relished at the way you leaned into his touch and at the way your eyes fluttered close.

“I-i don’t know where to start, so I’m just going to say sorry. I’m the fool who hurt you and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.” he whispered. “To leave you was to leave my soul behind and I don’t know who to thank or curse for bringing you back to me.”

“Javi…” you started but he placed a finger onto your lips.

“My girl is a DEA Agent.” he said nodding to no one in particular. “My smart, badass girl. Honestly, when I saw you standing over me when I passed out, I thought god was a woman and god was you.” 

You giggled and ducked your head into his chest, letting him pull you impossibly close to him. This was it, this was your place of refuge, right here in Javier Peña’s arms. 

“Javi?”

“Hmm?”

“Does this mean that you’ll finally get a hold of your balls and kiss me?” you said, bringing your face to the same level as his.

You laughed at the way Javi’s face was arranged, as if he didn’t know whether to be shocked or happy. 

“How did you-”

“Because I do too, Javi. I love you and I can’t have you slipping away from me, like you are one of my lost happy memories. The little girl in me knew that you’d come back to me.” you said, before pressing your lips onto his.

A part of you always knew that your soul was tied to Javi and nothing in this world could pull him away from you. Javi let his hands explore you, taking his sweet time to kiss you back, slowly. Once he was sure that your lips were swollen with his touch, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours as you caught your breath. He breathed you in and you smelled like home. You made him feel unstoppable and as he hugged you close, he realized that no cartel member could even stand a chance around him now that he had you with him. 

That's my girl.

[iiconicxpersona]

Whatever It Takes.

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Warnings: this fic features a scene from s02e03 Our Man in Madrid and that episode is a trigger warning in its own, but if you need specifics then this fic includes ANGST, mvrder, su!c!d3 attempt, depression, alcoholism. MINORS DNI & READ AT YOUR OWN RISK (I cannot stress that enough)

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: You and Javier get tagged along in a manhunt gone wrong with the return of Colonel Carrillo. After the tragedy that occurs, you look to Javier for comfort only to get heartbroken when he seeks comfort from another woman.

From the moment you were assigned the Escobar case in Bogotá, you prepared yourself for the best and the worst. You knew that once this case was finally over, and God only knew how long that would take, you would not return to Texas like the woman you were when you left. However, it didn’t seem to matter exactly how much you prepared yourself ahead of time in all aspects; nothing was ever going to prepare you for all the horrors you had witnessed and the ones still yet to come.

“We’re all in. Whatever it takes.”

Words you, Agent Javier Peña, and Agent Steve Murphy repeated to each other almost frequently to remind yourselves and each other that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to do whatever it took to catch Escobar and every single person whoever took a single dollar from him. Of course, Messina and the entire force did everything they could to keep your missions restricted, but to catch a bad guy; you must be willing to break some rules.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Colonel Carrillo was the King of playing by his own rules. His methods were cruel and relentless, but they were effective in one way or another. But those same methods ultimately led him to be transferred to Spain. When he was brought back on the team by the Colombian government, it shook you to the core, and the only problem was that you could no longer tell if that was good or bad.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

The first mission at hand with Colonel Carrillo is to track down every spotter Escobar had hiding in the area. It seems simple enough, considering the spotters were mainly children under eighteen.

“Peña, Y/L/N, you come with me.” Carrillo orders.

You and Javier exchange looks of concern to each other and then to Steve, who's disappointed when Carrillo tells him to stay behind for radio contact.

“You be careful out there,” Steve adds as you and Javier follow Carrillo to one of the unmarked cars.

“You got your vest on?” Javier asks without looking at you.

You nod and pat your stomach hard enough to make the bulletproof padding audible. “I never leave without it.”

“Good. This could get ugly, so I want you to always stay beside me. Understand?” He finally looks at you while still walking forward.

“Jesus, Javi, this isn’t my first rodeo.” You scoff.

He rolls his eyes, clearly not amused by your comment. “Cariño, I’m fucking serious. These kids are dangerous, and the last thing I want is for you to underestimate one, and he holds you at gunpoint or worse.”

Just then, you remembered what Javi had told you the day Steve’s adopted baby girl, Oliva, was rescued, and you instantly regretted trying to be sarcastic. He never told Steve, but while they were chasing down the two men responsible for murdering Olivia’s biological family and you were in the house guarding her, Javier came close to catching one of the men until a little boy caught him off guard from behind and held him at gunpoint. Javier was sure that at any moment, the kid would pull the trigger and kill him, or worse, he would miss his shot, and Javier would have to kill the kid instead. Thankfully, once the guy he was chasing got away, so did the kid, and ever since then, Javier knew that with the right amount of money and power, Escobar could make anyone do anything.

“Always stay beside me. Understand?” Javier demandingly repeated.

You nod. “I understand.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

One by one, each kid that Escobar hired as a spotter was taken into custody. However, Carrillo had other plans instead of taking them straight to the station for interrogation like you and Javier thought.

Given Carrillo's extreme methods in the past, you should’ve known that this wouldn’t be as simple as you had hoped. Though you figured that because they were just kids, what could go wrong?

Everything.

One right next to the other, at least seven boys are lined up in the middle of a dark alley with their hands behind their heads and sitting upright on their knees. You stand next to Javier off in the distance while Carrillo paces slowly in front of them. As you examine their faces, it breaks your heart to see how young they are. Some look at least sixteen, but the youngest looks six or seven.

They try to keep stone-cold faces on while Carrillo attempts to scare them straight. A couple of the boys laugh at him and make insults in Spanish.

“Shut up, kid.” Javier mumbles.

You do your best to look as emotionless as possible, but mentally, you are frightened to know what is going through Carrillo’s mind, especially when he pulls out his gun and begins loading it in front of them.

One of the older boys laughs and asks Carrillo if he should be scared.

“No,” Carrillo replies.

BANG.

You stood there and watched the now young lifeless body slowly fall to the ground. Aside from the streetlights, the alleyway is pitch dark due to the summer evening, but you’d swear you could see everywhere the boy’s blood had splattered as if it happened in daylight.

It took every fiber in your being not to lose your cool or vomit at the scene. You were even too afraid to reach for Javier, who was only a couple of inches away from you, for some comfort. Although judging from how his body tensed up and the look on his face, he was just as distraught inside as you were.

What was Carrillo thinking? Even if the kid tried to be a fearless macho man about it, he was still just a kid. There were plenty of other ways Carrillo could’ve tried to prove a point to them about the dangers of working with someone like Escobar. Regardless of whether you liked it, he gave them a harsh reality check.

Carrillo then takes one bullet from his gun and hands it to the youngest boy, telling him to give it to Escobar and let him know who it is from. You watch helplessly as the boy takes the bullet with tears running down his face and stuffs it in his pocket. Then Carrillo finally sets the remaining boys free. You immediately cling to Javier once they are out of sight.

He hesitates for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you, still in shock from what just happened as you tried your best to hold back your sobs.

“Cariño…” Javier struggles to find the right words. How could he comfort you when he couldn’t convince himself that everything was fine? “We have to go.” He finally said.

Whatever it takes.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

This is one of those nights you wish Javier wouldn’t depend on a cheap hooker to help him forget.

About six months ago, after almost losing you during a shootout mission, Javier suggested that you move in with him “for your safety,” which you hesitantly accepted two months later. Murphy always teased how Javier always had a soft spot for you, and although you couldn’t deny you also had a soft spot for Javier, you tried to keep your crush precisely that: just a crush. Even if it nearly killed you inside when he would come home late smelling of sex, cheap perfume, and cigarettes.

While staring blankly at a pile of paperwork, your mind couldn’t stop replaying what happened less than an hour ago. Steve tried talking to you about how frustrated he was about Carrillo not trusting him to tag along with the mission, but his words only went in one ear and out of the other.

“You should be grateful.” You finally spoke up, still not taking your eyes off the paperwork.

At that moment, Steve gave up on his argument. As much as he hated feeling like an outsider because of his looks, nationality, or poor Spanish, he knew his troubles were nothing compared to what you and Javier were going through at this very moment.

You could hear Javier mumbling under his breath on the phone at his desk, which generally meant he was talking to one of his hookers. At that point, you were already two shots deep in tequila and resting your head on your arms to hide your face like the game you used to play at school as a kid.

You hated the jealous feeling that crept up inside you as he talked to her about meeting with her in the next half an hour.

Why tonight of all nights? Or if he needed a good fuck to help him forget, then why couldn’t it be with you? You were there. You saw everything happen just as he did. Did it ever occur to him that maybe you needed a night of meaningless sex to help you forget everything too? In all the years you had known Peña, he had no shame in screwing every woman in sight, but he never once offered to put his hands on you. Sure, you flirt with each other almost every day, but would there ever be more? Were you not pretty enough? Or not skinny enough? Or because you didn’t open your legs to every man in sight?

“Cariño, you all right?” Javier’s low voice startles you out of your thoughts. He places his hands on your shoulders and begins to massage you once you sit up and lean back into your chair, feeling your body relax under his touch.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. Your voice is now hoarse from choking back all the tears and emotions.

Javier leans down and wraps his arms around your upper body with his chin resting on your shoulder. “Don’t you disappear on me, okay?”

You nod, and he kisses your cheek and gives you one last squeeze.

“I gotta run a few errands, but I’ll be home late.”

Desperation kicks into high gear, and you cling to his arms for dear life. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“It’s just for a few hours. I need to clear my head. You understand, right?” He pulls away from you once your grip loosens, but you still reach for him.

“Well yeah, but…”

“But what!” He snaps at you in frustration.

Then it hits you in that very second like a ton of bricks: you and Javier Peña will never be more than just friends.

You let go of his hand when the tears build up again. “You know what? Just go. I won’t wait up.”

Realizing what he had just done, a wave of guilt washes over Javier, and he slowly steps towards you. “Shit, cariño I’m sor…”

“I said go!”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

By the night's end, you had already downed most of the tequila. Murphy knew Javier would kill him if he had let you go home by yourself, so being the southern gentleman he is, he gave you a ride home.

On the inside, you were trying to fight off too many emotions. You didn’t dare to let Steve see you cry, especially after witnessing your little moment with Javier. For what? So that he can tell Javi, and they can laugh at how pathetic you are behind your back? Though you knew they would never do that, it was still a fear that helped keep your emotions in check.

“Thanks for the ride, Murphy.” You half smiled at him.

“Of course.” He could hear the pain in your voice, but he tried his best to keep cool. You’re already going through enough as it is. “Hey, just know I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“You’re a good man, Steve. Connie’s a lucky girl.” You lean in to give him a small peck on the cheek before letting yourself out of the car.

You dread every single step toward your shared apartment with Javi. You dread it so much that if you were stable enough, you’d walk to your old apartment two buildings over. Most of your stuff is still there, considering you had just moved in with Javier four months ago. You had only brought essential things like clothes, makeup, bathroom stuff, and a few sentimental values. But the fact that you were barely making it on your own to Javi’s front door was enough to make you rethink.

Once you stumble inside, the first thing you noticed was how quiet it is. Too quiet. Not that you and Javi were noisy people when he didn’t have women over, which thankfully wasn’t often ever since you moved in. But even then, the apartment is never this quiet. You hate the silence. It only made the events of tonight replay louder and louder in your brain.

Throwing off your coat and shoes, you let them land wherever as you make your way to the radio and turn it on to a local rock station with the volume on full blast. You swerve over to Javier’s liquor cabinet and mindlessly scan around at each of his selections. The one bottle of bourbon he saved for special occasions had caught your eye. Judging from how rich the bottle looks, it must be one of his most expensive liquors. Your conscious told you to stop, but the music and your drunk state of mind were enough to tune it out. You grab the bottle from the glass shelf and gnaw the cap off before downing the liquor like water.

You never smoked a cigarette, but once you found Javier’s carton in the cabinet, you pulled out a fresh pack and ripped off the plastic wrap. Javier was already a heavy smoker as it was, but he seemed to smoke a lot more when he was stressed out, and you wanted to know what it was like. If it helps Javi calm down, why wouldn’t it help you?

You flick the first white stick out of the small paper box as if you were already a natural to smoking. Not that you would admit it out loud, but after seeing Javi do it a few times, you were tempted and tried it for shits and giggles.

Lighting the stick between your lips, you inhaled deeply only to choke out the nicotine and smoke immediately. “I can’t believe Javi likes this shit.” You gag.

The first few puffs were disgusting, and if it weren’t for the bourbon making it easier to wash down the horrid taste, you would’ve thrown up after the first puff. But soon enough, you were already on your second and third cigarette. Each smoke is smoother than the last.

Dancing around in the living room in a tank top and panties, with a cigarette in your mouth and another bottle of whiskey in your hands, you were on cloud nine, and for the first time that night, nothing else mattered. You weren’t aware of how much you had already drunk or how you were already almost finished with the first pack of cigarettes. You even forgot you were in Javier’s apartment until the clock caught your attention. It’s 2:30 am, and Javier still isn’t home. If you were sober, you probably would’ve been worried sick about him, but his delay made you angry. He didn’t have to spend the night with another cheap hooker, and if he did feel the need to, he could’ve at least called you to let you know he wasn’t coming home.

How dare he? After everything you two had been through tonight, how dare he leave you alone? How dare he not be here so you two can try to comfort each other? How dare he yell at you in front of Murphy, embarrassing you when you only wanted him to stay? How dare he be a typical douchebag and leave you just to get his dick wet by some random bitch he barely knows? How dare he not see that you care about him so damn much? How fucking dare Javier Peña!?

At that moment, you refused to reason anymore and instead let your anger-fueled adrenaline take complete control of your body.

His precious liquor cabinet is the first item to fall victim to your rage. You push it off the wall with full force and watch it slowly crash to the ground, just like the little boy did in the alley. Then you grab every bottle that didn’t break in the fall and throw them in random areas of the living room. Only the shattering noise, your cries, and the loud music fill the void that is Javier’s apartment.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You don’t remember how you wound up on the bathroom floor next to the toilet with more bourbon in one hand and your pistol in the other. Your adrenaline was still pumping through your veins uncontrollably, and you couldn’t feel any of the cuts that formed all over your body from the broken glass. Miraculously, none of which were too deep to leave a permanent scar.

There’s no telling how long ago your rampage began, but suddenly the radio that was once blaring rock music had gone silent. You didn’t care. You sat there hugging your knees with the hand holding the pistol while continuing to drink.

You could hear heavy footsteps slowly inching closer to the bathroom, and then he turned the corner with his pistol pointing directly at you.

“C—Cariño…” Javier mumbled in shock.

He was about to rush to you, but then he froze in place the second you extended your arm and aimed your pistol at him. “Don’t. Come. Any. Closer.” You demand.

Suddenly, every ounce of color was flushed from Javi’s face. He slowly put his gun down on the sink and raised his hands in surrender. The image made you chuckle as he slowly dropped to his knees before you.

“Baby, plea—”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, and it catches you both off guard. “All I wanted was for you to stay with me. To help me forget. But no! Typical Javier Peña; you had to think with your dick! You didn’t even care enough to call me to let me know when you’ll be home or to see if I was all right. Do you realize that I probably would’ve never made it home if it wasn't for Murphy? Thank God he’s a fucking decent human being, unlike you!” At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears as you cock the gun, making Javier tense up in fear for the second time.

“Cariño, I’m sorry. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I should’ve been here for you, and I know that now. But please don’t do this.” Javier pleaded.

“It’s too late.” You choke out.

Javier felt his heart stop when you pointed the gun barrel at your temple. In his mind, he had already snatched the gun from your hand, but physically he couldn’t move.

However, once you pulled the trigger, the only sound filling the apartment was a click.

You gasp at the reality of what you were about to do and drop everything in your hands. Only then did Javier find the strength to stumble over and embrace you tightly in his arms.

You hyperventilate and bawl into his shirt as Javi tries to calm you down. Once again, your hands cling to him for dear life. “I’m so sorry, Javi!” You cry.

“Shh. Shh. It’s all right, baby. It’s all right. I’m here now.” He strokes your hair and slowly rocks you back and forth in his arms until you finally fall asleep.

Javier gently picks you up bridal style and carries you to his room, where he could grab a wet towel and some hydrogen peroxide to clean some of your cuts off before tucking you into bed. He took a second to sit there and stare at you as you slept peacefully. If he didn’t feel guilty before, he does now.

Javier sometimes liked to think of himself as a sharp man, but he was blind when it came to you. Murphy often told him that anyone could see you two were head over heels for each other, but he never accepted it as the truth. He never thought you cared about him as more than a friend. And he blew it when he finally had his chance to prove to you that he was worthy of your heart.

There was no telling how long it would take you to forgive him, but he was willing to do whatever it took to regain your trust. He’s all in now, and this time, he wouldn’t make this mistake again.

[jolapeno]

a pile of cards

javier peña x f!reader | part four of the birthday bash

summary: it’s become a tradition. he presents you with a birthday card so you can collect his words, while he collects the expressions you share as you read them.

warnings/themes: javi through the seasons, narcos season two/three spoilers. cute, fluff. happy ending. wordcount: 3.8k

It began because he didn’t want to be empty-handed. 

Murphy and Connie’s pink bag of tissue put him on edge as they stood outside his door. Fidgeting. Hurrying him along.

Normally, it’s not him being dragged somewhere, but rather he doing the dragging.

His arm never needing to be twisted to go to a bar. It, in more recent times, has become a hobby of his to find a way to bury the day—sometimes by liquor, other times by other means. 

He’d lied with relative ease that he needed them to make a stop—needing smokes. Once inside, he grabbed the first card he felt was relevant and used the scratchy pen belonging to the man behind the counter to sign it.

Now, he’s outside the bar.

The one a bit further out than he usually goes. It’s calm, maybe too much. There are fairy lights swinging overhead the gathering in the outside area, the Colombian heat still laying its thick hands over those invited to your shindig—even as the sun tries to set. 

The words, “It’ll be fun”, came back to him. That you’re new, working with the CIA. Connie periodically interjecting that you’re funny, nice.

Javi swallows the questions about how she knows, just sitting silently in the back like a child dragged somewhere he didn’t want to go.

Mainly, he had wanted to question how he’d met the new recruit, and he hadn’t. He didn’t. Swallowing it, letting its bitter taste scratch his throat as it sank down.

It’s rising now, clogging his oesophagus. Making it hard to force normalcy as he walks in rhythm with the Murphys to the cheers and shouts.

There’s laughter swirling, too. Music—all loud and chirpy—making him more aware of the gun in the back of his jeans, a nervous tinge to his twitching fingers.

Because Medellín parties haven’t fared well in the past. Not even recently.

His apprehension only settles as they reach the familiar faces—the ones who take one look at three of them and remain unsure what to do with their faces.

It dawns on him then that maybe he hasn’t made friends with the CIA lot well. Preferring his game of winding them up more than Murphy.

He’s about to comment on it, when Connie shrieks. A flash of colour bounds their way until arms wrap around both her and Murphy.

Him standing, leaning his weight more on one foot as he studies the exchange. Observing. Getting bits and pieces from Connie’s excited chatter. You look pretty, like your dress, you shouldn’t have, and then when he is all set to roll his eyes, he sees you.

Realising what Connie means. 

All bright eyes. A smile that renders him momentarily useless. The thing in his throat vanished, replaced by dryness and confusion.

“Hey, birthday girl, need t’introduce you to someone,” Steve says, turning to him, “This is my partner, meet Javier Peña.”

He tries not to stare but finds he does all the same. His brain wracking itself trying to place you, work out where, if, he’s seen you before. Unsure how he hasn’t seen you before—this enigma of a person who is suddenly friends with so many around him. 

Not even recognising you in passing. 

And he’d remember. Dragging his eyes up and down the dress hugging your body, he’d definitely remember. 

“Hi, Javier. Thank you for also coming? Drinks are not on me or the house, and if you order any food, I have to have some.” 

Snorting, he wipes his jaw. “That right?” 

Nodding, you take a sip of a beer you’re handed. “Birthday rules, I’m afraid.” 

“I—um. Got you a card?” 

He watches as your smile goes through a spectrum of types before it lands on a smirk. Finger and thumb taking it from his hand with a glint in your eye—one he can’t pick apart. Fucking CIA. 

Javi also notices that Steve’s brows are so close to his fucking hairline, it makes the man looks ridiculous.

“Ha-Happy birthday.” 

Placing the beer bottle down, you glance back at him before unpeeling the envelope. Sliding it out, staring at the very generic card.

Nothing else inside it except, what he hopes is your name, Happy Birthday and signed with Javier. 

“You… you don’t know me, do you?” 

He considers lying before he smirks. “Why’d you say that?” 

“You spelt my name wrong,” you add, tongue in cheek as you grin. “But, I’ll forgive you if you buy me a drink.” 

Steve snorts to the left of him, trying to disguise it behind his hand. “Be nice, Jav. She’s joining us in a few months. In the DEA.” 

Shrugging, Javi snorts. “What you drinkin’ birthday girl?”

In a year, he’s learnt several things about you. 

One that you have awful taste when it comes to dating. Two, you like your coffee black. Three, you do not smoke. Four, you care about him (even if you attempt to bury it under snark and sarcasm when it rears its head).

Yet somehow, on the anniversary of your two’s meeting, he finds you outside. Alone. A cigarette in between your fingers, burning, smoke ascending as you stare across the city. 

“Y’know the party is in there, right?” 

Smiling, you nod. Running a hand up and down your arm. Little bumps spread over exposed skin as you cast your eyes out to the city—the one sprinkled with lights that grow in numbers as the stars begin to twinkle. 

“You spell my name right this year?” 

Snorting, Javi steps out further onto the veranda—the palm fronds swinging, the scent of your Marlboro reaching his nostrils. 

He doesn’t think when another breeze brushes in, his jacket in his hand—extended out. You turn your head, facing him, the smallest crease between your brows before he watches you hand him the smoke, and feels your fingers brush against his—a buzz, a shockwave—passing up his fingertips to his wrist and arm. 

Then it’s gone. 

His leather jacket around your shoulders, his fingers twitching—wishing to smoke what you handed him. His own very much resting on your hip (both his lighter and packet in the pocket resting on your frame). 

“Anything else come with the card this year?” 

Lips parted, an open-mouthed smirk sliding into one cheek, as he watched you tip back your drink. Eyes not leaving him. Stuck, fixed—waiting. 

“You can smoke that, by the way.”

He notices it’s not stained with lipstick or gloss. Bringing it to his lips, taking a drag that instantly settles the fluttering in his stomach.

Holding your gaze a little longer. “You got something in mind?” 

Shrugging, you’re the one to break the stare. Pulling his jacket more around your shoulders—all unreadable, a mystery. 

“Just thought, it’s been a year—you might have treated me.”

He almost chokes and splutters. Almost.

A part of him wants to ask how much you’ve drank, because you’re being bold—bolder than normal. Also, because he very much wants to.

While Javi isn’t normally an asking-permission kind of man, he felt he needed to with you. Even if all he thinks about doing is treating you. 

On his desk. 

In the file room. 

In his car after a long shift when the two of you walk out together. 

Tonight, in your ridiculously tight clothes that do nothing to help him continue to be a gentleman. 

Because you’re on his team, you do good work. You’re good for Murphy and especially good for him. 

When you bring him coffee just because, when you’re talking to Murphy or translating for him, but your eyes slide to him. Sometimes when he finds himself in the same bar as you, your posture relaxed, eyes somewhat glazed as someone he doesn’t recognise has their arm around you. 

You populate his mind, like seeds were buried in him at your first meeting, and have been blooming ever since.

In the year since he was first really introduced to you, he’s had many thoughts about you. Wondering what it would take to get your pupils to swallow the colour in your eyes, whether you’d say his name full of gasp or prettily. Whether you’re as beautiful in real life when you come, as you are when he dreams of you. 

“But, guess I’m not your type.” 

He snorts, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue as he assesses you. Unsure how you could be so wrong, when he knows you’re usually so right. 

Your fingers pull his jacket around you, fiddling, a nervousness to each movement. 

“What?” 

Smirking, you lick your lips. “I hear things.” 

“Good things?” 

Snorting, he watches as you do that playful roll of your eyes. “Mixed bag, if I’m honest.” 

Kicking off from the post, he finds your eyes don’t leave his. Not even as he begins to step closer, deciding to test his theory.

Flicking the smoke from his hand, Javi tries not to second-guess himself under your wider eyes, taking him in, swallowing him. He never gets nervous, never questions it.

Until you. It’s not until he’s so close to you the gap between you both is suspicious at best if someone were to come out and find you.

But, you don’t push him away. Don’t even begin to question any of it. You just keep looking from his eyes down to his lips.

The moment slowing— sound of the bar’s jeers growing more distant as the space around the two of you fades to nothing. 

It’s almost poetic, if not for the reason the two of you are here. That the task at hand, outside of cards, drinks and birthdays, is to end the war on drugs 

“Javier?” 

He swallows, and then he moves. Gently. Softly, slowly sliding his mouth over yours as he feels you stiffen, before you relax. A purposeful movement of your lips against his, fingers finding a place on his neck and cheek. 

You taste like sweetness, sin and something that leaves a lingering spice. A taste he’d love to chase—something he’d enjoy taking apart and having splayed across his sheets for hours. 

He turns you, shifting you from your place until your spine meets a post—hand on your cheek, keeping you close, tongue sliding past your teeth as he swallows a whimper (that he hopes is his name).

His own groan vibrates through you, feeling it in his palm as it rests on your jaw. 

A part of him wants to urge you into his truck, drive you back to his and make up for lost time. But the sound of a bottle breaking from somewhere inside pulls his lips from yours. A reminder, a bold one—all written in large font and the blackest of ink. 

It’s your birthday. Your party. 

You seem to know, smiling up at him—a glazed overcast of pleasure in your eyes.  

“Thank you for coming, Javi.” 

Brushing his knuckles up and down your cheek, his lips slide into a one-sided smile. “Wouldn’t have missed it.” 

Another year, but it’s now a different kind of party. 

Murphy excuses himself with slurred words, stumbling out of your room—telling him he’ll see him in theirs soon. Leaving just you, with just him. 

Javi’s decided he hates Medellín.

He did before they were basically on lockdown in the building. Hands tied by paperwork and Messina’s form instructions.

“Let me guess…” you say, all sweet—with wine-filled eyes. 

Javi pulls out a card from his back pocket, a smirk sliding over to one side of his face—watching as your eyes flick over his face before landing on the off-white envelope. 

It happens quickly, which is why he doesn’t drag his eyes away.

The sparkle in your eye that travels to your lips—the soft, sweet smile which could light up a room if you ever let it show. Mostly, he watches for the sight of you sliding into yourself—all that fake confidence disappearing for a moment. He sees speckles of it when he removes the last piece of fabric from your skin, when you get shy, even if it’s just him.

Javi doesn’t remember other people’s birthdays. He doesn’t ever buy them coffee. He who doesn’t want to watch, study, or admire, the reaction such a gesture brings. 

There are now even very few he likes being between the thighs of—not that he’ll admit it.

He does care about the people in his life, latches on—has a need to fix and save them. Caring for Murphy, Connie, Olivia, and then the more obvious ones, his Pop, those back home. Then there are the ones he cares for differently, Gabby, and the other women he tangles himself with.

And then, not fitting in any of those piles specifically, there’s you.

You who doesn’t need him to save you. You don’t need him to fix you. Perfectly content to do so yourself, to let him see all the fractured shards and pieces of yourself you don’t love. 

It’s why he suspects it’s different with you. 

Why it’s more than needing to make your back arch, toes curl and chant his name. Why on some level, he craves you handing him control—letting him in, pulling back the curtains that bit more to see the other parts of you that you’re more afraid to let anyone see. 

“‘Happy birthday to the one who sometimes bruises her knees for me’. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a poet?” 

Smirking, he wipes his mouth with his thumb. “Poet, no. Good with my fingers, yes.” 

You put the card on the table, leaning closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

And it’s more than stress relief—more than friends who fuck. Especially as he runs his hands down your arms, letting them slide down until they innocently rest on your waist—desperation thumping through his veins to kiss you. 

At some stage, you had gone from tasting like a sin to tasting like happiness. A ray of something. A thing which warms inside of him, fanning out, dashing through his nerves when he’s close to you. 

It’s sometimes why he goes to Gabby. 

Not deserving of it—the way you look at him. The way you make him feel. How you see him, all of him, accepting of all the sides of him.

Plus, there's the realisation that in the year of whatever dance it is that the two of you are doing, you’ve become more of a necessity than a want. 

He likes you being around, curled up close against him—in whatever form that is. He savours the moments when you don’t dress immediately, letting his fingers run up and down your arm. He enjoys the moments when you turn up, swallowing his greeting with your lips as you ask him to simply ruin you.   

You don’t like feelings. 

They’re about on par with nearly as much as you like your birthday, hating that people change and how things alter. 

Normally, he’s happy to convince you otherwise, but in truth, he may hate this one of your birthdays too. 

Not because he wishes he’d got the flowers or that your perfume is weaving its way into his senses. But rather, despite that, he wishes he’d picked you up something more, and he wishes your scent bled into his clothes, skin and soul. 

Because Javi is pretty sure he’s just realised he likes you. 

He wishes he could have kissed the smile on your face when you read the card, knowing he’ll always wonder what it tasted of. 

He likes you more than just someone he rolls around in the sheets with. And a lot more than someone he spends the occasional evening with, curling up on the sofa and falling asleep. 

And, deep down, he’s not sure what the fuck that even means.

It’s a curse being sent back.

Both because of him missing out on Escobar being taken down, because he’s in the States, while you’re in Colombia. 

The words he should have said rested between the card and nib of his pen.

I like you. I’m sorry for the shit I did.

More apologies sitting on his chest. Like the fact he kept it all from you, only seeing the look in your eye when he was packing—filled in by someone else. 

You hadn’t seemed mad. But rather wounded, hurt. A crease in your expression he wanted to smooth out with more than fingers and lips, but rather words.

Should have told me. 

That was all you said. Four words. Letting them strike, pierce into his skin as you tapped your fingers on the door frame he shared with Murphy. And then, you made yourself scarce.

A part of him hoping, less secretly than he’d normally let show, that you’d appear at the airport. But you didn’t.

Now he was missing another thing.

A thing that wouldn’t be on his file, but had made a permanent mark on him all the same.

By the time he sees you with this particular card, your birthday will have long passed. Another thing he’s failed at. 

Because he’s not even heard from you. 

You still haven’t returned a single one of his calls. 

Your anger being felt across countries at this point. But, maybe he’ll see you if you accept the job. Even if the dynamic is different, no Murphy alongside the two of you, he hopes you do.

Hope you take the chance to work together again—with him, an equal, even if the title is under him. 

Because he’s not sure he can do it alone. Not sure he can take down Cali without you.

It’s late. 

Midnight black paints the world as he slips the key into the door, turning the lock with more care than he usually ever shows.

It still sounds loud, as are his footsteps as he flicks on the light as he first enters. Bag dumped near scattered shoes, coat sliding from his frame as he checks the door is locked once, twice, thrice.

A habit he’s picked up, adopted as if it was his own.

Once it’s done, the checklist complete—by that, he's rid of keys, wallet and possessions. The thing he hasn't parted with in days becomes heavy in his pocket—the card.

The one he wrote days ago, and should have left here for you to open. 

Even if he likes handing it to you. He likes how you collect his cards, and he collects your expressions. 

He has minutes left to uphold this tradition, not wanting a repeat—another tally against his name.

Moving through the small place, he spots the cake on the kitchen counter. The one with a slide missing and a candle still on the top. His stomach lurching. Guilt blooming. 

You understand. Your fingers on his cheek, arm around his waist as you tell him all the right words, brushing out any doubts and questions.

One day.

That’s what you always say.

Something he repeats as he swipes his fingers against the cream, tasting the sugar and sweetness. One day he’ll be here when you bake it, a person witness to the candle being lit and your wish being made.

Now, he just moves through the rest of his dark place. Pushing open the bedroom door.

Light cascading in from the hall light, spotting you immediately all splayed out across the bed. One of his shirts in your fingers, an old tee of his on your frame, and a peaceful look on your face that he’s been missing since the moment he'd needed to go to Cali. 

He doesn’t want to wake you, but he also selfishly does. 

Just so he can use the last minutes of your day to do your usual tradition. To be able to show you he didn’t forget, and let you read the message this time.

The words which have been mounting, mixing with the pressure which rests on his shoulders more and more as they grow closer to seeing the godfathers in cuffs.

Instead, he brushes your bare thigh, just to feel, to touch. Feeling how you calm him, eradicate the annoyances of his day—his week. Not even noticing that you’re shifting, twitching, until he hears:

“Javi?” 

Sleep-filled and hazy, you’re blinking. Even in the limited light, you look beautiful. Something he tells you, earning him a crooked smile—likely not believing him, because you never do.

He’s quick, removing his hand (spotting the light frown near your brow) before he pulls the card from his back pocket, spotting the way the envelope has a deep line that has been born from where it’s been bent. 

“¡Feliz cumpleaños, cariño!”

His words bury over his inward curse. A new part, fresh and more strong, making him wish he’d kept the card here so it looked more presentable. Even if he liked having it, his thumb brushing over his back pocket like he had a piece of you with him.

Smiling, you shift on the bed, dragging the sheet with you as you take the card. 

He watches as you lick your lips, rubbing sleep from your eye before you unpeel it. Sliding it out. 

Javi hears his pulse in his ear. Thumping. All loud, to the point he’s sure you must be able to hear. It's almost full of bass, like it’s trying to make a song—one he’d call after you, and play it all the time.

Because you’re the only one who makes him feel like this. His hands sliding up his trousers, wiping the growing sweat from his palm. 

“You nervous, baby?” 

He smirks, shifting his weight. 

“I always like your cards.” 

It lessens—the smirk. Instead, it spreads into a smile. One you always get him to wear, like a spell you’ve cast over him since you two first met all those years ago. 

Clearing your throat, you look at the card, “To the one I love on your birthday,” you whisper.

Eyes lingering, re-reading, before your head snaps up. 

It’s clear to him that it takes a second to register and connect. 

“Wait, Javi, you lo…” 

Shrugging, he tilts his head. 

Your hands lower to your lap, eyes narrowed. 

“Say it,” you add, more demand in your tone than he’d expected for someone asleep a few moments ago. “Please.”

“Bit late for the please, querida.” 

Eyes narrowing, you close the card, hands falling to your lap. “Javi—“

“I love you. Te amo. I love y….” 

Slowly, you move. Crawling towards him. Hand cupping his cheek, forehead pressing to his as his fingers find purpose on your thigh and hip. 

“I love you too.” 

He tightens his hold on you, feeling you sit more in his lap. Fingers brushing over his cheek, wiping the stress free from his face—removing the weight from his shoulders. 

“And I’m glad you’re back,” you add. 

“Hate leaving you.” 

“One day you won’t, right?” 

Nodding, he sees the flashes of things he wants when he blinks and dreams. When he lets himself plan and think ahead of right now. 

“Good. Best present you could have given me.” 

Snorting, he runs his nose against yours. “Haven’t given you anything yet.” 

Smirking, you hover your lips over his. “I’ll be taking that in a second.” 

“I do love you.” 

“I believe you. But, I think you should show me,” you whisper, capturing his lips. 

And he does. Even if the time has ticked past midnight.

an: thank you to everyone for all welcoming me into the pp community. also, apologies if there are errors, this one is phone-written as I've been celebrating :)

[sweetlummie]

Muñequita: Prologue

Tysm to my lovey love @iamasaddie for making this amazing moodboard for my series!!! Ilysm 💗💗

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Javier Peña x Fem! Plus size! Reader x (eventual) Steve Murphy; some Javier Peña x Steve Murphy (mentioned)

A/n: HELLO!!! I’ve been sitting on this series since March 😭 I hope you all enjoy! I’m still working on it!! Expect part 1 to come out soon!! ALSO some sentences are in Spanish but I provided translations on the side!! As always feel free to leave constructive criticism. Likes, comments, and reposts are appreciated 🫶🫶🫶💗

Warnings: semi-open relationship, kind of infidelity?, polyamory!!, if I missed any please let me know! Each chapter will have their own content warning!

W/c: 1k+

* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・

Javier frequented this quaint little diner for one reason and one reason alone. The sweet little waitress that would serve him black coffee every morning. He would watch in a trance as you moved about the diner, serving clients their orders. You always had such a pretty smile when attending him and other patrons which was what got his attention first. “Welcome in, I’ll be serving you today!” you were just so cute with your little pink star clips that matched the powder pink dress you wore as uniform, he grinned as he heard your sweet little voice, he knew he had to have a taste of you. “Hola dulzura (Hello sweetness).. I’ll just take a regular black coffee and an order of pancakes.” You had pulled out a notepad and pencil from your white apron around your pudgy stomach and wrote his order down. “Alrighty, I’ll get that for you in a jiffy.” You turned around and began walking towards the kitchen. As you walked away Javier couldn’t stop himself from looking at your bigger figure. You were so much different than the women he was used to fooling around with and you certainly weren’t his type.. But for some reason he wanted you, you were just so delectable to him for a strange reason. 

And so it began, he would try to go to this little diner almost every day just to see you. He’d get so bummed out if you had the day off or were doing another shift. It got to the point where he had your shifts memorized. You began to notice how often Javier would come to your job and would only want you to serve him. You didn’t find it odd, in fact you were quite flattered that a man as attractive as Javier was interested in you. Eventually Javier decided to ask you out on a date which you happily accepted, now a few months later you’ve become his little muñequita.

You had moved in with Javier and learned about his job as DEA agent and quite honestly you found that to be so attractive! Every night when he’d come home from work all worked up and tired you just had to make love to him. Depending on how the day played out he’d fuck you soft and sweetly or if the day was shit or he was angry, he’d fuck you so roughly it would leave you sore for days. You were highly satisfied with your sex life.

One night Javier told you his work buddy and partner Steve Murphy would be stopping by so they could have some drinks. Apparently Steve was going through a rough divorce and needed some cheering up. Being the ever good muñequita you were, you cleaned up the house and prepared some snacks for the boys to enjoy. You were excited that yours and Javier’s relationship was going good to the point where he’s now introducing you to other people in his life. 

When you saw Steve walk through the door you froze. You didn’t expect this man to be so attractive! You instantly became shy and when Javier introduced you both, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. Javier smirked, he knew that look all too well. You looked at him that same way when he had called you over to his table to ask you out on a date. As the night progressed you made yourself scarce. Part of you was ashamed for finding this man attractive when you had such a loving boyfriend who was so sexy but another part of you couldn’t help but imagine how his cock looks or how it would feel inside your mouth, pussy, and even your ass.

When Steve finally left Javier cornered you in your shared room as you both got ready for bed. “Why was my little muñequita so shy today hm? ¿Por qué estaba calladita mi niña? ¿Por qué estaba muy distante? (Why was my little girl so quiet? Why was she so distant?)” You looked at Javier shyly as you stood there in just your tank top and panties. “¿Miro algo.. O alguien que le llamó la atención? (Did she see something.. Or someone who caught her attention?)” You nodded your head and sighed “Yes.. I’m sorry Javier but your partner is so attractive…” Javier only chuckled and reached out to rub your chubby stomach. “So very naughty muñequita… I bet you imagined Steve fucking your pretty little holes silly while I watched hm?”

You did not expect Javier to have this reaction, your eyes widened as he let out a small laugh. “I thought as much. Listen my buddy is going through a rough time, I’m sure he could use some lovin’ from you my little muñequita.. What do you say hm? Next time he comes to our house it’ll be to have some fun with my favorite toy. That sound good?” You felt yourself get aroused at the proposition. As long as Javier and Steve consented to your little playtime you were so down to have a little taste of Steve. 

As you both laid in bed you asked Javier in a hushed voice. “What.. what do you think his cock looks like Javi?” Javier laughed, he knew what Steve’s cock looked like.. One night some months back before you, Javier and Steve found themselves locked in an office at the embassy with their hands on each other’s cocks. They gave each other mutual hand jobs one night tensions were high and it became a regular thing to fool around with each other till Steve was going through his divorce and Javier met you. “It’s long but it isn’t quite as thick as mine muñequita.. If you can handle my cock, you can handle his.” You nodded your head as your mind raced with images of what Steve’s cock would look like.

When your eyes were closing shut to drift off for the night you could feel the bed creak as Javier sat up to use the phone to contact Steve and tell him about the proposition. You wanted to hear the conversation in its entirety but you were too sleepy and you were falling fast. Last thing you remember hearing was Javier. “Esta bien la próxima semana entonces. (Alright, next week then.)” he rasped as everything faded to black. You couldn’t wait to have your playdate with Steve.

* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos fandom smut alphabet - finished!

you know what goes really well with summer sunshine and narcos tv rewatches? SMUTTY FIC!

(they put that bisexual lighting on Isabella for a reason, after all!)

this was our first month of prompts over at @narcosfandomdiscord! for every letter of the alphabet, we had two smutty prompts that fanfic writers used for inspiration. 🥰 our group ambition was to create at least one fic per letter—26 new narcos smut fics during the month of July—and we totally smashed it, in large part thanks to prolific work from @salt-is-a-terrible-currency. happy reading!

if you prefer reading on ao3, check out our collection. all fics tagged as #nffalphabet on tumblr. and it's just that simple 🥰

if you have any questions, you can message us on tumblr or join our narcos fandom discord here!

🍰 Prompt List & Fic Masterlist 🍰

July 1 — A — angry sex, anal

Right For Once by @drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, angry sex, 2.3k

Infuriating by @salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, angry sex, 1.5k

Our Man In Mexico by @hausofmamadas — Horacio Carrillo x Andrea Nuñez, angry sex, 2.5k

July 2 — B — blood, bound & begging

Final Warning by @purplesong1028 — Amado x Pacho, bound & begging, 490

Please (with your finger) by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, bound & begging, 1.2k

blood on vacation by @ashlingnarcos — David Barrón x f!Reader, blood, 1.8k

July 3 — C — cuffs, choking

If I go too far by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, choking, 737

mentirosos by @narcolini — Kitty Paez x gn!Reader, cuffs, 1.1k

July 4 — D — domesticity, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us.”

Taking Care by drabbles-mc — Diego Ramirez (Narcos OC) x F!Reader, domesticity, 2.1k

Lipstick's smudged by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, domesticity and “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 447

A Few Moments by @purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix/Pacho Herrera, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 482

July 5 — E — edging, eldritch

The first time I felt a ghost by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, eldritch, 716

July 6 — F — fight or fuck?, friends with benefits

No relationship talk by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, friends with benefits, 422

Unbroken Rules by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, friends with benefits, 2.9k

July 7 — G — gag/gagging, gun play

Paper-thin walls by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, gag/gagging, 361

Whatever He Wants by purplesong1028 — Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Miguel Félix, gun play, 416

July 8 — H — honor bondage, hatesex

Dress blues by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, honor bondage, 1.8k

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US by hausofmamadas — Enedina Arellano x David Barrón, honor bondage, 2k

July 9 — I — infidelity, in public

Never meet your heroes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, in public, 955

Don't Mention It by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, infidelity and in public, 2.7k

No Strong Suit by purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix x Pacho Herrera, infidelity, 439

July 10 — J — jealousy, "just shut up already"

Unprofessional by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, jealousy, 4.3k

A bad idea by @artemiseamoon — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 2.3k

The ring by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 1.1k

July 11 — K — knotting, knocked up

Which time? by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, knocked up, 418

Secrets in the night by artemiseamoon — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 3.5k

Someday When It's Over by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 2.8k

July 12 — L — luxury, lingerie

Eres guapa by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, lingerie, 544

Desire by artemiseamoon — Enedina Arellano x Original Female Character, lingerie and luxury, 3.9k

Round-trip Ticket by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, lingerie, 7.7k

July 13 — M — mirrors, "make me forget (all about him/her/it/them)"

Another brick in the wall by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, make me forget, 812

Favors Owed by drabbles-mc — Maria Elvira x gn!Reader, make me forget, 2.7k

Like Old Times by artemiseamoon — Judy Moncada x Original Female Character, mirrors, 1.4k

July 14 — N — nipple play, "no one does it like you"

No One Like You by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, no one does it like you, 2k

Sore by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, nipple play, 580

July 15 — O — on all fours, one night stand

Cascade by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, one night stand, 580

July 16 — P — praise kink, pulling hair

Dress blues, pt 2 by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, praise kink, 404

July 17 — Q — quiet (or trying to be), quickie

Sweet, sharp, addictive by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, quiet (or trying to be) and quickie, 464

July 18 — R — role reversal, ruined

Bad Guy Treatment by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, role reversal, 3.8k

What is she to him by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, ruined, 444

July 19 — S — submit, "say my name"

Stoke the flames by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, submit, 387

July 20 — T — trapped together, tied up

On company time by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, trapped together, 574

July 21 — U — upper hand, underwater

The Weight of It All by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x Sal Orozco, underwater, 2k

he keeps his rules. you keep him. by ashlingnarcos — Horacio Carrillo x gn!Reader, upper hand, 1.1k

Polkadots by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, underwater, 359

July 22 — V — virginity (loss or roleplay), video

Off the Backburner by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, virginity, 4.1k

In this moment of pretend by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, virginity roleplay, 435

July 23 — W — "we probably shouldn't do this", worship

Stay A Little Longer by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 1.5k

Lunch break daydream by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 497

July 24 — X — exhibitionism, exes having sex

It's complicated by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Helena, exes having sex, 971

Not Yours Anymore by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, exes having sex, 3.2k

no witness by ashlingnarcos — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, exes having sex, 2.4k

July 25 — Y — yearning, "you look good like this"

Superman (4) by @garbinge — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "you look good like this", 5k

Lost Time by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, yearning, 2.9k

If he closes his eyes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, yearning, 442

July 26 — Z — zipper, zeal

Things Like That by drabbles-mc — Danilo Garza x f!Reader, zipper, 2k

Zealot by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader and Nathan "Cable" Summers from Deadpool x f!Reader, zeal, 4k

(note: we hit the link limit on this post so from now on, links will be to fics + to authors on their first appearance.)

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 || 𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞ñ𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨. 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐨𝐦𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬), 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡(𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬), 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐈𝐕/𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒, 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏(𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝), 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐡, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐜 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨. 𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃.

𝐀/𝐍_𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞ñ𝐚, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰…

✰ 𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙓 (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚)

♪ ♫ 𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙍𝙊 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

Some days it was a maxi dress with reebok, sometimes a pencil skirt and a floral blouse. Most of the time, it was wide jeans and tops. 

The safety of the jeans was sadly comforting while working for the DEA, especially since you were the only female agent working on the Escobar case. 

Fresh out of college and the academy, you were an “easy” target for the other agents. Who were at least okay with you holding a gun and plotting with them. But there were some occasions when you thought their eyes would pop, burn or melt for watching you work with them. And at any moment, they would say you belong to the kitchen, or you’re a whore. 

Pues… que se jodan, bola de cabrones.*

That wasn’t the case for your “permanent” partners. At least with Murphy, because Javier Peña was annoying, insubordinate, and vulgar. 

The department assigned you to them because your ability to read and connect clues was quite impressive. But you were still a little behind them. Staying back when emergencies happened, barely going on investigations by yourself. You could live with that, mainly for how insecure Bogotá was. 

However, only Javier had the audacity to be so fucking annoying, ugh.

“Good afternoon, bonita. Had a good weekend? Lots of sex and alcohol?” Steve pretended he didn’t hear. While you enter the office, and rolled your eyes.

“More like I’ve been with colitis since Friday,” you reveal brutally, ignoring Javier's assumptions. 

“Are you okay?” He asks again, and you sigh. Taking a seat on your desk and looking sourly at him. “Do I look okay?”

“Oh, you look amazing, bonita.” for some seconds, you like his tone, honest. Javier sounds like he meant it, and you briefly smile at him. But Steve steps in front of your desk.

“What this asshole means is if you are in pain?” you chuckle, sipping your homemade tea.

“Uh… it’s nothing new. I’ve had it since I was like 17. It’s just inflammation. But it hurts when I eat, walk, or pee.” The pair was no stranger to your openness. But secretly, Javier loved the contrast you had. Cute, educated, and shy woman was actually cute, educated, and an extrovert with a big mouth. 

“Uhm, maybe you should have stayed home,” Steve stated worryingly. You frowned, crossing your leg in the chair and looking at Steve and Javier exchanging looks. 

“Why? You sound like you know something else. Something that will finally fuck my day…” and there it was, your ability to find correlations. Both men had noticed that you rarely were surprised, and you found many things predictable. 

“The informants aren’t working. We haven’t received any new information in three weeks.” You cringe at Javier. He didn’t have to add the we, because only he used informants. Steve was a loyal partner to Connie, and you craved but sucked for love. “You mean you had sex for three weeks without any labor advantages.”

“…yes,” Steve can’t help but chuckle, and you copy him. “The thing is that while you were absent. We found you a new job.”

“I’m not gonna play the prostitute if that’s what you are suggesting, cabrón.” He smiles briefly. And proceeds to hand you a folder. And when you’re about to take it, he pulls it back. 

“It’s quite the opposite, corazón. It’s a private cabaret. No prostitutes, only professional artists.” you snatch the folder from him in desperation, and he grins again. Steve only looks at the interaction since he already knows what’s happening. You look at the images of the place. And it’s beautiful, like the most refined club from Cuba. It has a good reputation, and apparently, people loved it.

“And what makes you think I’m a professional artist? I’m an agent; it’s a risk. They could know it’s me, and I’m not willing to die yet, especially under this fucking system.” While the news hadn’t ruined your day, it definitely had pissed you off. 

“You have been here for months, and you barely make it on the scene. They won’t have you in the system.”Steve tries to soothe you, but you end up sighing tiredly again. “It would be some days per week, less than a month. Just so we can find who’s the fucking target and the dealer.” 

“But I’m not an artist. And you have to get permission from our superiors to approve this.” Javier, as the top asshole he is, smirks playfully, and gently moving your hands away from the folder, he flicks the pages until you see one in particular. 

“Pero qué hijo de puta eres*…” You whisper at the man, whose smile only grows. 

There’s a signed paper with approval and more details about the task. 

“Good luck, bonita.” You like to think they didn’t do it on purpose for you being a woman. It’s impossible not to feel irritated. But, it could have been worse. 

__

At the cabaret, the women resulted to be more evil than you thought. Most of them already had their private shows past midnight. And others who didn’t , were utterly oblivious to the secret things happening in the workplace.

Even the owners, a couple of cubanos that fell in love with Spain on their honeymoon. They were a kind and humble pair of young men, and their business was elegant and flashy. 

But in the end, Javier lied. The cabaret La Habana was a burdel*, elegant, refined, but lowkey center of prostitution. 

You weren’t spending a lot of time in the office, mainly serving interviews and having rehearsals for your first day on job. 

…

Javier was smoking near the window when you stomped inside. He immediately noticed you were pissed. You were wearing some flare jeans and a red camisole top. He really liked your heel boots, making you look sexy, but all of his attention went to your jacket. 

It definitely was a man's leather jacket. He had no right to pry about it. But he wondered where you got it. Maybe you were seeing someone, or you found it in a thrift store like he knew you liked to do. 

“What happened?” He asked; you sighed tiredly. At that moment, Steve stepped inside with a box full of papers, and when he looked at you, he smiled kindly. “Hey, you’re back….”

“It’s a nice place, buts it's a brothel in disguise, Javier. And they want me to dance flamenco and sing boleros.” He smiles, finishing his cigarette and walking towards you. “But we’ve all heard you sing before, bonita. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, now you pay attention to banal things I do?” you ask sarcastically. You hate his cocky smile because you know he wants to provoke you. 

“I always pay attention to you. And that’s not the only thing I’ve noticed….” Whatever he’s implying, you won’t join. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore his proximity. He only teased you because maybe you were the only woman who wasn’t in need to get inside his pants. “No, don’t frown, bonita. See, you need someone to give you a good time. I could have you screaming my name the whole night.” 

“You know HIV cases are increasing? I don’t think it’s exclusive for homosexuals, You know?” Steve smiled at your way of brushing off Javier. And only the blonde noticed Javier was slightly embarrassed. You turned away and started to walk out of the office. 

“You should be concerned, Peña.” Both men look at you carefully. “Y los dos son un par de pendejos por haberme metido en esto*”

Javier turns to look at Steve, who’s shaking his head at him. 

“What?” He asks. Steve shrugs, taking some folders. 

“No, nothing. It’s just that you are a real asshole to her sometimes. If you like her, you’re doing a great job pushing her away.” he says like it doesn’t matter. And Javier cringed at Steve, he didn’t like you.

“I don’t like her, Murphy. I like being annoying; that’s it.” maybe Javier was hesitating about you. Because maybe he did like you. And if he would never get you in his bed, then he would always flirt with you, but in the worst way. 

“Yeah, but I remind you she’s a good woman, and you shouldn’t loop her into your shit.” with that said, Steve left the office again. 

He didn’t want to push you away. 

__

The phone keeps ringing. It was a busy day, only days away from your first day performing in the cabaret. However, your place still was the embassy. 

Javier enters the office and watches you fluently speak Spanish with someone. Seconds later after finishing the call, you pick up the phone again. 

“Así está bien, gracias. Yo puedo ir a recoger los archivos al rato, muchas gracias*” you finish and keep writing something. Javier knocks and you turn to see him holding a bag and two cups. 

“I-, uh-. I bought you breakfast…” there’s surprise on your face. You send him a suspicious look, but then you try to examine what exactly he brought you. 

“Why?” he babbles for some seconds, and you think it is adorable. Weird that you find Javier Peña adorable. 

“There’s this place of arepas I like very much, and they started selling a breakfast meal, so…” you nod. Little did you know that Javier is nervous, but he’s great at hiding it. “It would be nice to share it.”

“I have to get some files from upstairs. If you don’t mind, I’ll go get them, and then I’ll gladly join you.” he nods and watches you exit

In the hallways, you encounter Steve, and waving at him, he calls you. 

“Hey, I got your message. The files are a pain in the ass,” he mumbles, and you nod, giggling. 

“I know. I’m so tired, and it’s only Wednesday,” he nods. “Breakfast was good tho.”

“Javier bought you breakfast?” You ask, tilting your head, but Steve shakes his head. “No, Connie made some sausages and egg wraps. Why?”

“Oh, just saying…” both of you say goodbye, and as you go to the elevator, a big smile is planted on your face. 

He thought only on you.

__

Your mother taught you to dance flamenco when you were very little. The months you lived in Cataluña, Spain, were delightful, and she was glad to make you happy. 

Now, you were looking at your image in the mirror. Wearing a classic canastero flamenco dress*

It was your second night, and you prayed you could get some good information from the men waiting outside. 

The couple of owners, Marcelo and Oscar, knock on your door, probably to give you good luck.

“Ay por Dios. ¡Te ves divina, y/n!” Oscar says excitedly while Marcelo enters to give you a gentle squeeze on your shoulders. 

“It’s the first time we offer a singing and dancing show simultaneously.” you are aware of his words. But somehow, you weren’t nervous at all, just hesitant. 

“I’ll give a good show. Promise…” you say to the couple. And before you exit the room, you turn again to them. “Oh, and sorry. I forgot about your jacket, Oscar.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart, keep it. I like how it looks on you.” you thank him multiple times, feeling guilty for using them to have information for the DEA. For some seconds, you like to pretend that was your only job. No guns, no carteles, no drugs, no increasing crush on Javier Peña. 

Yes, you were falling for him. After that morning, when he bought you a cheese and beans arepa with eggs, everything changed. You didn’t know why. Javier just seemed to be more… delicate with you. 

Escorting you to the exit, asking about your day, avoiding having smokes in the office, handing you cups of tea. It was weird, but the more it happened, the more you got used to it. He even stopped sharing detailed information about his nights with informants.

Which relieved you but still made you a little jealous. Which you hated because the only reason why you hadn’t reciprocated his insinuations was because of your heart. You wanted to be loved, and he couldn’t give you that.

And that’s your last thought before entering the little stage of the club. 

No ha pasado tanto desde el día en que te conocí 

Y tú no has queri’o hacer caso 

No has hecho ni caso

De to'a' las señales que he ido dejando y que eran para ti

Men in tuxedos, and some elegant women, all look at you as you sing and dance through the stage. You can’t tell if they like what you’re doing, but you feel empowered. You related to the lyrics; maybe you feel it intimate. Because you had also started to leave some hints to Javier, but he didn’t reply. And Steve already knew. But just like you sang from the lyrics, no has hecho caso. 

Porque te quiero 

¿Que cómo te lo tengo que decir?

Se ha entera'o to' el mundo que

me tienes loca

Esto no es vivir…

Javier was watching you. And he also felt related to the lyrics. Because he had been leaving hints to you from the beginning when he met you, also not long ago, he wanted you since day one but now felt like a need. And he was scared, to love and be loved. 

But his fears don’t pull him back. The public clapped, a some even threw roses at you. It was delightful to see you were being positively appreciated. He was amazed to see your talent, and he was curious to know why you were good at it. He heard you often sing in the office when you thought you were alone, but this was different. Flamenco and boleros needed a lot of dedication.

However, Javier carefully walks inside the backstage. Instrumental music had replaced your melodic voice and laughs and cheers were all he could hear.

Also, Javier doesn’t know what he’s going to say to you. He turns to the right, and you’re there closing a door, already changed and with your bag on your shoulder. You spot him, and you can’t help but smile, surprised. 

Then you jog towards him in silence, smile still there.

“I have information!” You share at the same time he starts speaking.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” once again, you’re surprised. Instantly, you forget about the dealer’s information you found. You nod happily at Javier, who chuckles awkwardly. 

“Alright…” he managed to say.

…

It’s a regular Cenaduría*. But it’s beautiful. Javier had his secret gems in Colombia, after all. He gets you a Mote de queso* and an order of empanadas to share. And everything tastes beyond amazing. That was the first time Javier showed a different demeanor with you. He was smiling, sharing many things, and making you laugh. 

“You’re a jerk. Why you never shared anything about this place with me?” He shrugs obnoxiously, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“I was saving you from spending your money” he makes you laugh again, and… you love it. Seeing this side of Javier was unpredictable. Just like him, you never knew what he was going to do. 

“I’ll take your word. I love cooking…” he wasn’t falling more and more every time you shared another talent. No, he wasn’t… he was. 

“You do?” He asks, and you nod. “Yeah, I’m always creating weird dishes.”.

“Like what?” he asks again. 

“Have you ever tried flor de calabaza rellena*?” he shakes his head, and you giggle. 

“No? Oh my god. You should come and help me do some. I swear it’s good.” you don’t analyze the depth of your words, but soon you do. Maybe he doesn’t trust you enough, or he’s not comfortable. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t come. I could do some and-“

“I’d like that, bonita.” it’s honest; he sounds honest. Your eyes shine at his answers, and he can swear you’re happy he accepted. “Plus, I have to see that annoying collection you must have of The Ronettes” 

“Annoying? Those girls were my childhood; shut up.” Javier realized that The Ronettes were very popular when he was in high school. Every prom, they were a must on the playlists. You were probably in kindergarten or elementary at that time. 

“I remember that on my prom, they played many songs of them.” instantly, you blush, a little embarrassed. “Oh. I-I danced Recipe for Love at a spring festival in first grade.”

He laughed, catching the contrast between his experience with The Ronettes and yours. 

“That sounds adorable….” you were a cute pink and lilac butterfly for that festival. Other kids were ladybugs, chickens, pigs, and bees, but you wanted to be a butterfly. “Today, at the cabaret. That was really good.”

“Me? Oh, thanks. My mother has family in Spain, and… we spent a long time in Cataluña.” 

“She taught you?” you nod. Then you moved back to America, and you had that classic house with a green backyard and a swing. 

“Sometimes I miss the States,” you admit eating one of the last empanadas. 

“I don’t. But sometimes I’m tired of here,” he replies. “You don’t?”

“Yeah, of course. But I have hopes of having a family in the future. And here I can’t have that….” Of course, you wanted that. He should have known. 

“So you really want that?” As you process his question, you notice how much you’re sweating because it was always hot and sticky in Colombia. 

“I think so. I want a home, maybe the kids won’t make it into the picture, but I want a life partner.” He gulps awkwardly. That is why he left, and he felt like Laredo wasn’t his home. And what he avoided is what you desired. 

“What? Oh, I forgot you’re anti-nuclear family,” you say sarcastically at his disgusted face. It hurt you, but you knew Javier wasn’t into you. He was trying to be friendly. It didn’t make sense that you were hurt by that. 

“Don’t say it like that, bonita.” he’s not against families, but… he was scared. If he was scared of his new feelings for you, he was terrified of commitment.

“I’m not against it. Just… tiempo al tiempo, hermosa*” you didn’t know, but Javier meant that slowly, he could change his opinion for you. 

He watches you looking out the window, and a rumble of thunders hits at the same time. 

“Oh wow, it’s gonna rain again.” he nods.

“I’ll take you home, don’t worry.” soon, both of you are out, and it’s raining a lot. So you beg Javier to stay with you because you don’t want him to drive in the middle of a thunderstorm. Hesitantly, he accepts.

“Welcome to my humble place.” The complex suits you completely. It’s bohemian with a vintage mixed style. Sand and Hispanic classical tiles are scattered throughout the place.

“You have a lot of things” Javier doesn’t own many things. He didn’t want his place full of evidence that would complicate everything. But your apartment complex was safe with security, vigilance, and more. 

“This is my safe space….” He smiled, watching the elegant beer and alcohol bottles with flowers inside. “Do you have anything to drink?” 

“Una botella de Jimador y Smirnoff*” he chuckled, pointing at you. 

“Take some glasses out.” His demanding tone warms your cheeks.

And as you place the bottles and glasses in your living room, both of you share some smiles.

…

Probably, it’s past midnight. But you and Javier are sweating and laughing with the windows open as the thunderstorm continues. 

Your right leg is on top of his lap, and his holding the bottle. The floor was colder and relieved the hot. Both of you are drunk.

“I like you….” he admits. And it hits you like spark of electricity, because you lean to kiss him, and it surprises the man. He reciprocated instantly, pulling you into his lap. 

“Me too…” you reply, kissing him again. His hands are set on your hips, and before you can even think about something else, he starts grinding you against him. It’s happening too fast, and neither of you want to think clearly of your actions.

“Oh, Javi…” you moan. And he thinks it is glorious, months pinning after you, and now he could finally have you. He will ask you again in the morning. But now, he would enjoy it for the rest of the night. 

“That feels good, Javi,” you state, mewling against him. The heat and your increasing pleasure were enough to have you moaning and tightly held to his neck. 

Minutes later, after kissing and grinding on each other, you have your top down, with your tits on display. The skirt and panties were the only clothes that covered your body.

“We should stop, hermosa. I’m not taking you while we’re drunk” you keep going, rubbing your covered clit against his hardened cock. 

“I don’t wanna stop. Make me cum like this.” he groans, surprised that you’re sending him to the verge of an orgasm. Especially when both of you still had interior clothes on. 

“Fuck, bonita. You make hard like a teenager.” and like that, with the thunders covering the sounds of your “sin,” both moan loudly as your orgasm washes you and the man under you. 

“I was starting to think you were a virgin,” he mumbled, feeling the stickiness of his pants. But he felt your weight on his shoulder, and he noticed you were asleep. 

The morning could either go right or wrong.

__

When he opened his eyes, he was on your couch. And the water was running in the bathroom; you were probably taking a shower. 

He had a slight headache, but he felt better after remembering the night before. Your face, your body, your moans, the way you were, you were a dream. 

He could hear you humming, maybe a song from The Ronettes. 

After some minutes, you came out dressed and with your hair wet. 

“Oh, you’re awake. I made the stuffed squash blossoms for breakfast” there’s a knock on your door, but before you can go, he holds your forearm.

“Wait, y/n. Do you remember last night?” Slowly, you nod. 

“Do you regret?” your question startles him, taking him by surprise. But he’s sure of his answer.

“No…” he’s greeted with a big kiss from you. 

“Then everything is fine.” when you answer the door, a worried Steve is on the other side. 

“Where the hell were you? You and Javier should have been in the mall to see the woman at the cigarette store.” you sigh. Suddenly embarrassment floods you because since you left the cabaret, you have forgotten the real issue, Pablo Escobar. 

“Uh-…” Steve pushes his head inside your apartment, and he spots Javier sitting on the couch, listening to the conversation. 

“Why is Javier here?” you move to the side to let him inside. He smiles teasingly, and Javier smirks back at him. You know what they are saying in whatever man code they had.

“Uhm-I’m right here.” Both turn to look at you. 

“Yeah, I see you, Hermosa” Steve pulls a paper out and hands it to Javier.

“We have to see the woman. She must know more. But… How did it go yesterday?” He asks you. Excitedly, you smile at him. “Oh, it was great, Steve. And I found a lot of information.”

“Tell us on the way to the mall” Javier watches you and Steve calmly argue about staying a little more or not.

“No, Steve. I made stuffed squash blossoms. We’ll have breakfast first” as you and the blonde man keep arguing in the kitchen, Javier can’t help but smile at the sight of you. He’s falling in love.

__

To say that Javier Peña was your boyfriend was a lot because he wasn’t. After that night, he always finds a way to kiss you or tell you romantic things. He respected you weren’t ready to do more because he also accepted that you wanted to take things slowly. It was weird but felt correct. 

Until Javier had to ruin everything. 

The image of a man spying on y/n as she whispered goodbye to him replayed repeatedly in Javier’s head. 

He felt fear again, or dragging you into something dark, serious. Something that could cause your death. 

So he walked inside La Habana cabaret, greeted Marcelo and Oscar, and stepped into the building from the back, as usual. 

The place was slightly crowded. There were dancers backstage, with corsets and attractive stockings. A beautiful blonde woman smirked at him, but he was looking for you. 

A man was with you, whispering in your ear and caressing your waist. You looked slightly disgusted, but you weren’t pushing him away. 

The man kissed your cheek and left. And when you finally spotted Javier, your heart broke after seeing him walking away.

“Javi, wait…” you call for him as you jog to get him. “Javier, please”

As you follow him, he surprises you by calling a blonde dancer and kissing her passionately. The woman corresponded with him, and before he left her, Javier cupped one of her breasts. 

Shocked, you gasped, feeling tears forming in your eyes. On the empty alley from the outside, you catch him. 

“That was so fucking toxic of you. You knew this was the fucking point of me working on the cabaret!” you yell, making him turn around to face you. 

“Yeah. I know…” it’s the only thing he says. And then starts walking away again. 

“That’s it? Won’t you say anything? You’re just going to pretend I didn’t mean anything?” his heart breaks as he sees you crying. But he knows he can’t keep going; he won’t risk your life for love because, selfishly, he doesn’t want to deal with that. 

“Oh, you thought we were exclusives? Rumors were true. I only wanted to get you in my bed because your constant rejections hurt my ego. I’ve been fucking my informants all these weeks. You thought I was going to wait for you?” all of that is a lie, and the more he speaks, the more you sob. 

“No. No, Javier, I know you. What we had going was real, I-“ you say, tilting your head, disappointed.

“You think you know me, y/n? Okay, Did you know I left a woman on the altar before I came here? Yes, I was about to get married.” the news shocked you. And his proximity only was hurting you more. “I can’t give you exclusivity. I don’t do that….”

“Javier. Let’s fucking talk like adults, don’t bullshit me.” but he’s not coming back; he’s almost out of the alley. “No me dejes sola, Javier*”

That’s all he wants to do. He wants to return and tell you it’s a lie to protect you. 

“I love you….” He hears you sobbing as you confess your love for him, breaking his heart. You’re about to go out and sing, and he broke your heart just like that. 

But as he hops inside his car, he dials the number of one of his informants. 

__

Dice que yo no soy fácil

Y qué aburrido sería

No es que yo fuera difícil

Es que fui como quería

No one noticed that your tone while singing was hostile. You were hurt, mad, and heartbroken. Javier wanted you easy, but you weren’t like that. 

The musicians perfectly follow your tone, and it brings an attractive harmony. You were definitely accepting that night out with Marcelo and Oscar to heal your broken heart. 

Y por eso estoy aquí

Confesándome de nuevo

Pidiéndome otro traguito

Haciéndome que le quiero*

The tears threatening to spill increased. Your heart pounds, and you do your best to keep going.

But in one second, everything changes. 

A shootout breaks out. The whole cabaret turns into chaos. People were running, screaming. And you feel static. You don’t have your gun near; everything is getting violent. Probably some sicarios were attacking.

As you try to leave the stage, a man comes after you. But he didn’t point you with a gun. Immediately you recognized him; Gerardo. A sicario you used for information. 

“¿Creíste que me ibas a engañar, guapa?”* he pushes you, and your chin hits the ground violently. He’s on top of you and you plead him to go away. “Te traté como a una dama, ¿y resultas ser una puta agente de la DEA? Eso no se hace, cariño”*

“Gerardo, suéltame. Te lo suplico…”* you yell, but he shakes his head. Pulling a knife out, he stabs your hip and leg multiple times. You scream and shake in his arms. Nobody would come to you. Everyone was running for their lives. 

“¿Me lo suplicas?. Sabías en lo que te metías, sucia puta. Te metiste con la gente equivocada y nos has complicado el trabajo.”* your right leg goes numb. Gerardo twisted the knife multiple times, you don’t even feel the tears anymore. Your dress feels wet under the pool of blood forming around you.

“No puedo matarte. Pero tampoco te la dejaré fácil, guapa. Cuídate…”* he finalizes and leaves. 

Many thoughts run through your head at the moment. You fear for Marcelo and Oscar; maybe it’s your fault that their businesses became a target for the sicarios. No, it was Javier’s fault, he suggested the idea, and Steve agreed. 

So he never loved you. He wasn’t in love, and he used you. 

Speaking of Marcelo and Oscar. It’s Oscar who found you lying on the ground. The man runs and kneels beside you.

“Ey, y/n. Vas a estar bien, resiste. La ambulancia ya viene en camino, no cierres los ojos”* you can’t hear him. You’re going to faint. At the same time, same thoughts invade you. Until you close your eyes, resting.

__

Angrily, Javier slams the door of his car and enters the embassy. He noticed there were a lot of people moving and working. But, a lot. More than usual.

“Javier. Where’s y/n?” Steve comes running to him. And he sighs, but Steve repeats himself. “Javier. Where the fuck is y/n?”

“What happened?” He asked after seeing his partner growing worried. 

“A shooting in the cabaret. There are two confirmed deaths and various cases of injured” Javier turns pale. He closes his eyes, taking a big breath. Maybe you were on that list. He left you there when you told him not to leave you there. 

“We fought, and she stayed there.” Steve curses and makes his way to the exit, with Javier following him. 

__

Two hours, two hours until Javier knew what happened to you. He fell asleep on the hospital chair. At 3:00 am, Steve woke him up, and his partner was already there, leading the pair of men to your room.

“I pulled some strings to be taking care of her. She’s sedated for now, but they want to transfer her to another unit,” she stated. The three of them are looking at you. Your whole leg is bandaged, but some spots of blood are visible. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks. 

“There are no signs of fracture, but she has torn tendons, and the muscle is very damaged, aside from the concussion. She needs surgery, and if everything goes well, she will be fine. But there’s a possibility that she’ll lose sensibility on that leg even if she walks again.” Javier stays quiet because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“How it happened?” Connie sighs. 

“Stabbing. Apparently, she wrestled with someone.” Steve nods, lamenting your state. 

“In an hour, the doctor will come again. Maybe it would be better if she had security to travel. I think they were talking about the hospital in Cartagena.” Javier turns to look at the woman. 

“I’ll go with her. Tell the office, Steve. And I’ll take the documents that Noonan wanted me to collect,” the blonde nods, but before he leaves, he takes Javier’s arm. “Take care of her, Javier. It’s not our fault what happened, but it’s our fault that she ended up there.”

“I know…” he whispers. 

The couple left. But Javier waited. He wouldn’t move from your room. 

He keeps holding your hand. Whispering.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, bonita,” he mumbles repeatedly. “I love you….”

But this time, you weren’t able to answer.

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Part 2, idk.

[lady-bess]

Getting In A Pickle

My entry for the @pickled-pena Writing Challenge!

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Mature/18+ (swearing, drinking, sex referenced). Minors DNI.

Words: 4k

"The making of your new year's resolution takes a turn when Javier agrees to accept the one you made for him. There is one condition though...".

Notable tags: New Year's Resolution, First Kiss, Drinking, Fluff, Soft Javier Peña.

A03 Link: Getting In A Pickle - LadyBess - Narcos (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

New Year’s Eve, 1992.

Steve sighed, and with a grunt he stood from his chair and went over to the corner of the office. You and Javi looked up from the stack of papers in front of you, desperate to take any form of distraction right now. Paperwork was never fun, but on new year’s eve? It was bullshit.

“What are you doing?” Javi asked Steve, who by now was delving into a metal filing cabinet. The strap of his watch banged against the aluminium drawer as he reached right to the back, muttering some curse words under his breath. By now you had set your pen and reading glasses down on the table, far more intrigued as to the happenings of the corner of the office than whatever report you were currently working on.

“Tryna find something to make this evening a little less painful, Javi. That good with you?” Steve said, his arm still bent into the back of the drawer. The room was dim under the orange desk lamps, and as Steve and Javi conversed you looked over at the younger of your colleagues. His dark brown hair looked almost black in the low lighting, and the warm hue emanating from the desks made the colour of his eyes look like the most rich and warming glass of rum. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a huge crush on Javier by now, having worked in such close proximity to him for years. You had hoped that tonight, on new year’s eve, that the two of you would be working together alone.

But no. Steve, as always, worked himself just as hard as everyone else in the department, and decided to help take off some of the pressure from Javi and yourself. It was a kind gesture, and you were forever grateful for Murphy, but just this once you really wanted him to leave.

“Sure, Steve. But is the answer in the back of that filing cabinet?” Javi asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His forearm muscles flexed as he shifted in his seat, and the material of his black shirt pulled slightly across his chest in the new position. You hated how fucking attractive that was, just seeing how taut his clothing got from how he was built, shaped by years working in this job.

Javier turned his head and grinned at you as a giggle left your lips at his sarcastic remark, enjoying how your smile lit up the room instantly – just as it always did. Your eyes locked with his and lingered just a few seconds, verging on the edge of staring, before both of you turned to look at whatever Steve was wrestling with. Any outsider would be able to see that the both of you were wrestling with how you felt for one another, but neither of you quite had the balls to face up to that just yet. In a way Steve inadvertently became quite the useful distraction.

“Very funny, Javi- aha!” he exclaimed, smiling wide as he caught hold of whatever he was looking for. A moment later he pulled his arm out the back of the drawer, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, half full and with the label on the front beginning to peel – evidence of the bottle’s secret existence and overuse as plain as can be. “This might help!” he said, heading back over to the desk.

“Certainly better than working the entire evening. Wasn’t how I expected to spend new year’s eve, but hey, it’s the nature of the beast I suppose,” you shrugged, welcoming the alcoholic intervention for this evening. Javi chuckled at you before sitting back up, leaning forward in his seat to lean onto the desk.

“You can say that twice,” he agreed, “Steve, have we got any glasses?” he asked, but Steve shook his head.

“Afraid not, just dirty coffee cups. We’ll be swigging from the same bottle, but it’s better than being sober, right?” he offered, sitting back down at the desk and unscrewing the cap on the bottle. It was cheap whiskey, the kind you kept in an office drawer because it didn’t matter if your supervisor found it and threw it away. It wouldn’t be too strong, it probably tasted like piss, but Steve had a point. It beat being sober.

He handed the bottle to you first, and you took a gulp of it. The whiskey burnt on the way down, and it was not a pleasant burning either. You were used to whiskey since befriending Javier, it being his drink of choice whenever you all went out for drinks, but he had far better taste than this. Warmth was what you had been associating whiskey with up to now, but this was not that. You grimaced, and just about held back a cough as you handed the bottle to Javier, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh at you.

Yeah, it tasted like piss.

Javier took the bottle from you, his fingers delicately grazing the back of your hand as you passed it over. Your eyes caught his, again, and he gave you a small smirk as you looked at him. Butterflies swirled in your stomach as you saw a look on Javier that you’d never recognised before, one which was not becoming of the confident womanizer that you’d come to know; bashful, coy, and, perhaps, nervous?

“Thanks,” Javier said, snapping you out of the little spiral your mind had sent you down, wondering why he looked at you like that. Had you said something to upset him? Was he just tired?

You nodded, withdrawing your hand and smiling at him. You certainly weren’t in a rush to have another sip of the whiskey, so you settled back into your seat, allowing the men to pass the bottle between themselves for a couple of moments.

“So, you got any new year’s resolutions?” Steve asked, loosening his tie as he relaxed with the two of you.

“What kind of fucking hillbilly you take me for?” Javi chuckled, taking another sip of the whiskey. “No, I don’t have any resolutions. Does anyone even bother with them nowadays?”.

“Hey, I have one!” you said, playfully slapping Javi’s arm in mock anger. His eyes widened as he looked at where your hand hit his arm, and then he leant back in his seat again, resuming his arms-crossed position. The expression on his face had again changed, but this time to utter disbelief.

“Go on, what is it?” Steve asked, a grin forming on his face. You winked at Javier, then turned to Steve.

“I want to get Javi to try pickles,” you giggled. He scoffed, rolling his eyes, and you turned back to look at him.

“Oh, you and those fucking pickles. It’s like a love affair you’ve got for the damn things!” Javi said.

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t sure when you developed such a taste for them, but at some point you did, and it was like a switch flicked in you. Now a midday snack could consist of half a jar of them, easily. It disgusted most people you knew, which you expected, but Javier seemed to hate them the most.

“Yeah, I ain’t trying them!” he said. You pouted, leaning forward to grab the whiskey and take a second sip. You’d tricked yourself into thinking it wasn’t as bad as you remembered.

You were wrong.

The liquid burnt on the way down, again, and you winced. Both men laughed softly under their breath at you, but neither mocked you really. You were still handling the drink, and even they could admit that this was cheap stuff that certainly wasn’t to everyone’s taste. Javi kept his eyes fixed on you, awaiting a response he was almost certain to be a sassy little remark. He loved teasing you, and the two of you would verbally taunt one another in ways he had never experienced with other women. You sat back in your seat and looked over at him, your stomach flipping slightly when you saw Javier already staring at you.

“Come on, just once? You never try new things! Javi, you’re so stuck in your ways I doubt you’ve tried anything new for years!” you said, chuckling slightly as his eyes went wider and his mouth dropped open a little. Steve laughed at your comment, fully agreeing with you - Javier was nothing if not stubborn and set in his ways.

“I do – you’re just never there to witness it! Like last month, when I tried a different kind of coffee but you couldn’t even be bothered to come with me to the canteen. You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” he remarked, and you rolled your eyes. This was so Javier.

“You’re so dramatic, Javi!” you laughed, and at the sound of you laughing Javier smiled wide. His eyes crinkled up as he listened to you, loving the beautiful sound that filled the room. Steve clocked the way his friend was looking at you and shook his head softly, chuckling to himself.

Why could neither of you see it?

“Can you guys not have a fucking domestic here?” Steve commented, taunting you both. You turned your head to look at Steve, furrowing your brow slightly.

“How could we have a domestic, Murphy?” you laughed.

“Look, you’re not together, I’m aware of that. But you act like an old married couple eighty percent of the time. It’s exhausting. Just kiss, for the love of God,” Steve chuckled, swigging another mouthful of whiskey.

You felt a little taken aback by his comment, not realising that this is what other people thought of when they saw you and Javi interact with one another. Sure, there’d been flirting here and there, but for a long time now you’d brushed it off as just being something Javier did with all women. You certainly were not naïve to the tales of his ways with women, how he had a reputation for having his fair share of sexual partners. But that didn’t seem enough to stop you developing the most painful crush on him, even if deep down you knew he’d never feel the same way about you.

Until…

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be against a kiss,” Javier said, winking at you when your head snapped back round to look at him. You were wondering if you’d misheard him, or vastly misinterpreted his idea of a sick joke.  

“Absolutely not!” you laughed, nervously, trying to play down your obvious bewilderment.

“Oh, come off it. You know you want to,” Steve teased, smirking over at the two of you. He’d watched this surface level crush develop in you both right from the start of working together, and had expected by now one of you to have made a move. You and Javi might have been too stupid to notice how the other one felt, but Steve seemed to see everything. You sighed.

“Alright, maybe curiosity has gotten the better of me once or twice. Can’t blame me for being a little curious, given what I hear about you and your ways with women,” you giggled, trying to use laughter to hide your immediately crimson red cheeks which burnt at the admission. You might have only had a couple sips, but clearly a small tipple and Steve’s provoking was all you needed to be a little bold.

Javier smirked at you, and in that moment his mind raced as to how he could actually get a kiss from you without being so bold to just simply ask. But then, you threw him a lifeline. Feeling a little bold, and now that the cat was out the back, you gave him an offer.

“Okay, how about this. You try a pickle, and I’ll give you a kiss,” you offered, biting your lip softly as a momentary silence filled the room. It might have only been present for a second, but it felt like a lifetime.  

“The damn pickles? Are you serious?” he scoffed, chuckling under his breath, “You know I hate them!”.

“Yeah, even I’m with Javi, I don’t know how you get through a jar of them a week as a snack. Rancid things,” Steve laughed. You laughed with them both, although in that moment you felt a little stupid to have suggested such an offer. Maybe you’d got things twisted, perhaps he was making a joke; maybe you were naïve. But the whiskey in your system gave you just enough confidence that you weren’t going to let those thoughts win just yet. Maybe he was all of those things, and if you were sober you’d have shut the fuck up already. But you weren’t, and something was niggling at you, telling you that you weren’t being crazy here. Like deep down, you somehow knew, he wanted the same.

“Shut up, both of you. Look, Javi, it’s a sweet deal. You get a kiss for just eating something. Hey, it could even go towards your trying something new things!” you joked.

“I want the record to show that was you who implied I don’t try new shit,” Javier chuckled. “But alright. You got a deal,” he said, smiling at you.

Your heart felt like it skipped a beat. Sure, this was just some silly little bet, a very bizarre take on new year’s resolutions. But you’d had this crush on Javier for so long, you’d take any excuse to try and get a kiss out of him.

For Javier, it was the easiest ‘yes’ of his life. But, like you, he’d never known how to bring up the idea of being intimate with you. You were his closest friend, and he loved the banter that the two of you had developed since working together – he’d hate for anything to ruin that. But as he watched you rise from your seat to head to the small fridge in the opposite corner in the room, all those thoughts were quelled. He sat up in his seat, nervously anticipating the next series of events. He wasn’t lying, he really did hate pickles. But if this was his ‘in’ with you, he’d take it.

Steve smiled to himself at Javier’s change in disposition. Neither of you were paying any attention to him anymore, you’d fallen into your own little bubble. Like both of you were so wrapped up in what would happen over the next few minutes that the whole world fell apart around you, and the only thing you could focus on was each other.

You pulled out your jar of pickles from the communal fridge. They were the only item you felt safe leaving in there, and genuinely nobody other than yourself (and one colleague who’d been pregnant recently) ate them. Javier had shifted in his seat by the time you got back, and as you sat next to him he outstretched his hand to take the jar from you.

Watching him open the jar felt like you were watching someone disarm a bomb. Neither you nor Steve moved, both of you intently watching as the cap of the jar clicked, and he unscrewed it.

“Just one?” he asked, and you nodded. He smiled, nodding himself at the confirmation (a little relieved you didn’t want him to eat any more than that), and then set the jar down so he could pull a single pickle out from the juice in which they sat.

Javier grimaced slightly as he watched the pickle juice roll off the side of the pickle, dripping back into the jar. He waited for it to lose some more of its juice before pulling it away from the jar, deciding to himself that if he was putting himself through this, he’d do it on his terms.

The pickle itself wasn’t all that large, and as Javier looked at it through baited breath he decided that the best way to do this was to get it over with as fast as possible. Once it was slightly dryer, he ripped the pickle in half to make it a more manageable size, and then put both halves in his mouth at once. He closed his eyes as he bit down on the pickle, the juices inside of it exploding in his mouth in the most unpleasant way possible. He really did not understand how you did this daily.

Steve was almost beside himself laughing at Javier’s face as he watched his fellow colleague struggle through chewing the pickle. He clearly hated every second of it, but not once did he gag, wretch, or threaten to spit it out (something Steve knew he’d do if he’d been given this ultimatum).

Javier kept chewing, getting the pieces small enough to comfortably swallow without overdoing it and actually tasting the pickle for more than what was absolutely necessary. You giggled as you watched him grimace one last time, his eyes screwed up at the taste, and then he gulped. He shuddered once his mouth was empty of the wretched thing, opened his eyes to look at you and then dropped his mouth open for you to see it had all gone.

“Oh my god you actually did it,” Steve said. Javi grinned at his friend, then turned back to you.

“What can I say? I want that kiss,” he chuckled. Your stomach did a little backflip at his words, not quite believing he really could want that from you, even in spite of the pickle eating performance you’d just witnessed from him. You felt nerves rise within you, a slight shake in your hand making itself known to you (but fortunately not obvious to anyone else).

It was now or never.  

“I won’t lie, I’m impressed at your dedication,” you said, then turned to Murphy, “Steve, respectfully, get out”, you chuckled.

“Yes ma’am!” he said, hopping out his seat and heading to the door, a grin on his face as he gave you both a mock salute before leaving. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, and in a way that helped ease the nerves. Turning to Javier, he was already fixed on you, a soft smile on his face as he leaned forward in his chair towards you.  

“You know we don’t have to do this, you know? I was only pulling your leg,” Javi said, gently patting your thigh with his hand. The contact on your leg made you shudder, his hand coming down with absurd strength even for such a gentle movement. You smiled at him, his warm expression making you realise he wasn’t trying to back out of this, he just wanted you to be happy with this agreement.  

“I know,” you said, edging closer towards Javi, your hands resting on your lap. “But I want to. If you do?”.

“Oh, I’m so down,” he chuckled, placing a hand over yours. You smiled to yourself, looking down at how gently he caressed your soft skin, the warmth from his hands seeping through and comforting your nerves more than he perhaps realised he was doing.

“Good,” you said, leaning forward and catching his lips in a soft kiss, not wanting to waste any more time. Javier kissed you back softly, his free hand traversing up to cradle your jaw gently, making sure he got to keep you locked to him a little longer than just a peck. Everything he’d ever wanted was right here in the palm of his hands, and he didn’t want to let go of it anytime soon.

It was Javier who deepened the kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a little more force, the tips of his fingers pressing down slightly harder to keep you in place. Not that you were going anywhere.

You held the hand he had rested on your lap a little harder as you opened your mouth for him, letting him kiss you however he wanted. You’d take anything, and were happy to receive whatever he wanted to give. His mustache tickled your upper lip slightly as he took the access you’d granted, dipping his tongue into your mouth.

You let out a soft hum at the feeling of Javier exploring your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours, the taste of whiskey and pickles mixing together in a delightfully disgusting combination. You didn’t mind one iota, but you figured Javier was probably not the biggest fan, and would be reaching for a swig of that awful whiskey as soon as he could to wash away the taste of pickles.

A small chuckle vibrated in your chest at the thought, but not once did you let up on this kiss. You got bold, your hands reaching forward to touch him more, to let him know that this was everything you wanted and more. Javier never broke contact with your lips, maintaining his assault on your mouth as he shifted out of his seat. His arm dropped to your waist, grabbing you and hoisting you out your chair so that your body was flush with his. You giggled in between kisses, not stopping him at any point, instead pressing yourself to him even more. Your hands traversed his broad chest, landing around his neck, and Javier smiled against your lips at the feeling of need he sensed in you.

He knew he should stop soon, or else he swore he’d probably end up putting you on the desk and fucking your brains out. He’d wanted that privilege for so long, but right here and now wasn’t the place. Besides, you weren’t someone he wanted to treat how he did so many other women – you weren’t a quick, easy, hookup. You were his friend, a woman he respected so much, and never wanted to see hurt. It wouldn’t be right to do this any other way than to try and date you, instead.

He broke the kiss softly, his movements becoming less aggressive until eventually he detached himself from you. Your heated breathe mixed between the narrow space between your lips, and both of you laughed to yourselves, slightly in disbelief that you’d really finally taken that step. Javier rested his forehead against yours, still keeping you close to him, even if you were no longer tongue tied with one another.

“Your breath stinks of pickles,” you teased, grinning at Javier who chuckled at your comment.

“Yeah? And who’s to blame for that then?” he said, not letting you get away with teasing him like that.

“Hey, I didn’t force you to eat the pickle,” you winked. Javier laughed louder, moving to pull you in for a proper hug. You held him in your arms as both of his wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, and his head rested in the crook of your neck.

“No, but you sure did make the terms of this resolution appealing,” he smiled. “Say, have I got to eat a pickle every time I want a kiss?” he joked, making you laugh.

“No, Javi, you don’t,” you said, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. “Consider that payment for any future kisses you may want,” you said.

“Good,” he said, smiling at you as he leant back in to kiss you anew.

It wasn’t the stereotypical midnight kiss you used to hope you’d get at least once in your life, having never bothered with the tradition before now, but in a way this was so much more special than that could have ever been. Even if he did taste like a goddamn pickle, which was less appealing than you thought it would be given your love for them.

Happy New Year!

[spencerscharacterbattle]

WELCOME TO THE SECOND SUPER AWESOME CHARACTER BATTLE, NOW WITH 128 CHARACTERS!!!!!

this bracket has 128 of my current favorite characters in media, whether they be obscure or well-known!

HOW THE FORMAT WORKS!:

the first round will contain a battle between the four characters in each box. only two in each box will move forward (the highest and second-highest voted)

the second round will contain a battle between two winners of one square and two of another, and only two will move forward

the third round is exactly like the last round, except only one will move forward

the fourth round will contain a battle between one winner and another, and only one will move forward

the fifth round is exactly like the last round, with the winner moving forward to compete for the ultimate win

the sixth round is the final round and will decide who is the winner of Spencer’s Super Awesome Character Battle 2024!!

just like last year, each poll will be up for a week, so there’s plenty of time to vote for your faves!!

THE CHARACTER BRACKET IS BELOW!!!

(there is a text transcript under the “keep reading” as the text is very small, i apologize for that)

victoria chase (hot in cleveland) vs brock (unikitty) vs chococat (sanrio) vs bozz (the state)

hello kitty (sanrio) vs applejack (mlp) vs bumper allen (pitch perfect) vs kenneth (craig of the creek)

derpy (mlp) vs peggy (papa louie) vs aidan russell (rainbow high) vs rick (the state)

pizza steve (uncle grandpa) vs princess celestia (mlp) vs christine (the state) vs ernie (sesame street)

ariel (the little mermaid) vs starlight glimmer (mlp) vs louie (the state) vs gonzo (the muppets)

levon (the state) vs marley rose (glee) vs choo choo (jellystone) vs bert (sesame street)

rock (rock paper scissors) vs princess luna (mlp) vs deuce gorgon (monster high g3) vs violet wolf (great wolf pack)

octavius (night at the museum film version) vs lee ping (detentionaire) vs cavendish (milo murphy’s law) vs damien (total drama reboot)

purple m&m (the m&ms) vs cheese sandwich (mlp) vs bowie (total drama reboot) vs vince noir (the mighty boosh)

scooter (papa louie) vs glep (smiling friends) vs barry (craig of the creek) vs bridgette (total drama)

holly de’vious (rainbow high) vs wander (wander over yonder) vs octavius (night at the museum animated film) vs secret keeper (craig of the creek)

pepé (the muppets) vs frankie stein (monster high g3) vs hunter (sean saves the world) vs thacher (hailey’s on it)

allan (smiling friends) vs trixie lulamoon (mlp) vs delilah fields (rainbow high) vs naboo (the mighty boosh)

pekkle (sanrio) vs jedediah (night at the museum film) vs princess cadance (mlp) vs poppy rowan (rainbow high)

U*SA*HA*NA (sanrio) vs eva (total drama) vs yolanda (the muppets) vs emperor awesome (wander over yonder)

holger (detentionaire) vs moana (moana) vs noah (total drama) vs lightning mcqueen (cars)

sarah (yolo) vs cam (detentionaire) vs dracula (monster high g3) vs scissors (rock paper scissors)

pim (smiling friends) vs dakota (milo murphy’s law) vs sabrina st. cloud (rainbow high) vs melanie moretti (hot in cleveland)

rachel (yolo) vs commander peepers (wander over yonder) vs mark (craig of the creek) vs uma van hoose (rainbow high)

pinkie pie (mlp) vs omar (craig of the creek) vs biffy (detentionaire) vs margot de perla (rainbow high)

sean harrison (sean saves the world) vs cooper (trolls) vs orange m&m (the m&ms) vs ahkmenrah (night at the museum)

liz (sean saves the world) vs juke (the amazing world of gumball) vs gwen (the state) vs octavia (mlp)

pencil (rock paper scissors) vs amiria (papa louie) vs natasha zima (rainbow high) vs toralei stripe (monster high g3)

steve (the state) vs jedediah (night at the museum animated film) vs clawdeen wolf (monster high g3) vs abed nadir (community)

howard moon (the mighty boosh) vs raj (total drama reboot) vs troy (the state) vs scarlett (papa louie)

sylvia (wander over yonder) vs rizzo (the muppets) vs max thompson (sean saves the world) vs richmond (the it crowd)

gwimbly (smiling friends) vs wanda (the state) vs ghoulia yelps (monster high g1) vs brandy (detentionaire)

sheryl meyer (rainbow high) vs dj pon 3 (mlp) vs wayne (total drama reboot) vs top cat (jellystone)

emma (total drama reboot) vs joy scroggs (hot in cleveland) vs master frown (unikitty) vs david (craig of the creek)

milo murphy (milo murphy’s law) vs paper (rock paper scissors) vs charlie (smiling friends) vs frida kahlo (clone high)

bob moore (hot in cleveland) vs barry (the state) vs tow mater (cars) vs laurel de’vious (rainbow high)

felix unger (the odd couple 2015) vs liezel (papa louie) vs rainbow dash (mlp) vs sugar (glee)

[pagesfromthevoid]

Traicionero | j.p.

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Word Count: 9.9k (Ahaha woops)

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence. Oral (f receiving). P in V sex. Fingering. Dubious consent (Javi is drunk when he gets to her). Plot with smut basically. Poorly translated Spanish. Possibly OOC Javier?

Author’s Note: I don’t even know why I wrote this. More importantly I don’t know why I needed any sort of plot to fuck Javier Peña but alas. Here we are. Also, yes. I totally got the opening line from Teen Wolf. Don't fuckin' judge me.

Requests are OPEN

“Do you wanna hear it in Spanish, Peña?” She mocked, standing tall in front of the ambassador’s office door. He was glaring down at her, eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Fucking clever, princesa,” he countered, reaching out to move her. But she blocked his hands. 

“Touch me, and I swear to God, Peña —Escobar will be the least of your concerns.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary,” he taunted, grabbing her upper arms to move her once more. With her heel, she slammed her foot into his boot and he cussed angrily and released her. “Jesus Christ. Just let me through.”

“I’m under strict orders to let no one in this office. Especially you.”

As the new assistant to the Ambassador of the US in Columbia, she wasn’t about to risk her job because of some pretty boy agent who thought he was the shit. Crosby had made himself very clear when she was hired: don’t let Peña boss her around; don’t let Murphy guilt trip her. She was the fourth assistant in three years, with the other three having quit due to pressure or been fired for not being able to follow orders. 

Crosby blamed Javier Peña for the first two quitting; certain the agent didn’t call or hurt their feelings enough to make the women refuse to work with him. The third one was fired for leaking information to the press. 

She would be different. She already was. Agent Peña wasn’t going to get her in bed, for one. He’d tried during her first week. Flirted up a goddamn storm. Complimented everything about her from her hair to her nails to her shoes. It was a fine daydream at first —he was pretty and polite as far as she could tell —until Crosby called her into his office and warned her. 

So she stopped with that dangerous daydream, choosing to ignore Peña. Just because he was attractive didn’t give him the right to fuck around with everything that had a pulse. Besides, the whole better-than-you thing he had going on annoyed her after the second week. And the way he kept looking at her —like she was a piece of meat needing to be inspected —made her never want to wear a skirt again. 

Which she hadn’t, by the way. She had taken to wearing slacks and flowy blouses that didn’t expose more skin than necessary. Was it inconvenient in the Colombian heat? Absolutely. But did it keep Agent Peña from staring at her? Not really at first, but he didn’t do it as much now. And that’s what she cared about. 

“I will happily schedule you an appointment,” she offered, though she didn’t step away from the office door. 

“Yeah, next fucking year.”

“Actually, I think he has an opening tomorrow at 10.”

“Yeah, I needed him 10 minutes ago, sweetheart. Not gonna fly.”

She just shrugged, hands on her hips as they stared each other down. However, maybe Peña realized he had been beaten. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to fight with her anymore. Because finally, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off, bitching about wasting his time. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, Steve Murphy tried his hand. 

“I really recommend you walk away from me, Agent Murphy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

———

Four months into the job, and the war against Pablo Escobar, Ambassador Crosby ordered her to take up a desk at the base. She didn’t argue, given his reasoning was solid (“I need someone there to filter through the bullshit. They come to you, you call me.”). However, her new position meant a significant lifestyle change that was a bit more abrupt than she expected. 

Turns out, living on a Colombian military base was awful. And even more so, if you were American. And a woman. And as if those two things didn’t make her question quitting her job almost daily (not that she would, but goddamn, she wanted to lately with the amount of bloodied soldiers and cops that came in) —it meant spending an annoying amount of time with Murphy and Peña, who had been sidelined. 

Her desk was ten feet away from where the two DEA agents set up their space. Murphy offered to push her closer, joking that they could be the three musketeers, but she just returned to the paperwork she had already filled out, ignoring him. 

“One of these days, you’re gonna be thankful it’s us here and not anyone else, hermosa,” Peña stated one evening, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from his lips. 

“I’ll be thankful when you actually manage to catch Escobar instead of fucking up raids,” she countered, not looking up from the notes she was rewriting for Martinez.

Murphy laughed at that, and she glanced up as his chair creaked when he leaned back in it. “She’s got a point there, Javi.”

“Shut the fuck up. Whose side are you on?” 

“The side that’s usually right,” Murphy continued, looking at her with a grin. 

She almost made a comment regarding listening to his wife if that was the case, but she stopped herself. It had been a bad day when he stormed out of the base the afternoon that Connie left; she wasn’t that cruel.

“Flattery gets you nowhere with me.” She hummed a bit, setting her pen down and rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. The words were jumbling together, and translating from English to Spanish was difficult for someone who was not fluent in the language. And low on caffeine. 

“Oh, we know,” Peña replied, sitting on his desk. “If it did, we’d have so much more intel —,”

“Agent Peña,” she interrupted, looking up at him with tired eyes. For a moment, she swore he looked concerned but she chalked it up to wishful thinking; thinking he could care about anyone but himself was a reckless path to put herself on. “As much as I just love listening to you bitch about me doing my job correctly —I can’t handle it right now. So either get me coffee, or shut the fuck up.”

Neither he nor Murphy said another word, looking between each other for a moment before Murphy motioned for him to move. Peña was about to slide off his desk when the phone rang, and his attention snapped back to his actual task at hand as he answered it. She blinked a few times, shaking her head for a second to wake herself up, before she stood up. 

Stretching her arms up over her head, she let out a quiet groan as her joints popped. When was the last time she stood up? It felt like it had been hours. 

Peña looked at her curiously, phone still pressed to his ear. He paused for a moment, hand over the bottom of the receiver, and this time, she was sure there was concern evident in his tone. "You okay?" 

She paused, surprised by the genuine concern in his tone. Dropping back into her chair, she ran a hand over her face, trying to think of something witty to say. But Peña's unexpected display of empathy caught her off guard. For a moment, she considered brushing it off with a dismissive remark, but the weariness in her body won over her usual defenses.

"You actually wanna know?” She asked, eying him closely as she wondered if he actually cared. But Peña nodded, kicking his feet up on his desk as he leaned back his chair, motioning for her to keep talking. She hesitated a moment before she finally spoke, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. "Long nights, endless paperwork…I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Understanding flickered in Peña's gaze, and he nodded sympathetically. "I get it," he replied, glancing at the phone for a moment before he let out a frustrated huff, though he motioned to the phone as if to say he was reacting to the caller. “Look, those notes are gonna be there when you get back. Martinez won’t be here for an hour or two anyway. Why don't you take a break, grab some fresh air –there’s a café down the street from the base that has the good shit.”

She opened her mouth to argue –to make some snide comment about his knowledge of the area –but stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let her guard down. Peña may have shown a brief moment of concern, but she knew better than to trust his actions completely. She had learned from both experience and word of mouth that he had his own agenda. She wasn't about to let her guard down just because of a momentary lapse in his usual demeanor.

But…maybe she’d be a little nicer, if only because he was also being nice. The skepticism still lingered, but she couldn't help but entertain the idea that perhaps there was a genuine moment of connection between them, however fleeting it might be.

“Do you want anything?”

He looked back at her, his brow raised as he considered her offer. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuffed out his cigarette and hung up the phone. "Finally offering to do a coffee run? Took ya long enough," he teased, his usual annoying self resurfacing. “Not today, cariño. Maybe tomorrow.”

Her momentary hope deflated, replaced by annoyance. So much for his newfound niceness.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Unlikely," she retorted, brushing past him as she walked out of the base. 

When she returned an hour later, coffee in hand and the sun setting over the Colombian horizon, she found that her notes were typed up and translated, sitting in a neat pile on her desk. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the fading daylight, creating a sense of calm in the otherwise chaotic office. Her brow furrowed as she looked around the makeshift space they called an office, the empty chairs and silent surroundings indicating that Murphy and Peña were both long gone for the night.

A mix of surprise and intrigue washed over her. She hadn't expected anyone to take the initiative to organize her notes, especially not Peña. It was a small act, but it hinted at a flicker of unexpected consideration. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

With a curious smile tugging at her lips, she sat down at her desk, her fingers tracing the neatly typed pages. As she perused the translations, she couldn't help but appreciate the effort that had gone into it. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring its warmth as she leaned back in her chair, contemplating the possibilities. Tomorrow would only bring more chaos –such was the life they lived in Colombia –but for now, she would appreciate what felt like an olive branch being extended.

Maybe she would be a little nicer to Javier Peña.

———

“Come out with us,” Steve offered about two months later, leaning back in his chair.. “We finally gotta win –we’re all going out to celebrate.”

In the weeks that followed Peña’s random act of kindness, the three Americans found themselves on far friendlier terms than before. Sure, Javier was still narcissist of the year —but he was nicer about it. What she would have deemed snarky commentary before had become a back and forth banter that Murphy swore up and down was flirting. Each time he made that comment, she gave him a dirty look and rolled her eyes, always responding with something along the lines of In his fucking dreams. 

To which Peña would always have a comeback, usually following suit of Always in my dreams, cariño or something equally as cheesy. It was always returned with a little smirk on her end, or a wink from him. 

Okay so maybe it was flirting. 

But it was friendly flirting. Nothing more. That path was reckless, even if she was starting to hate him a little less than before.  

“And watch you get shit faced while Peña flirts with anyone with a pulse?” She countered, fanning herself with the folder in her hand. Summer had hit Colombia hard, and she was melting in her blouse and slacks. Even pulling her hair up didn’t stop her from feeling like her body was more liquid than skin. “I’d rather not.”

“Got better plans?”

“Maybe I booked a nice hotel for the night so I could pamper myself,” she mused, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at the blonde agent. “Maybe I have a date. Who knows? It’s not really your business, is it?”

“There’s not any nice hotels around here, so try again,” Steve teased back, moving to sit on her desk now as he looked down at her. “About the date…I mean, you could but do you actually?”

She gave him a pointed look, before glancing around the base. One of the soldiers was walking by with a box of files, and she called out his name –Andrés. He paused, leaning over the rail to give her his full attention, just as Peña stormed into the base. She didn’t pay him too much attention as she smiled up at the soldier, batting her lashes some as she asked him out. Peña, however, stopped and watched the interaction, brow furrowed.

“¿Salgamos esta noche?” 

The soldier looked surprised for a moment but nodded rapidly, smiling brightly at her as he offered to get her at 7. “Absolutamente. ¿Siete?”

“Suena bien.”

The soldier nodded again and walked off to finish his work, clearly a little more pep in his step. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave Murphy a smug grin. “You were saying?”

Steve just rolled his eyes in exasperation as Peña abruptly yanked his chair out, carelessly tossing his jacket onto the desk. She observed the interaction between them, her brow raised in curiosity as Peña began rummaging through his drawers, seemingly searching for something.

"What's wrong, Javi?" Steve asked, pushing himself off her desk and approaching his partner, concern etched on his face.

"Nothing," Peña snapped, his tone sharp and dismissive. He retrieved a cigarette from the drawer and swiftly lit it, remaining tight-lipped and refusing to offer any further explanation.

She watched as Steve glanced back at her momentarily, a mixture of frustration and confusion evident on his face. Sensing that they were about to engage in a private conversation, they leaned in closer to each other, their voices dropping to hushed whispers that shielded their conversation from her ears.

Unable to catch their words, she watched Steve’s back with a deep frown. It was moments like this, where the two shielded themselves from her earshot, that reminded her that they weren’t properly friends. They didn’t trust her not to rat them out to Crosby. The secrecy between the two partners only reminded her that she was not part of this little team of theirs.

Peña abruptly stood again, frustration etched on his face, and snatched his jacket once more. Steve, mirroring his partner's actions, swiftly straightened up and retrieved his own coat. He cast a brief glance back at her, his eyes reflecting weariness but also attempting to offer a reassuring smile, before the two of them hastily exited the base. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed through the room, fading into the distance as they disappeared beyond the door.

Left behind, she remained seated for a moment, her mind swirling with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and concern. She stared intently at the retreating backs of Javier and Steve, their forms gradually vanishing from view. Questions flooded her thoughts, demanding answers to what the hell just happened.

***

She ended up canceling her last minute date, having decided that whatever was going on with Peña and Murphy was probably far more important than proving a point to Murphy that she could get a date. 

It had been nearly three hours since the two agents practically ran out of the base, and while she didn’t directly ask Crosby what was going on, she tried to dance around the question. The ambassador just told her that someone was leaking information to Los Pepes, allowing the vigilante group to take down another one of Pablo’s guys without the DEA or Colombian police being involved. Crosby told her to keep an ear and eye out for anything off and well…

Javier Peña was off that afternoon.

However, she didn’t mention that. 

She just promised she would and hung up, running her hands through her hair as she considered what to do next. As she tried to focus on her work, she pushed thoughts of Javier Peña from her mind. If she even began to think that Peña was the one leaking intel, then she would panic around him and she knew that was no good. It wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, especially if he wasn’t.

Another half an hour passed before Peña’s phone rang again. For the first few rings, she ignored it. It rang all the time –usually tips and intel, or Messina calling to scold him. Usually, it would stop and go to his voicemail. Tonight, however, it stopped then rang again. After the third time, she huffed in annoyance and stood, picking up the receiver. Before she could say anything, however, a voice that she’d only heard through captured recordings, hissed in her ear: Don Berna.

“I thought we were meeting for coffee, Peña?”

Immediately, she hung up the phone and stepped away, her eyes wide. Silently, she cursed to herself as she hurried back to her desk and grabbed her bag and satellite phone then rushed out the doors of the base. Maybe it was just a cartel guy who wanted to turn a new leaf. There wasn’t a reason to think that Peña was working with Berna or feeding him information. She couldn’t just assume the worst.

Okay, so that wasn’t true.

She always assumed the worst in Javier Peña. She had since the moment she met him, and she had continued even after he proved he wasn’t necessarily the worst. But she couldn’t assume that he was actually helping Los Pepes kill innocent people just to get to Escobar. There was just…there was no way.

“Answer your phone, you jackass,” she hissed into her satellite phone, listening to it ring a few times before being hung up on. She dialed it again, getting into her car with it pressed to her ear. “Javier Peña, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you myself –,”

“What the fuck do you want?” He answered, voice clipped and laced in anger.

“I think we need to meet,” she replied, and she wondered if he could hear the trembling in her voice. “For coffee.”

There was a silence that hung between the lines, static being the only sound that filled the cracks. She was shaking, her heart threatening to break through her ribcage as she waited for him to speak. To own up, or lie, or anything. 

“Agent Peña,” she hissed, trying to get him to say something back to her. 

“I’ll be at the café in ten minutes.”

“Is that the same one you fucking meet –,”

“Shut your damn mouth,” he snapped at her, hanging up the phone. 

She stared at it blankly, taking a moment to calm her nerves before she threw it into the passenger seat and took off into town. Maybe it would have been better to walk, give her time to cool down and find a reason to justify why a cartel boss would be calling her, but she wanted a quick getaway if everything suddenly went south. 

Not that she thought Peña would do anything to her –but she couldn’t be sure anymore. 

She parked outside the café, sitting in her car for several minutes before she considered even getting out. What she should be doing is going back to the base, calling the ambassador, and telling him what she had learned. How could she be risking her goddamn job because of Javier fucking Peña? In what world did that make any sense, especially given how –

The passenger side of her car swung open abruptly, and a jolt of surprise shot through her body, causing her to let out a startled yelp. Instinctively, she pressed herself further into the door, her back firmly planted against it, as Peña climbed into the car. The sudden proximity between them made her acutely aware of his presence, and a mix of emotions washed over her like a tidal wave.

Her heart pounded in her chest, its rapid beats echoing in her ears, as she struggled to regain her composure. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, momentarily frozen by the intensity of the situation. The surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins made her briefly contemplate the idea of delivering a forceful blow to his face—a physical manifestation of the frustration and exasperation he had caused with his reckless actions.

As her mind raced, grappling with conflicting thoughts and emotions, his voice cut through the silence, jolting her back to reality.

"What did he say?" he demanded, his tone firm and unwavering.

She found herself gaping at him, caught off guard by the absence of denial in his response. The sheer audacity of his nonchalance left her momentarily speechless. A mix of anger and disbelief flickered in her eyes as she struggled to find her voice.

"You're not even going to deny it?" she managed to utter, her words laced with a blend of astonishment and accusation.

Peña met her gaze, his own eyes locking with hers, unflinching. "Why the fuck would I? You already know," he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "You're not an idiot."

His words struck a nerve, and she felt a surge of conflicting emotions within her—anger, disappointment, but also a lingering sense of understanding. But that understanding was being overtaken by the sheer anger she felt towards the agent. She watched as he briefly glanced out the back window, seemingly checking for any signs of surveillance, before returning his focus to her, leaning in closer.

"What did he say?" he repeated, this time his voice softer, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability amidst the tension that hung in the air.

Her initial impulse was to withhold the information, to maintain an element of control and power in this nightmare they were engaged in. But as she looked into his eyes, the walls she had built around herself began to crumble. 

“He just…he said he thought you were meeting him for coffee,” she explained, looking up at him with a small frown and her brow furrowed. 

Peña's eyes darted away, unable to meet her gaze directly. His usual confident demeanor wavered, revealing a hint of guilt that played across his features. A heavy silence filled the car, punctuated only by the sound of their collective breaths. She waited anxiously for his response, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping against hope that he would vehemently deny the accusation. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, his admission hung in the air, weighted with a sense of betrayal.

A mix of disbelief and anguish washed over her, the realization hitting her like a brick through a window. Her voice trembled as she spoke again, her words laced with a mix of sorrow and desperation. "Peña...please, tell me it's not actually you that's leaking our intel to Los Pepes."

He sighed heavily, a mixture of regret and resignation etched on his face. "I wish I could say it's not true," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I've made some choices...choices that I thought were necessary, because things weren’t getting done.”

Her world seemed to crumble around her, the foundation of trust they had built eroded in an instant. A whirlwind of emotions raged within her—anger, hurt, and a profound sense of disappointment. She had trusted him, relied on him for months because she didn’t have a damn choice, actually managed to kind of like the bastard and now that trust lay shattered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Javier?” She demanded, pushing herself upright, scrambling to hit him anywhere she could. She wasn’t necessarily the strongest, and truthfully didn’t really know how to throw a punch, but she was angry. And he deserved to be fucking hit. 

And he let her. 

He sat there, stoic and unmoving, his face a mask of acceptance. He made no attempt to dodge or defend himself, allowing her fists to rain down upon him. Her poorly trained punches landed on his arms, her fists colliding with his solid form, but he didn’t flinch or retaliate. His passive response only fueled her anger further.

The sound of her strikes echoed in the air, each smack a cathartic release of frustration and disappointment. Her fists became a conduit for her emotions, as if the physical pain she inflicted upon him could somehow alleviate the emotional pain within her. But with each blow, she realized the uselessness of her actions.

As her punches gradually weakened, exhaustion and sadness began to replace her initial rage. The weight of the situation pressed upon her, and she felt the heaviness in her limbs. Her fists gradually dropped to her sides, her trembling hands a reflection of the turbulent storm of emotions raging within her.

She looked at him, searching for any sign of remorse or explanation in his eyes. But his gaze offered no explanation; nothing that he was able to say to make her feel better. He knew what he did, and she knew he didn’t regret it.

Breathing heavily, she fell back into her door, the intensity of the moment hanging between them. The anger that had fueled her actions now subsided, leaving a void filled with a mixture of disappointment and a longing for answers. The silence between them seemed to stretch on, punctuated only by the heavy silence of unspoken words.

“Get out of my car, Javier.”

He swallowed hard, she could hear it, before he pushed her door open. As he turned to get out, he paused, looking back at her. She stared forward, gripping her steering wheel tight enough that her knuckles were white. 

“I…,” he took a breath, looking down for a moment before he shook his head and got out. “Can’t believe it took this long for you to call me by my first name.”

She let out a watery laugh, trying to keep herself from crying. He stared at her for several moments, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead opting to start her car and wipe her eyes. For just a little while, she really thought maybe he wasn’t that bad. That Javier Peña was actually a decent person, who she was begrudgingly attracted to. She knew that he and Steve did things a bit against the rules; it was hard not to see it. But this was too far, even by that standard. 

She took a deep breath, swallowing down her tears again. “I was so close to not hating you —,”

“If you’re gonna tell Crosby —,”

They spoke over each other, and both stopped as they waited for the other to finish. 

“I’m not,” she finally said, before she could stop herself. But she still refused to look at him. “I…I’m not gonna tell him, Peña. Consider it the only favor I’ll ever do for you.”

He let out a wry chuckle, shaking his head as he finally got out of her car. The door slammed against the frame, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he walked around the front to her side of the car. Hesitating, she rolled the window down, finally meeting his gaze as he rested his hand on the roof, leaning down. 

“Thank you, hermosa,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned into the car further. “And for what it’s worth —I’ve never hated you.”

Truthfully, she didn’t hate him either. Looking up at him from her seat, she had the sudden urge to pull him into a tight hug; tell him it was okay. That she understood why he did it. 

But she’d be lying if she did. Because she didn’t understand; not really. 

———

He was drunk.

No, that wasn't accurate.

He was shit-faced.

Javier stumbled through the dimly lit bar, his movements unsteady and his mind clouded by a swirling haze of alcohol. The weight of his actions bore down on him, threatening to suffocate him with a potent mix of guilt and self-loathing. Each step he took was a struggle, as if the weight of his choices had multiplied tenfold.

He had watched her drive away, leaving an empty void in his chest. The taillights of her car faded into the distance, a visual representation of the fracture he had caused in the barely there friendship they had in the first place. She wasn’t supposed to find out; no one was. 

Driven by a mix of remorse and self-loathing, he turned on his heel and sought solace in the numbing embrace of a bottle of whiskey. The nearest bar became his sanctuary, a place where he could drown his sorrows and temporarily escape the consequences of his actions. He slumped onto a barstool, his weary eyes scanning the array of bottles lining the shelves.

As the minutes turned into hours, the world around him became distorted. The sounds of laughter and chatter blended into white noise that didn’t make any sense, and the faces of the patrons merged into indistinguishable shapes. His vision blurred, mirroring the fog that clouded his mind.

Javier's drunken stupor was a feeble attempt to escape the weight of his actions, to find temporary solace in a realm of blurred lines and diminished responsibility. But as the alcohol seeped into his veins, it only served to deepen his self-disgust. The numbness it brought was merely a hollow facade, concealing the pain and regret that gnawed at his core.

As the night wore on and the effects of alcohol began to really make him think shitty ideas were good ones. With the memory of her face —disappointed, angry, teary eyed —front and center in his mind, Javier made a decision. 

He needed to see her, even if it meant facing the wrath of her anger and disappointment. It didn't matter that it was late in the night or that his thoughts were still muddled from the alcohol. He couldn't let her think he was this bad man, trying to fuck up everything they were working towards. 

And he didn’t want her to hate him. Jesus fucking Christ, Javier didn’t want to go back to her snapping at him every time he spoke. Or glaring at him over her paperwork whenever he asked her questions. He liked whatever they had going on —flirting, banter, whatever it was. 

Javier wanted it to keep happening. 

Javier just wanted her, however she would take him. And by her reaction tonight, in her car, his whiskey-addled brain saw something that he hadn’t seen before. 

Driven by a mix of determination and a glimmer of hope, Javier left the confines of the bar and stumbled through the dimly lit streets. Every step was unsteady, but his movements were fueled by a desperate need to find her and see her again.

Minutes felt like hours as he walked down the streets towards the apartments she lived in. The weight of his actions sat heavily on his shoulders, and while he didn’t regret what he was doing —he needed to at least apologize to her. 

Finally, he arrived at her doorstep, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he knocked on the door. As he waited, he rehearsed the words he wanted to say to her, hoping that they sounded at least somewhat coherent. 

There was shuffling from behind her door, and Javier glanced at his watch with a frown —realizing it was well past midnight. 

“Shit.”

Panicking, and suddenly feeling far more sober than he was when he was making the walk there, he turned on his heel to walk away. His hands ran through his hair as he started cursing himself for being so fucking stupid. 

As Javier turned to leave, his heart pounding in his chest, he heard her voice calling out to him, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly turned back, his eyes meeting hers. She clearly had been woken up by him, her hair braided but messy from sleep. 

She stood in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest, in her pajamas. Just a thin tank top that revealed the curve of her shoulders and shorts that showcased her slender legs and a look of confusion and frustration on her pretty face. 

Unable to tear his gaze away from her, Javier felt his resolve crumble. The urge to be close to her, to reach out and hold her, consumed him. He took a hesitant step towards her, his heart pounding in his chest. His voice was a mere whisper as he spoke, filled with a mixture of longing and guilt. 

She stepped back, frowning. “Are you drunk?”

He stopped short, recognizing her concern. But he nodded slowly, swallowing hard as he did so. “Just, uh. Just a bit, yeah.”

“Go home, Javier.”

“I can’t, cariño,” he admitted, running his hands over his face then up through his hair. “I…I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

He considered his options –both, neither. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t leave (though he definitely couldn’t), but he knew why he wouldn’t. 

They stood there in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of their complicated relationship hanging in the air. Javier struggled to find the right words, to express the turmoil churning within him. He was not accustomed to vulnerability, especially not with someone like her. They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other most days. 

That wasn’t exactly true, though. In recent weeks, they had gotten on better than before. Closer, friendlier. He liked having that in his life, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“You hate me,” he finally managed to say, leaning against her door frame to look down at her. “And that’s fine. I deserve that.”

Her eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of something that he couldn’t pinpoint flashing over her face. She glanced down either end of the hallway, Javier following her movements, before she pushed her door open fully and motioned for him to come inside. There was clear hesitation on his end, standing stiff there for a moment as he considered what she wanted.

“If you can’t leave, Javier, then you need to come inside before I shut the door in your face.”

Decision made for him, he stepped through into the threshold of her apartment, breath stuck in his throat. As she stepped back into her apartment, shutting and locking the door, the atmosphere shifted from the tension-filled hallway to a space that bore the traces of familiarity and comfort. 

He couldn’t help but look around her home –something he truthfully thought he’d never see, because let’s face it: she didn’t want him there. Even if they were friends.

The living area was tastefully decorated, and the walls were adorned with framed photographs capturing cherished memories and moments of laughter. In the corner, a small bookshelf stood on the opposite side of the couch, covered in various books and pieces of her that pulled it all together. The couch was the same couch as his –one provided by the embassy to ensure their agents and workers were at least somewhat comfortable. But throw pillows were stacked haphazardly on each end, with a blanket tossed back as if that was where she was asleep.

It must have been, because the bottle of open wine and empty wine glass sat on her coffee table. Javier stared at it blankly, considering the things he’d done to cause her to want to drink her problems away like he had that night.

She pushed him some, towards the couch, before she yanked the blanket into her arms and sat down. Javier hesitated again –where was the confidence he used to radiate when a woman let him into their home? He should feel cocksure and horny; the one unobtainable woman he’d been pining for since she arrived in Colombia was pushing him onto her couch while she barely wore clothing.

But that wasn’t why he was there. And that wasn’t what she was doing. He wasn’t there to seduce her, or fuck her. He was there to beg for her forgiveness; to have her be his fucking friend again.

"I don’t hate you,” she finally sighed, running her hands over her face. “Not anymore, I mean. I did, at least a couple months ago.”

“What changed that?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the couch, looking down at his hands.

“You finished my notes for me. The ones for Martinez, when we first got set up at the base.”

He blinked a few times, trying to pull up the memory of doing that for her. She never asked him for anything; either out of spite or because she didn’t want to rely on him. But then he nodded some, huffing out a weak laugh as he did.

“You looked like you were going to fall asleep at your desk,” he explained, looking up at her finally. “I just…I felt bad; figured I’d give you a break.”

“That’s when I decided I didn’t actually hate you,” she admitted, pulling her knees up to her chest as she looked at him. “I don’t know if I liked you, per se –that took a little longer to accept; that I liked you. That I thought we were friends –but I didn’t dislike you. And I…still don’t hate you.”

Hearing that she thought they were friends made Javier’s heart absolutely ache. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. It was in that moment that he realized his feelings ran deeper than he had ever admitted to himself. She looked at him as a friend, and Javier was suddenly realizing he wanted her more than that.

“Probably should.”

“I should,” she agreed, but then she shrugged some, taking a deep breath as she tried to fight back a yawn. “I don’t though. I’m just…I’m disappointed, Javier. Angry, because now I have to lie to the fucking ambassador of the United States. Risk my job. Pretend that I don’t know you’re actually a moron who makes shitty decisions.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” he told her, shaking his head. “You should be covering your own ass, not mine. I told Murphy the same thing –,”

“Good to know that Steve is also a fucking idiot –,”

“Listen to me,” he cut off, turning to face her properly, suddenly serious as he stared her down. “If anyone asks –if someone even so much as hints at you knowing whose working with Los Pepes –you fucking tell them the truth. Do you understand me?”

He watched her closely, his heart pounding in his chest as she contemplated his words. Her exhaustion was evident, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for adding to her burden. But he needed her to understand, to protect herself and let go of any association with him. He didn't deserve her loyalty, especially after what he had done.

“I’d be smart to walk away," she began, her voice wavering slightly. "It would be the right thing, the safe thing. Kick you out, call the embassy. But..." She paused, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as she continued, "I care about you, for some stupid ass reason. So, maybe I won't tell anyone anything. Maybe I'll protect you."

Her response, however, caught him off guard. Her voice, tinged with weariness and vulnerability, carried a sense of tenderness that he didn't expect. He listened intently, his eyes locked on hers, as she admitted her conflicted feelings. Javier's breath hitched as she revealed her concern; how she felt about him. His heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude, disbelief, and a touch of apprehension. How could she still care after all of this? After everything he’d done to her, how he’d treated her, and what he was putting her through now?

He wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to thank her for her unexpected act of compassion. But a mix of emotions churned inside him, leaving him at a loss for words. Instead, he simply nodded, his throat tight with a gratitude that was choking him.

In that moment, he knew that her decision carried its own risks. He knew that he didn't deserve her protection or her care. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of what he was doing. 

As they sat there, something shifted between the two. There was a thread –a thin, barely there thread that tied them together now. And in that fragile thread, Javier found some sort of comfort. 

“I’m going to bed, Javier,” she sighed, standing up from the couch with a yawn. “You can stay here, if you want –on the couch.” The last part was added quickly, as if she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t offering up her bed to him in any way.

He shook his head though, standing up as well. She looked up at him, and Javier couldn’t help but notice just how close the two of them were suddenly. They stood just inches apart, tired eyes gazing at one another. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, his heart pounding in his chest, but he looked away quickly.

“I appreciate it, but I should go,” Javier replied, his voice slightly hoarse. He tried to ignore the sudden urge of longing that coursed through him; ignore the desire to bridge the distance between them and pull her into his arms. But he couldn't act on those feelings, not now, not after everything.

She nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. He could tell she was wrestling with her own conflicting emotions, just as he was. They both knew the boundaries they had set, the unspoken rules that controlled their actions. As they stood there, their gazes locked, Javier's resolve wavered. He wanted to kiss her suddenly. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips. He wanted to lose himself in her.

He was about to pull away; leave her alone for the night so they could pretend nothing happened when they got to work later. But then he felt her hand gently cup his cheek. Her touch was soft, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and a longing of her own. In that moment, she was the one that tore down the boundaries she had put up.

Deciding that he couldn’t take it anymore —gravity was too much and he couldn’t escape the pull of her touch against his skin —he closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands as he pressed his mouth to hers. Months –he’d spent months wanting to kiss her to shut her up. Use the action to get her to be quiet, to stop scolding him. But now, she wasn’t yelling at him or arguing with him. She was pulling him into her touch, biting at his lip, returning the kiss. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling herself closer as returned the kiss –biting his bottom lip as she responded with equal fervor. It was unexpected, her immediate response, but Javier wasn’t going to push her away now that he had what he wanted.

Tracing his tongue along the seam of her lip, he coaxed her lips open and licked into her mouth. A quiet whimper escaped her, and Javier swore he could feel it in his very bones as he pushed her back towards the couch again. One of his hands dropped to her hip, holding her against him tight, as the other tangled into her hair. She mimicked his motions, her hand finding its way down his chest to the exposed skin under his collar as the other tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

As he pushed her into the couch, refusing to break the kiss, she pulled him down on top of her. He rested on his knees, caging her beneath him as her fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt. His hands rested above her head, nipping at her bottom lip again while she finally pushed his shirt open and ran her nails down his chest. He hummed into the kiss, rolling his hips into hers involuntarily before finally breaking away to rest his forehead against hers.

They both breathed heavily, staring at each other with lust blown eyes. Her eyes darted from his face down, then back up at him and Javier wondered, momentarily, what she was thinking. Because all he could think about was slipping his hand under her shirt and feeling her skin against his. 

“I can’t just be one of your hook ups,” she whispered, grabbing his wrist to stop him from moving further up. “I won’t be, Javier.”

He stared down at her, catching his breath as he slowly nodded. He understood the weight of her words, the depth of her desire for something more meaningful. He pulled his hand back, trailing his fingers over the skin of her stomach gently until his hand wasn’t under her shirt anymore. Instead, he rested it against the fabric of her top, looking down at her. 

“You won’t be,” he assured her, his voice filled with a tenderness that surprised even him. “I…I haven’t — this won’t be —I’ve wanted for months….I want you, cariño.”

She searched his eyes, searching for any sign of deception or doubt, but all she found was a sincerity that mirrored her own. Wanting to find comfort in her touch again, Javier leaned in and pressed his lips to her chin –light, barely there. But enough to cause her to suck in a breath as if he had bit her. His hand slipped back under her stop, grasping at the hem of the thin fabric, so he could pull it up carefully. It was easily pulled over her head and tossed to the floor with his shirt –leaving them both bare from the waist up and pressed against one another.

Her hands, somehow impossibly soft, traced down his arms, nails barely grazing his skin. It was a careful gesture, but it was all he needed to continue. Taking to her wandering hands, Javier wrapped them back around his neck before his hands trailed down her sides until they settled at her waist. She sighed at the touch, tugging him closer to her as he gently clasped her waist, drawing her nearer, their bodies pressed together. His fingers pressed into her skin, no doubt leaving marks where his nails dug in. A gasp escaped her, mingling vulnerability with desire, as his tongue slipped into her mouth again. 

Enthusiastically, she pulled him even closer, pressing her body against his like he had dreamed of so many times before. At any moment, he expected to awaken in his bed, painfully alone –painfully hard –left with nothing but fantasies of her consuming his mind. But the feeling of her biting his lip, of her hands fumbling with the button of his jeans reminded him that this was real. She was there, under him, touching him back just as desperately as he was touching her.

“Gonna take care of you, hermosa…,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her mouth down her jaw, to her throat. His hands deftly tugged at her shorts, trying to push them down her hips.

Her hips rose to meet his touch, helping him get rid of the last two pieces of her clothing that kept her from him. Once her shorts were tossed to the growing mess of clothes on her floor, his fingers trailed between her thighs, pressing just barely into her. Her head fell back into the arm of the couch as she whispered his name, as if trying to beg for more. He grinned into the skin of her throat before pressing a kiss there.

“Tell me what you want,” he continued, nipping at her collarbone as his other hand reached up to palm at her breast.

“Take off your pants,” she ordered –though she was breathless and arching into his touch.

Javier chuckled almost darkly into her skin, pinching her nipple as he squeezed her chest. Then he pulled back, sitting up above her. His eyes roamed over her figure hungrily, taking the chance to appreciate each curve of her body as he pushed his jeans and boxers off, kicking them to the side. Most of the women he slept with would try to cover themselves up under his gaze –turn red with sheepish grins. But she just rested her hand behind her head, meeting his eyes for a moment before taking in his naked self as well. Just as hungry for him as he was for her –it made his cock twitch. 

“Still so bossy, even when I have you naked under me.”

“Someone needs to make sure you follow directions.”

Her laugh was airy and light, and Javier grinned down at her as he took his cock in his hand, stroking himself slowly. The way she practically glowed under him, radiating something he wanted to bask in forever, made him want her even more. His other hand slipped between her legs again, where he ran his fingers over her clit and through her wet folds. Her eyes closed in response, arching into the touch with a hum, and Javier savored how wet she was for him. 

Javier adjusted, half kneeling between her legs and pressed wet kisses over her thighs as he spread her open before him. She gasped at the sensation, thighs instinctively closing around his head but Javier tsk’ed, pushing her legs open to continue peppering kisses along the sensitive skin of her thighs until his nose brushed just barely against her clit. Her reaction was to shoot her hands down and tangle her fingers in his hair, pleading with him to hurry up. 

He made a satisfied noise, grinning into the skin of her thighs, before finally giving her what she wanted —what they both wanted —and started to lick and kiss at her clit as if it was the last meal he’d ever eat. She gasped, her legs jerking up only for her heels to rest on his back. The sounds she was making —begging, soft and breathless gasps —egged him on, involuntarily causing him to buck his hips into the couch to relieve his own ache. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she moaned, arching up as his tongue delved deep into her core. 

Her reaction only spurred him on, replacing his tongue inside her with a finger —then two, with ease. His tongue circled her clit as he pumped his fingers in and out, setting a steady pace as she clenched around him. She was tight, deliciously so, and the thought of her clenching around his cock was driving him wild. 

“Come for me,” he whispered against her skin, pulling away from her clit just enough to admire her. Watching her chest heave from her ragged breathing, pretty face contorted by pleasure as his fingers continued to disappear in and out of her —she was close, he could feel it as she yanked his hair harder. “Come for me, hermosa.”

His mouth captured her clit one more time, his fingers curling just enough to hit the sensitive spot inside her. She cried out, squeezing his fingers with her pussy while trying to close her legs around him. But he didn’t let her, free hand holding her leg down as he nipped and licked at her clit, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers inside her. 

She cried out suddenly, body trembling, as her orgasm washed over her. He slowed down, but didn’t remove his fingers from her, working her through her climax. She pushed him away from her clit, overstimulated and breathing heavily. He didn’t stay away long before he pulled his fingers  from her and replaced them with his tongue once more, lapping up the juices that soaked her pussy.

“Javi,” she gasped, hands shaking as she pried him from between her legs. 

She pulled him up by his chin, only able because he let her, and kissed him hungrily. This kiss was sloppier, all teeth and tongues, allowing her to taste herself. Javier groaned into her mouth, pulling himself back onto the couch properly, only to yank her by her hips into his lap. Straddling him now, she looked down at him with hazy, lust filled eyes as she grinded against cock.

He hummed, leaning his head back as his hands slid up her waist, gripping the flesh there tight and guiding her movements as he did so. Her hips rolled against him, coating him in the remnants of her climax, and the head of his cock caught against her clit, causing her to hiss in response. Javier grinned, unable to help himself, as his eyes opened to look up at her again. Releasing his grip on her waist, one hand reached up to the back of her head to bring their mouths together again. His other hand groped her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipples as he bit at her bottom lip.

“Javi, please,” she sighed, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe over his lips. She was reaching between their bodies now to grasp his hard cock in her hands. “I need you, Javi, I need –,”

“What do you need, cariño?” He teased, trying to keep his hips from bucking up into her. “Take what you want, baby. C’mon…”

She nodded frantically, rising up onto her knees above him. Javier’s gaze dropped to her hand around him, where she was guiding his cock into her soaked pussy. As she slowly eased him into her, one of her hands shot up to grip his arm, digging her nails into the skin to distract from the stretch. Javier’s head fell back again as she sunk down on him, his hands dropping to her ass just to hold something. Because if he didn’t –shit, he would lose any semblance of control he had. 

Her grip on his arm tightened as their hips met again, sinking him entirely inside her as she tried to adjust to his size. Javier groaned as her walls clenched around him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up –causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, her hands gripping the back of the couch. With her tits in his face, and his hands grasping her ass, Javier was done for –fuck control, he needed to ruin her.

Javier trails his fingers down her arms before wrapping them back around her hips, holding her tight against him as he pistons up into her. She hadn’t been expecting it, a surprised cry leaving her lips as he slapped her ass in the process of fucking her. He pulled her up, and she got the hint as she rose to meet his thrusts, bouncing on his cock to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

“Been thinking about this since the first time you yelled at me.” He punctuated his last word with a hard thrust up that had the tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it made her drop her face into his neck, crying out his name. 

“Fuck, Javi –you feel so good– Please, God– please, please–” Her words died in her throat when he yanked her down particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in slow, hard grind. She let out a choked sob of his name, pussy clenching hard around him and stealing a low moan from the back of his throat. 

“Knew you fuckin’ liked me, princesa.”

She moaned again, and Javier jolted up some as he felt her tongue trailing over the vein in his neck and over his jaw. Her mouth was on his again, and he could feel her tightening around him as her wetness started to smear between their bodies. The sound of their skin slapping against skin only urged him forward, each thrust becoming messier and harder. It was almost too much when his one hand dipped between their bodies, fingers fluently toying with her clit.

Between the touch on her clit and the thrusts up into her, Javier could tell she was close and he’d be damned if he came before her. Kissing her harder –all tongue, and teeth, and spit –he sped up his thrusts in time with his fingers on her clit. She bit his lip for a moment before she gasped, closing her eyes tight as her body tensed up under him, only to spasm around him as she came. The only sound she made were airy gasps of his name, begging him to keep going. Javier wasn’t far behind as he thrusted up into her a few more times before his hips stuttered to a stop.

She dropped against him, breathing heavily as she slowly came down from her high. Javier’s hand dropped away from her clit, and while his grip on her hip loosened, he didn’t release her from his hold. Her forehead pressed against his neck, tucked just under his chin as she tried to catch her breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath himself, as he savored the moment of her skin against his, holding her close to his chest.

Eventually, however, she adjusted and pulled away from him –pulling his softened cock from her with a wince. He stayed there, however, looking over at her through half squinted eyes. She didn’t move far –having simply slid onto the couch to lean down and rifle through their clothes on the floor. When she came back up, she leaned back against the armrest of the couch, skin slick with sweat and glowing from their post-sex haze. In her one hand was a cigarette, that she lit with a lazy grin, before holding it out to him.

Javier watched her for a few moments before he took the cigarette and snuffed it out, pulling her back down the couch by her ankles. She yelped in surprise, but it devolved into a laugh as he leaned over her and grabbed her chin, kissing her lazily. Her arms wrapped around his neck, returning the kiss eagerly. When he pulled back, Javier melodramatically collapsed onto her, laying between her legs with his head on her chest. Her hand ran through his sweat-drenched curls.

“This doesn’t mean you get special treatment at work,” she murmured, and Javier could just hear the grin in her voice.

“Give me a few minutes to recover, and I bet I can change your mind,” he challenged, though he closed his eyes as she ran her hand through his hair.

“You can try to change my mind by staying, and taking me out tonight,” she countered, and Javier chuckled into her skin, nodding.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

[longwuzhere]

Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers: For the first episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the second episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the third episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the fourth episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the sixth episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the seventh episode's Easter eggs it's here and here

For the eighth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

For the ninth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

For the tenth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

SPOILERS if you haven't seen this week's episode obviously

We start off the episode with this shot of Superman with the drawn on glasses. A good homage to what Lois did in the 1980 Superman II movie...

where she not only drew the glasses but also a full suit and hat on a picture of Superman.

Next we see Jimmy waking up and seeing someone debunking his conspiracy theories on Sub-Diego.

Sub Diego was an actual place in the DC universe before the New 52 reboot. In Aquaman #15 and #16 (2003) , shown here (W: Will Pfeifer, P: Patrick Gleason, I: Christian Alamy, C: Nathan Eyring, L: Jared K. Fletcher for issue 15, Nick Napolitano for issue 16). The underwater city is actually San Diego, but is buried underwater thanks to a tidal wave and makes its first appearance in Aquaman #15 (2003). There was a lot of casualties from this.

When we get to our title its "You Will Believe A Man Can Lie" a reference to the tagline for the 1978 Superman movie.

As seen here on the poster, it says "You'll believe a man can fly".

Next we see our villain, well one of the villains, for the episode, Heatwave.

In the comics Heatwave makes his first appearance in Flash 140 (1963) (cover art by Carmine Infantino, Murphy Anderson, and Ira Schnapp). Heatwave aka Mick Rory is a Flash rogue usually acting as a rival to Captain Cold aka Leonard Snart. In MAwS, their Heatwave shares the same last name and powers, but MAwS Heatwave is gender flipped. You might have seen Heatwave in the CW DC comics shows where he is played by Dominic Purcell in The Flash and Legends of Tomorrow.

Lois, later in the episode, name drops Heatwave's name. Gotta be honest when Heatwave showed up I was like is that Rampage? Cuz the MAwS design looks vaguely like Rampage.

If she does show up in MAwS, I'll talk more about her in another post, but for now, Rampage aka Karen Lou "Kitty" Faulkner, makes her first appearance in Superman #7 (1987) (full page here: W&P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tom Ziuko, L: John Costanza).

Steve drags Jimmy to film his debunking Flamebird videos and references Starro who I talked about here.

Lois, later runs around with the Daily Planet police scanner trying to catch Superman and the dispatcher reports that a robbery is in progress at McGuinness Luxe Garage.

This is a nice reference to Ed McGuinness who was the artist for Superman, Action Comics, and Superman/Batman in the early 2000s. If you've seen Superman/Batman: Public Enemies, then you'll know the movie takes inspiration from his character designs in the first arc of the Superman/Batman comic series. The Superman/Batman #1 (2003) cover here is done by Ed McGuinness, Dexter Vines, and Dave Stewart. I like Ed McGuinness's pencils, very stylized.

Heatwave name drops Livewire and the Gazzo mod family. Both of whom I've talked about here and here respectively

Heatwave has been running away from Deathstroke here who has been taking our her crew. Notice that Slade Wilson doesn't have the half black half orange helmet yet that almost every Deathstroke depiction always has.

He, Amanda Waller, and the General who I totally think is General Sam Lane, Lois's dad, are fans of DBZ cuz of the scouters they're wearing.

Later in the scene we see the General again he's totally General Sam Lane. I'll talk more about him when we get a double confirmation through a name drop/reveal in a later post calling Amanda Waller, Mandy. What a fucking bold thing to say to Waller! Like damn! power move right there!

Superman and Deathstroke are fighting under a highway and we see the traffic is heading to Bludhaven!

Very good reference to my favorite character in all of pop culture, Dick Grayson aka Nightwing. Nightwing makes Bludhaven his city to protect. The city makes its first appearance in Nightwing #1 (1996) (the panel here - W: Chuck Dixon, P: Scott McDaniel, I: Karl Story, C: Roberta Tewes, L: John Costanza). Fun Bludhaven fact, its crime rate is WORST than Gotham! Also HIGHLY recommend reading the new Nightwing run cuz its fucking amazing! Won a few Eisner Awards (think the Oscars but for comic books) recently and I am not just saying that because I am a Dick Grayson fan.

Near the end of the episode, we see Lois willing to jump off a building to prove that Clark is Superman. A lot of discourse was happening online over this, but I do want to say this is pretty on brand for her to do.

In Superman II, Lois does something similar and Clark saves her. its just in MAwS, Clark flies to save her thus ruining the secret identity, while in Superman II, Clark does save her but he is still able to get away with it thanks to him playing it more subtly.

Don't know why people we're in such a fucking fit over something that Lois has done before.

In the after credits scene, Jimmy, who planned a sasquatch finding adventure with Lois and Clark, but they were dealing with their shit and Jimmy was by himself, decides to do the finding on his own and meets a giant gorilla. In the first episode Jimmy mentions an intelligent gorilla in France and my guess is this is Monsieur Mallah. You can read more about him here. If you made it this far down, I appreciate you taking the time to check this post out and if you want to see my other MAwS Easter Eggs posts - Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 4 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Murphy's 500 Followers Celebration!!

masterlist.

in honour of this very exciting milestone, I thought I'd have a little celebration. i'm going to be writing short drabbles of your choosing!! i've created a prompt list, but I am absolutely encouraging your own ideas x

how to request -

pick a category - fluff, angst or smut

pick a character - there is a list below, but I am open to more suggestions!!

pick a dialogue prompt and/or a scenario prompt - there is a list below - feel free to choose multiple!!

then, send it in to me!! use the button at the top of my page, or request here !!

I'm gonna start writing next week, on 22/04. maybe earlier if I have the time. feel free to request multiple drabbles- the more I get sent, the more fun we'll have!!

Categories -

☀️ Fluff

🌧️ Angst

🔥 Smut

Characters -

Top Gun Maverick

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

Robert "Bob" Floyd

✦

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Tommy Miller

✦

Marvel

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Stucky

Sam Wilson

Matt Murdock

Frank Castle

✦

Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Kendall Roy

✦

Triple Frontier

Will Miller

Frankie Morales

Benny Miller

Santiago Garcia

✦

Narcos

Javier Peña

Steve Murphy

Colonel Carrillo

✦

The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

✦

Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

✦

9-1-1

Eddie Diaz

Evan Buckley

✦

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Luke Alvez

Derek Morgan

✦

Dialogue Prompts -

1. "You love me?"

2. "Don't go on that date."

3. "Will you let me cut your hair?"

4. "Marry me."

5. "It's always been you."

6. "You're my best friend."

7. "You were my first love."

8. "I had a dream about you."

9. "I saw this and it reminded me of you."

10. "I have something to tell you."

11. "I thought you hated me."

12. "Is that all you got?"

13. "In your dreams."

14. "I don't deserve you."

15. "Talk to me."

16. "Is that my shirt?"

17. "I would choose you over anyone."

18. "You look so pretty like this."

19. "Most beautiful sound I've ever heard."

20. "You're killing me." / "You're gonna be the death of me."

21. "Just like that."

22. "Use your words."

23. "Good girl." / "Perfect girl."

24. "You like it when I'm mean to you?"

25. "Let's get out of here."

26. "You don't want them to hear, do you?"

27. "I need you."

28. "Let me see those eyes." / "Keep your eyes on me."

29. "Tell me what you want."

30. "I can't get enough of you."

31. "Wanted this for so long."

32. "Can I touch you?"

33. "Been thinking about you all day."

34. "You look so pretty on your knees."

35. "Better than I ever imagined."

36. "Let him watch."

37. "Let me hear you."

38. "Tell me you're mine."

39. "I'm yours."

40. "I love you."

41. "Don't you dare walk away from me."

42. "I can't do this anymore."

43. "You don't deserve me." / "I deserve better."

44. "Was any of this even real?"

45. "How stupid do you think I am?"

46. "Please don't leave me."

47. "I wish you were here."

48. "Do not raise your voice at me."

49. "Stay. Please."

50. "Don't tell me to calm down."

Scenario Prompts -

a. Kissing in the rain

b. First kiss

c. Electricity blackout

d. Camping

e. Heatwave

f. Childhood best friends

g. Grumpy / sunshine

h. Fake dating

i. Only one bed

j. Moving in together

k. Finding out you're pregnant

l. Catching eyes in a crowded room

m. Keeping the relationship a secret

n. Blind date

o. Reunion

p. Meet cute

q. Cheesy pick up lines

r. Exes

s. College friends / lovers

t. Roommates

u. Coming home drunk

v. Singing together / dancing together

w. An accidental kiss

x. A bet

y. Brothers best friend / best friends brother

z. Reading to each other

✦

these are just suggestions / jumping off points!! if you have an idea you'd like me to write a drabble for, just send it over. can't wait to see what you lovely people come up with. excited!! as always, so much love x