#javi peña x you

[endlessthxxghts]

Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be. 

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did. 

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one. 

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place. 

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off. 

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did. 

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly. 

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts. 

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask. 

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered. 

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face. 

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face. 

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out. 

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in. 

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest. 

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?” 

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.” 

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at. 

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish. 

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh. 

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?” 

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you. 

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat. 

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.” 

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move. 

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud. 

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you. 

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated. 

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been. 

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird. 

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.” 

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened. 

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone. 

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds. 

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent. 

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?” 

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside. 

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you. 

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today. 

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core. 

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh. 

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin. 

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob. 

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs. 

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips. 

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.” 

“I can fucking build it later.” 

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear. 

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration. 

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?” 

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great. 

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind. 

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him. 

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more. 

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him. 

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager. 

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound. 

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact. 

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start. 

“Get up,” he cuts you off. 

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you. 

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself. 

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall. 

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already. 

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now. 

“Then bend over.” 

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own. 

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure. 

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards. 

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning. 

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.” 

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing. 

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go. 

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love. 

“Baby, please move,” you pant. 

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright. 

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.” 

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you. 

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass. 

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax. 

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end. 

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in. 

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you. 

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters. 

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch. 

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you. 

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth. 

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours. 

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully. 

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?” 

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him. 

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?” 

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between. 

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core. 

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright. 

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

[undercoverpena]

anytime

javier peña x f!reader

summary: “Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing the place where the hair sits atop his lip. “Anytime, cariño.” “Anytime, really?”

wordcount: 3.1k. warnings: fluff. bestfriends to lovers. banter. reader wears a dress and has a gloss on lips. no physical description. javi calls reader solecito as a nickname only. likely warnings for spelling as i wrote this on my phone. an: huge thanks to @wildemaven for creating this moodboard (pls go show it some love), letting me make a banner from it, and then letting me write this for Javi instead of Frankie. bby, i hope you like this.

Javi had never been good at avoiding challenging situations.

For the longest time, he’s been finding himself in the centre of a whirlwind—whether in Bogotá, Cali or apparently even back home.

You, his friend, best friend—a well-kept secret, tucked away in his chest, not shared with a soul when he was away. You were a thing that he’d clutched close to his chest from the moment the two of you had first gotten close, through his failed engagement and even more so when he left for Colombia. You, in all your understanding, hugging him, telling him he’d be great, amazing, the very best.

Both of you were younger then, less worn down by life, its many obstacles and all the other things.

You best not become best friends with anyone over there, Peña. As if anyone could annoy me as much as you, solecito.

In the brief interim of his return, you hadn’t appeared all that different. You may have had a job, a house—drove a slightly better car than when the two of you were staying out at all hours—but you, at your core remained very much the fucking same.

Still just as understanding, as kind. A person who got him, without really needing to try.

For Javi, the best thing—outside of you being you and the monthly calls you made him promise to keep when he was drowning in murder, drugs and Escobar—is that you never ask him about it. Any of it.

You had always let him pretend, escape, listen to you fill him in on gossip—things such as disagreements over the size of rhubarb and whether someone was having an affair. A thing you did even when he came back. Even more grateful for it then, when he grew tired of the questions, the compliments, the everything.

Its why he didn’t tell you when he would land back in Laredo for good. Just waiting, standing outside your place, leaning against your car as you walk down the street—eyes brushing over him, pausing, before he gets to see that smile. That signature fucking smile.

When he’d left the first time, he remembers how you’d lingered near your car, unwilling to climb into your bright yellow death trap—the entire reason he called you solecito to begin with—wearing the beginnings of that smile even then.

The difference is now he knows that there was something under it. Hidden, held back, kept from him.

It’s why it meant so much to him when he saw it in all its glory, all alight, blooming and somehow healing.

He can’t explain it, but it repairs strands inside of him. Your presence alone continuing to do so when he meets you for lunches, coffees, and late-night drinks. In exchange, he makes you laugh, your head thrown back as he tells you about whatever he did on the ranch—all of it comical, apparently. Because the idea of him, Javier Peña doing ranch work brought tears to your eyes.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” you splutter, taking a mouthful of your beer as you narrow your eyes.

Nodding, he leans back into the booth, arm stretched out, picking and picking—the label crumbling from the sweating bottle. “Yeah. Bet you’re upset you don’t get to see me herd cattle and mend fences.”

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred-percent.”

Shrugging, he grins—an easy task with you. A thing that has always been that way, even when he turned up at your door when he couldn’t get married; even when the two of you sat under the stars when he told you about possibly going to Colombia. You still made him grin—even when things weren’t fucking easy at all.

“I’ll add it to my to-do list—visit Peña on the ranch—it’s currently sat under finding a dress, a boyfriend and the will to fucking live.”

Snorting, he traces his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your face scrutinises him, before rolling your eyes. And he just waits—because you always spill eventually.

One. Two. Th—

Fine, you huff, before it unravels from you. How the wedding of your work colleague is close, closer than I thought and you’re tired of attending these things alone, circled like a fucking fish by single sharks.

And he’s listening, taking it in. Trying to not wince at how high-pitched you’ve got as you’ve ranted.

Mainly, Javi finds there’s more questions rising than answers provided.

One singular one rising to the top. A thing he’s wanted to ask for the last few weeks. Not in a rude way, or in the way it burns inside his chest when he talks to you on the phone and he has to bury it. But, it’s there, bubbling, wishing to escape and know. It's even louder when the two of you are like this, crammed in a space, laughing, smiling, sharing, wondering—

Why are you even single? How are you?

You’ve mentioned people—names, here and there when the two of you had been on the phone. Them fluttering out before you can pull them back, but then they’re forgotten. Javi, I get one call a month—let me tell you about the cattle war going off. And, in a way, he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to know, so he never asked.

Now, it’s all he wants to ask.

Because you’re… you. You’re brilliant, beautiful—funny, clever, witty. And yet—

“—so, now it’s a week out, and I need to find a dress, a date and drive there to watch another person I know get married.”

He knows he should busy his mouth with the bottle—wrap his odd idea in beer. But, that part of him—the one which wants to help, solve issues, and be useful—rises up in him like a phoenix left from the ashes of Colombia.

“I’ll go with you.”

He expects the pause, even braces for the look of shock.

He doesn’t expect the smirk. Doesn’t expect the way it spreads out, to hit your eyes. How under the low-bar light over the table, it makes your eyes glimmer and fucking shimmer.

“You want to go to a wedding with me?”

Shrugging, he picks off the last part of the label—the mess of it all circling around where the glass meets the wood.

Mirroring him, you shrug. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

He should take his eyes off you, but he finds he can’t.

Javi hasn’t been able to since you stepped out of your place, a handful of your dress as you locked up—stepping down your steps to his car, letting it flutter down to your ankles.

You look like a fucking dream.

A thought he knows he shouldn’t have—but has all the same. His heart staggered, half-halting in its hammering as his hands paused in their drumming on the steering wheel; his glasses slid down his nose, his skin suddenly warm all over, even if his jacket was already splayed out across the backseat.

Close your mouth, Peña.

I’m chewing gum, solecito.

Yeah, that’s why your mouth is open.

It hadn’t passed his notice that you were good-looking before today. He’s known you were, had always known it—he had eyes, after all. But, he’d always felt there was a line. A line the two of you never delved too close to step over. The sign above both of your heads already illuminated in bright bulbs and flashing lights:

JUST FRIENDS.

Until this, anyway. This thing that can only be described as the longest one-hour drive he’s ever been on. And he used to do recon with Murphy.

Because you’re teasing, taunting him. All in that usual way that you do. And it’s so easy to flirt back, to let line after line roll, but he has begun to spot you squirming.

Doing so while matching his suit in a deep brown shade—chosen by him, ‘pick a colour suit, Javi’. Adding a tinge to some of your comments—things that if said by someone that wasn’t you, he’d ask them (flirtingly) if they were coming on to him.

But with you, it’s something he can never be sure. Never something that can be completely understood, known, cracked or figured out. In the same way, he can’t understand how your perfume keeps following him. How it embeds itself into the cabin of his truck when he picks you up, sews itself into his clothing when the two of you meet—and right now, is attempting to bury itself in his skin, muscles, and bones.

“You’ve been abnormally quiet.”

Smirking, he snorts. Fingers smoothing out his hair as he swings into a spot—the tyres crunching over the gravel. “Have I? Or have you just not shut up.”

“Rude.”

Laughing, he cuts the engine—hands resting on the top of his thighs, not missing the way your eyes follow his movements before clearing your throat. It shifts something in him, makes a little part of him surge, like the smallest of fireworks suddenly erupting in his chest.

Something he forces himself to shut down the moment you shove open your door, slipping out, as he grabs his jacket.

“Do I need to be worried about you crying today, solecito?”

Rearranging your dress, and slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you squint as you stand tall, hand covering your brow as you meet his gaze.

And fuck, with this backdrop, even squinting, you look beautiful, radiant, stunning all over again. Somehow his brain having forgotten when you were next to him, when you were acting as if this was the most normal fucking thing they’ve ever done.

It isn’t.

Something he’s becoming more aware of as his throat goes dry, and his thoughts slow to nothing—

“No, you’re good. Your mouth is open again.”

You say it with a smirk, all teasing—making heat lick up his spine all over again. And, if you were anyone else, he’d have already pulled you close, tilted your chin up, and likely smothered your mouth with his.

But, you’re his friend—his best friend. The one solid thing he’s had in his life since he became a name, a poster, a hero.

“C’mon,” you say, turning on your heel as you head in the direction of the entrance, him following, jacket slipping on as he mutters mouth isn’t fucking open under his breath.

Even if he knows it was. Even if he’s desperately trying to stop his eyes from descending down to your hips, eyes fixated on the way you walk with ease to the wooden sign which greets all the guests.

He knows, due to his absence from home, there haven’t been many weddings he’s attended. Least of all like this. But even he thinks this is over the top, suddenly understanding why you hadn’t wanted to come alone. Because grand doesn’t quite cover it—not after the last one he’d attended.

This one has flickering candles lit in the day, waiters all set to hand glasses of bubbles and offer little mouthfuls of flavour on silver trays. Then, there’s the backdrop—the enormity of the building, only for you to tell him that it’s an outside wedding.

It’s more of a comfort as to why his hand drops to the small of your back than anything else. A need to be rooted, to feel calmer as he nods at passing people he doesn’t know (and hopes don’t know him), feeling you curl into him subconsciously, your bag swinging between the two of you both—affording a gap, forcing it, in fact.

The ceremony will start soon.

He overhears it, as he assumes you do, because your fingers wrap around his wrist—taking it from your back, before your palm meets his, and then you’re guiding, leading. Dragging him. All willingly to the back of the building where he sees it—the makeshift aisle. A wooden arch, and lots of deep orange-brown chairs all line up on either side of an orange aisle.

“Glad we chose brown now,” he murmurs.

“Does it make you think, y’know—being at a wedding?”

He swallows. Because it’s a loaded question.

One he assumes has been sitting all politely on the tip of your tongue since you sat beside him in his vehicle. It’s why his eyes watch you carefully as you grab the two of them a flute each from a passing waiter. Handing it to him, adding nothing—not rescuing him. Just waiting instead, doing that thing you do, where your eyes widen as you wait, trying to look all innocent even though it’s you who has just dropped a live grenade into the centre of the conversation.

Shaking his head, he snorts. “No. Not really. Knew… I knew deep down it wasn’t right. Her… and me.”

“You got any idea what’s right?”

You take a sip this time when the question lands, it again sparkling in glittered innocence, the softest of smiles pressed against the glass.

You he thinks. But he swallows that away and says ‘Not a fucking clue’ instead.

Throughout the day, he’s been desperate for a reason to stop looking at you.

So far, he’s found none.

Bits and pieces of things Murphy used to say, the words he’d drop into conversation when talking about his wife: how he knew, why she was the one, all coming back to him in drips and drops.

It dawns on him, the same as it had done since before he went to Cali, that you might mean a little more than a friend. A lot of what Murphy used to say, so easily applied to how Javi felt about you.

You make him feel calmer, create a space where he can relax, really unwind. It’s easy, uncomplicated, when he’s with you—from the conversation to the things he thinks. Complex balled thoughts stretch out until they’re in easy-to-decipher lines, able to process, able to understand.

He even told you about the boats.

A secret he’d have been prepared to take to the grave, if not for the fact you pointed out he wasn’t sleeping. Your eyes watching, pleading, don’t lie to me. And fuck, he couldn’t—not even if he wanted to.

That should have been the first sign.

He guesses he should be thankful today has been stuffed with more of them. One after the other. From the way you made sure to make him a plate of only his favourite things, to the way you knew when he needed a bit of space from the thousand questions as to how you both knew one another, and what he does.

Now, Javi is on the sidelines, admiring you in a way that makes his heart double in size.

Your dress skims around your calves as you dance—your arms rising above your head, glee stitched itself from cheek to cheek. On occasion, time halts when your eyes land on his—stealing whatever thought he had, only resuming normality when you close your eyes, belting out the lyrics to the song.

Mainly, the thought he finds which keeps returning is: I wanna do this with you again. any place. any time.

A hollowness scratches out in his chest as he lets himself acknowledge it. A thickness growing in his throat, a sorrowness weighs down on his shoulders as he nurses his glass—hand in his trouser pocket, telling himself he should be content he got to be on your arm, got to have you against him during a slow dance over an hour ago. That he gets to see you smile, hear your laugh—even know you.

“Hey, Peña.”

“Hey solecito.”

You grin—a little breathless, the music having changed, becoming slower, softer—wrenching the glass from his hand as you drain it.

“Fuck me. Y’thirsty?”

“Very. You’d know if you had any rhythm.”

He pinches you, lightly—teasingly. Your grin shifts into a laugh, tucking yourself in against him, arm around his back. And fuck, the way you’re looking up at him, he wants to warn you.

If you look at me like that, I’m going to kiss you.

Javi wonders what you’d do if you did. Whether you’d pull away, hissing the two of you are friends. Or whether you’d kiss him back.

“Want to get some fresh air?” you ask, your words against his ear—lips so close to ghosting his skin.

“Sure.”

It’s cooler when the two of you step out from under the marquee, the music getting quieter when your fingers loop in his, guiding, easing him around plant pots and tall trees, until the two of you are descending marble stairs and past iron fencing, to take him to the perimeter, to the view looking out over the city.

He watches as you step forward, fingers around the iron fencing, leaning, staring out as you let out a heavy sigh. One laced with things he wants to ask for, tug it from you, let you unload whatever is weighing on you—because that’s what you both do for one another.

You make it easy.

Make it all bearable.

But, whether you mean to, or not, you shiver. A light one, barely noticeable by most—but he isn’t most. His fingers are already at the button, undoing it, sliding his jacket down his arms before he places it over your shoulders, watching your head turn, meeting his gaze.

“You look really pretty.”

Flicking your eyes down, you smile. Sweetly. Unreadably. “Well, you’ve always been pretty.”

“Pretty?”

Laughing, your fingers tug his jacket closer, burying yourself in it. “The prettiest, Javier.”

Leaning beside you, he feels the metal from the railings, you’re both resting on, cut into his palms. He wonders if you feel the same, your dress billowing in the gentle breeze as the two of you stare off into the distance, spotting the flickering lights of a city, of homes tucking in for the night.

Then he turns his head, finding you already watching him, studying him in a similar way as you were before.

And, he lets his eyes drop to your mouth. A sign. A signal. It’s not the first time, usually, he does so when you’re not looking, letting himself trace the curve of your lips. Now, he stares at the way your gloss has long since gone, left behind on glasses and straws.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper.

Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing where the hair sits atop his lip.

“Anytime, cariño.”

“Anytime, really?”

Nodding, he swallows. A thousand things he’s thought, and felt, all rushing to the surface—unwilling to bury itself, to descend under the usual guilt and feelings of inadequacies when it comes to you.

“I’d do anything for you.”

Smirking, you tilt your head. “Anything?”

Biting your lip, he feels it—something thrumming in him, being plucked.

“Will you kiss me?”

“I could…”

Your brows rise, a louder cheer coming from inside, but it doesn’t do anything to tear your eyes away from the other.

The whole world could slowly vanish from around the two of you, and all he’d want is just to stare at you.

“But?” you ask, delicately.

Almost so softly, it makes his chest ache.

Dipping his head, he lets his gaze wash over the place again—the rolling land, the trees, the houses in the distance.

“If I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You slide closer, shoulder to shoulder, eyes scorching his jaw, his neck, the side profile he can feel you tracing with your gaze.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His neck almost cracks with the quickness of his movement, his eyes scanning, reading, a part of him wanting to step back, and protect you. Because he’s not sure about the parts of him you’d find easy to love—

“You don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t care,” you interrupt, fingers twitching on the lapel of his jacket. “I know you—Javi, not Agent Peña. I know the boy who cloud-watched with me when my parents wouldn’t stop fighting; I know the man who told me to stop sending him postcards from the town shop—but also whispered that he liked them.”

Snorting, he smiles.

“So, if you want to, no pressure—but, I think you should kiss me.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your cheek. “Think you’ve wasted a lot of time not kissing me already, honestly.”

Of course you do, he thinks. And then he kisses you, palms on your cheeks, slanting his mouth over yours.

And fuck, it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever done.

an: honestly, this made me so fucking happy to write.

[milla-frenchy]

Glory O

2k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy | ao3 Summary: you work in a brothel, and two guys want to try something new Warnings: 18+ mdni. pwp. Glory hole, sex work, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering, jacking off, spitting, piv, cumplay, creampies, gun threat (not against reader) No age specified.  a/n: thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta reading 💕 and @toxicanonymity for the spanish translation🖤

Masterlist

****************

“Let’s try this one” was the first thing you heard when they came in. You were lying on your back, the upper part of your body was hidden behind a thin wall, leaving your pussy and legs exposed. 

A hand rested on your thigh and you shivered. Even though you had been working there for several months, the first contact always made your heart rate accelerate. Hand pressure was often characteristic of how you were going to be fucked. Often, but not always. A gentle caress like the one at that moment, could lead to a rough or painful fucking. Or a boring one. 

The hand brushed against your skin, thumb facing your inner thigh.

“What do you think?”, you heard a man with a Chilean accent.

“Yeah, sure. You go first”, a voice with an American accent replied.

“You really like to jerk off while I fuck them, right?”

The other man chuckled, not denying it. The client next to you unzipped his jeans, then you heard the friction of clothes sliding slightly. He probably had his pants pulled down just below his balls. He put his hands on you, and when he positioned himself between your thighs, you felt a warm, hard cock pressed against your pussy. You held your breath, ready to take his cock like this, without preparation. Like you always had to do.

But he hesitated, staying there for a few seconds, his shaft against your folds. Then you heard him tuck his cock in his pants without zipping them up. His thumb spread your folds and you heard “mmmm…gorgeous. Steve, look at that.”

Footsteps came closer, and a low whistle echoed through the room.

“Yep, can’t wait to fill her up.”

You swallowed, waiting for what was going to happen. 

You suddenly heard the noises coming from the nearby partitions. For a moment, you forgot that you weren't alone. Other women were being fucked, and you easily recognized the noises feigning pleasure. You always did the same, wanting the fucking to end quickly. 

When you felt a warm breath against your pussy and a mustache brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, you snapped out of your thoughts and whimpered. The man grabbed the back of your knees and moved you towards him as far as the opening would allow, before resting one of your legs on his shoulder. His thumb brushed up and down your folds and you heard him inhale. When his tongue licked between your folds in one stroke, you moaned.

“Already wet”, he murmured.

Two men in the brothel together to fuck you could be intimidating, or degrading, but this time you were slightly less guarded than usual. He was still brushing your folds with his thumb, and you got even wetter. His finger was as sensual as his hand on your thigh, he was good at it. He brushed his finger over your clit, twirling it delicately under his skin.

“Fuck,” you muttered. That was new. They rarely took the time to make you come, and his touch was truly perfect.

“You like that, Cariño (honey)? Gonna come for me?”

His thumbs spread your folds again, then his tongue ran over them, in long strokes from bottom to top, several times.

“Oh my god”, you whimpered in your breath.

He buried his tongue in your pussy, as far as he could, his hands holding your thighs. You felt like in less than two minutes you were going to come and you covered your mouth with your hand of surprise. 

“Want a taste, Steve?”

“Not yet.”

The man put your other knee on his shoulder, still fucking you with his tongue, grunting between your thighs. You heard “Steve” unzip his pants, then spit.

The man between your thighs moved up to your clit with his tongue, and he circled it with his lips, sucking gently. His middle finger brushed against your entrance, covering it with your wetness. When he pushed it in gently, the tip of his tongue swirled over your clit. Quickly, he pushed in a second finger, slowly pumping your pussy with his digits. You grabbed one of your breasts as you were already coming. Quickly, so quickly, that you didn’t really understand that it was going to happen. You wondered if the other men fucking the women heard the difference in tone between your moans and theirs.

“That’s good, bebé (baby). I’m gonna fuck you now.” You heard his hand rubbing against his mustache, probably to wipe it. You wondered what he looked like. What they looked like.

He stood up and placed his hand on your hip. His cock in the other one, he rubbed himself against your folds, covering the entire length of his shaft with your wetness, and bringing it up to rub against your clit. Your sensitivity made you gasp every time he touched it. Finally, he placed his tip to your entrance and pushed, making you moan. When the crown of his cock plunged through your entrance, you heard him growl. His dick was thick and you felt your folds part as it passed through them. Both of his hands were now on your hips, he pulled back before hitting the bottom, then thrusted again, all the way in, and you gasped.

“How is she?” asked Steve.

“Good. Fucking good. Chose the perfect one.”

His hands dug into your flesh, his body slamming against yours at a perfect pace.

“Come see this. How her pussy is taking my cock.”

You heard his footsteps, and his proximity allowed you to hear his wrist fucking his cock, too.

“You’re doin’ great, baby. Sucking his cock right in.”

He jerked off faster.

“Shit, all that cream around your cock Javi…you’re giving it to her good.”

You imagined them, their eyes fixed on your dripping pussy. When you felt another hand on your body, you thought you were wavering. Steve caressed your skin, while Javi was still fucking you. Steve slid his hand up to your clit, brushing it gently, and you moaned.

“Shh, you’re ok baby. I’m gonna touch you gently, ain’t gonna hurt you. Ok?”

“Ok”, you murmured, finally giving yourself the right to talk to them.

“Don’t want you to come yet. Can you hold back for me?”, asked Steve.

“I’m…I’m gonna try.”

“Good girl.”

The double stimulation made you clench on Javi’s cock.

“Fuck”, he grumbled. “She’s squeezing my dick. Mierda…(shit).”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna shoot your load already? Her pussy’s that good?”

“Oh, fuck you! Yeah, she’s that good. You’ll see when you are inside her, smartass.”

He kept thrusting in, his cock was hitting your G-spot. Steve leaned down and placed his lips on your clit and this time you thought you were going to faint. His tongue was applying a perfect pressure and they both were driving you crazy. You felt your pussy clench desperately.

“Fuck, fuck…” Still thrusting in, you heard Javi groan louder and louder. 

“Then it’ll be Steve’s turn, you’re gonna take both of our cocks, right? Gonna fill that pussy with our cum.”

“Yes, yes please…”

Your pussy was clenching and you couldn’t stop it. You felt Javi’s cock twitch inside you, he grumbled “I’m gonna fill you up” and finally he froze, sending spurts of cum deep inside your walls. The sounds of other men's moving bodies, their grunts, were filling the room. 

Once he emptied his balls, he withdrew and spread the cum that was flowing out along your folds with his cock. Then he pulled away, and Steve’s hands were on you. He surprised you too, when he leaned down towards you and twirled his tongue around your clit again. You wondered if Javi had smeared his cum on it, if Steve was tasting him on you. He spread your folds with his thumbs, and you felt some cum leaking down. He stood aside to look. Since they had entered the room, they had behaved differently from all the men who had fucked you so far. The way they were touching you, fucking you, made you tremble. 

Steve slid his middle finger over your folds, spreading more of Javi’s cum, making you hold your breath. Then he stood up, and grabbed his cock.

“Look at that Javi. You’re right, her cunt is gorgeous. And even more beautiful covered with cum.”

He ran his cock along your entrance, soaking it with your wetness and Javi’s cum. You were used to multiple creampies, when several men fucked you in a row. But this sensuality, their playful attitude, was new to you. Steve pushed in, and its girth made you gasp.

“Mmmm, it's good, baby. My cock’s covered by both of you. How hot is that…”

You thought you were going to come just from hearing him, and your pussy tightened around his cock.

“Fuck…don't make me come too quickly. Wanna fuck this pussy properly.”

“Sorry”, you murmured.

“Don't be sorry. Love hearing your little moans. Very different from those of your friends, mmm?”

“Yeah…yeah, fuck.”

“We’re fucking you good, you don't need to fake it…is that right?”

“Yeah, you’re fucking me good. Love your cocks.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I bet you do.”

You heard another voice, neither Steve nor Javi.

“Andale, cabrón. Toman demasiado tiempo. Queremos cogerla también.” (Come on, man. You guys are taking too long. We wanna fuck her too.)

Steve froze, and asked Javi “What did he say?”, who translated to him.

“We’re not done, man. Pick another girl, move!” He raised his hand, to tell them to fuck off. But it didn’t stop the man:

“Voy a llamar al jefe y él va a sacarlos. Nosotros ya pagamos para cogerla. No pueden tenerla solo para ustedes.” (I'm gonna call the boss, he’s gonna throw you out. We already paid to fuck her. You can't keep her to yourself like that!)

This time, you translated for him. He pulled out of you, and tucked his cock in his pants. You heard a loud noise, and guessed that Steve pinned the other man against the wall. He had difficulty breathing, Steve was probably holding him by the throat. You heard a click of a gun: the security was removed.

“Yo soy tu patrón. ¿Sí?” (I am your boss, yes?)

“¡Está bien! Está bien! ¡Yo hago lo que ustedes digan!” (It’s ok, it’s ok! I’ll do whatever you say)

“¿Sí?” (yeah?)

Steve threw the man to the ground, then put the gun back in his shoulder holster before coming back to you.

Javi pointed his finger to the other men who were waiting, and said “Cállanse, todos. Ahora ella es nuestra. Entienden?” (Fuck off, all of you. She’s ours, for now. Understand?)

There were a few murmurs, then footsteps receded.

“Sorry ‘bout that, baby. Fucking animals.”

Steve thrusted into you after pulling out his cock. He was still hard as steel, as if he enjoyed the adrenaline of the fight. Knowing that he had a gun on him while he was fucking you turned you on, even if you couldn’t see it.

He was fucking you harder, faster. Sometimes slowing down to look at his cock digging into you. Covered in Javi's cum. He leaned forward slightly and let his saliva flow onto your clit, before twirling it under his thumb.

“You’re gonna come for me too, baby? Can’t fill you up if I didn’t make you come. That ain’t good southern manners.”

You felt he was close but he didn’t slow down his pace. Thrusting his thick cock in you, his body slamming against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He spat on your clit this time, and you felt another orgasm building.

“You’re doing great, Cariño. So good for our cocks. Bet you’d like us to fuck you again. Maybe you’d suck our cocks next time.”

He heard you moaning, and chuckled.

“Yeah? You’d like that, one of our cocks in your mouth and the other one in your cunt? Stuffing you from behind, making you choke on that dick?”

“Javi, what the hell…I’m tryin’ to hold on here!”

The last thing you heard before you came was Javi tapping on Steve’s shoulder. Your pussy squeezed his shaft, and that's all he was waiting for to come deep inside your core, mixing his cum with Javi's, as your spasms were milking his cock.

“You didn’t do better than me, smartass.”

They both chuckled, until Steve pulled out, breathing loudly, and the two stood in front of your open, exposed, dripping pussy. Javi spread your folds, and their cum flowed out.

“Fuck, that’s hot, man.”

“Yeah, we fucked her good.”

***********

Thank you for reading 🙏

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[tightjeansjavi]

knead

A/N: so after rewatching Narcos all weekend and staring at the screen with big ole heart eyes for the infamous Javier Peña, I decided that he, like Joel, deserves nice things 🤍

~word count: 1.2k~

Summary: Javier Peña desperately needs a fucking break and to be kinder to himself <3

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of guns, cigarettes, implied death(s) due to an unsuccessful raid, established relationship, fluff, hurt and comfort, Javi is incredibly hard on himself, takes place during season 3 of Narcos, both Javi and the reader speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

Lo entiendo, hermano. - I understand, brother.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende - You don’t understand, brother. No one does.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, cariño. - You don’t have to wait up for me every night, querida. Your sleep is important too, baby.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa. - Jav, I always want to make sure you’re home safe

Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor. - Javi, please don’t apologize for this. Please, my love.

Siempre tan bueno conmigo - Always good to me

Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño - I love you with everything that I have to offer, cariño

Te quiero más a ti, Jav - I love you most, Jav.

When he comes home, he’s still in his olive green tac vest. His hair is strewn about in a sweaty mess across his face. He reeks of gunpowder, stale tobacco, and disappointment. It drips from his pores and lands in a puddle at his shoes, once shiny, now dull, scuffed and speckled in blood. A failed raid. Innocence lost, and disappointment. So much fucking dissapointment that swallows Javier Peña alive.

An anonymous tip leading to more fucking bloodshed. So much for things being done differently this time around.

A hero? Hardly.

Javier doesn’t feel like a hero. Not when all he’s done is failed over, and over again.

We’ll get them next time, Javier.

Will we?

Of course. You know the Cali Cartel like it’s the back of your hand, Peña. We’re this much closer to bringing them to justice.

Justice? He laughs. If there was any justice in this world, I would be in fucking jail right now.

Lo entiendo, hermano.

Javier laughs, voice rasped in bitterness. He swings his keys around on his pointer finger, jaw ticked, muscles aching beneath the sweat stained fabric of his shirt.

No lo entiendes, hermano. Nadie lo entiende. Javier responds coldly and unlocks his car door before climbing into the driver seat.

He thinks hard on his failure the entire drive home. He doesn’t listen to the radio. He sits in silence, puffing away on a stress cigarette even though he swore he was trying to quit.

In the lowlight from the hallway, Javier is able to make out your sleeping mass under the colorful patterned quilt on his couch. He swings the door shut softly behind him and quietly locks it.

His back and shoulders are tense, aching with each step he takes. Another jab and painful reminder of his failure tonight.

Despite Javier’s protests, you always wait for him to return home. He appreciates this more than you realize. It’s his one sense of comfort that he feels he’s undeserving of.

No tienes que esperarme despierta todas las noches, querida. Tu sueño es importante también, corazón.

Jav, yo quiero asegurarme de que has llegado bien a casa.

The worn couch cushions gradually press down from the weight of his body as he slowly sits down in the unoccupied space between your covered feet. He winces when he feels that annoying pinch in his lower back and brings his hands over his face, dragging them down over his alquine nose with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his gun, badge, cigarettes, and lighter. He tosses them onto the coffee table and leans back just as you begin to stir awake from the sound.

“Jav?” You murmur softly and subconsciously reach for him over the blanket.

“Its me, cariño.” He rasps. His hand reaches towards you in the dark, finding you soon after. He laces his fingers through yours.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, sitting up and facing him.

“No. I’m not okay.” He admits.

“What happened?”

He looks over at you through the darkness and shrugs his shoulders. “What didn’t happen.” He clarifies. His thumb skates across the back of your hand gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?..”

“No. I just..I’m tired, querida. I’m tired of failing all the fucking time.” He sounds exhausted. You know just how much his job truly weighs on him.

“Javier, my love, you are not failing all the time. You aren’t. No one thinks that you are a failure, Jav.”

He makes a snuffling sound through his nose that comes across more like a scoff. His movements cease when he feels your freehand grasp his jaw and pull him in close. Even in the dark, your eyes are soft, gentle, and laced with concern.

“Everyone tells me that I’m a hero, cariño. I’m not a hero. I’ve never been a hero.”

“Javi, you don’t have to be a hero. People mean well with their words. I know they do, but you have to try and not let it get to you this much. Okay? Javier, you have one of the toughest jobs out there. No one but yourself is going to understand how you feel. Whatever happened tonight, does not make you a terrible person, or a failure. You’re doing everything you can to take down the Cali Cartel.” You reassure him.

“I feel like I have to be the hero. Javier Peña, the dashing DEA agent that took down Pablo Escobar.” He laughed. “Cariño, I was told that this time things would be different, but they were wrong. Everytime I try to ensure that innocent lives won’t be lost, someone gets caught in a crossfire. A civilian. A child. An unsuspecting bystander. It weighs on me. It fucking weighs on me more than I’m willing to admit.” He said in an exasperated tone.

You saw the tears begin to brew along his waterline before he even realized he was crying. You detected the strain in his voice, and sprung into action. Your hand dropped from his face only to then pull him into a hug with your hand gently cradling the back of his head and your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently in hopes to soothe him.

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap so he could be closer to you. His warm palms slid under the thin fabric of your shirt along your lower back and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I don’t want you to see me like this, cariño.”

“Javi, No tienes que disculparte por nada. Por favor, mi amor.”

“You’re so good to me.” He kisses the exposed skin on your neck, the tips of his mustache tickles you as you hug him tightly, rubbing your hands up and down his back and shoulders in a soothing motion.

“And you’re good to me, Javier. Siempre tan bueno conmigo.”

He nuzzles you affectionately, wishing he could crawl inside of you and live there forever. “Cariño, can you do something for me?” He asks softly, dragging his lips across your skin once more.

“Anything, Jav.”

“My back and shoulders are fucking killing me. Can you—” you cut him off before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

“Of course I can.”

He breathes a sigh of relief through his nose “Gracias, cariño”

He slowly drops his arms from around your waist so he can remove his shirt. He undos each button with meticulous precision and slowly slides the fabric down from his forearms. He lays his shirt along the side of the couch while you slide into the space behind him, with your thighs wrapping around his torso. He leans back into your touch, lashes fluttering shut when your hands work their way up from his lower back, kneading the tender strained muscles there.

You work your way upwards and pay close attention to the areas where he’s feeling the most pain. He murmurs praises in both Spanish and English under his breath when you slowly and delicately work through a particular nasty knot between his shoulder blades.

Your gentle, yet firm touch sends the DEA agent into a state of bliss, and he’s putty in your hands in no time.

Your chin comes to rest along the crook of his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss along his jawline. He hums and tilts his head to the side, finding your lips in a gentle kiss. A thank you. An I love you, and an I appreciate you can be tasted through the kiss. He rests his hands along your thighs that are wrapped around him, gently kneading the soft flesh with his strong, yet gentle hands.

“Te quiero con todo lo que pueda ofrecerte, cariño”

You smile against his lips, kissing him deeper while your fingers gently brush through the wispy tendrils of hair along his forehead.

“Te quiero yo más, Jav.”

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[selfcarecap]

Backseat [j.p]

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: When Javi has to work late, you visit him to help relieve some stress during his break. Or, as Lana said: let’s get in the back of your cop car officer <3 (kinda)

warnings: my first Javi fic omg and first fic in general in like one and a half years sooo, smut (public sex technically (in/next to a car) but no one sees them don’t worryy, p in v, unprotected, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk (only from Javi though, reader barely says a thing oops) excessive use of ‘baby’, use of ‘good girl’, Javi comes on reader’s belly and face, established relationship, not tooo much aftercare but they’re both fine with it, Javi taps (not slaps) reader’s cheek during sex), I assume that’s clear but this is about the fictionalised version of him lol, brief mention of the reader’s (harmless) crush on Steve lmao, cute and romantic Javi

word count: 2.8k

The threat of rain lingers in the cool air as Javi takes you to his car, his greedy hand placed on your ass as you walk. He’s parked at the other end of the parking lot next to the station, in a roofed corner with walls on the sides shielding it, and no other vehicles in sight. He did say he’d make sure no one would see you.

You haven’t had sex in a few days, both busy with work and other things, and you were looking forward to him finally fucking you again come Friday night. When he called you to say he had to stay at work at least a few more hours, you knew you’d have to go to him if you still wanted sex today. Otherwise Javi wasn’t coming home before you were fast asleep, and you couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Javi was on board as soon as you asked if he had a few minutes to spare; he knew what your tone meant immediately and he missed the feeling of you naked in his arms as much as you did.

He unlocks the car and pushes the front seat forward to make more space in the backseat. You sit down in the back and grin, pulling him into the car by his jacket.

“Wait, baby, we better do it like this,” he says, pulling your legs to the side of the seat, the car door still open as he spreads you out on the backseat.

“You want to fuck me with the door open?” You ask.

“It’ll make it less obvious what we’re doing, and I can fuck you better like this.” You take in the position of him standing next to the car and think of him squeezing into the backseat with you instead. He’s probably right. You don’t mind as long as he gets on with it.

Javi takes off his leather jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, “You warm enough?” 

You nod. The comfort of the car and the corner it’s parked in and, more importantly, the promise of Javi’s warmth provide a pleasant coziness. With a grin on his face, Javi finally bends down to kiss you, and you immediately push your tongue into his mouth.

“We gotta hurry up, you think you can do that?” Javi asks between kisses, and you nod desperately. As if you didn’t come all the way to the DEA station after your own draining workday just to get fucked. You’ve been waiting for this all week.

He pushes his thumb between your lips and you drool around it immediately. You respond to his questioning expression with an enthusiastic nod as he finds the hem of your short skirt and pulls your panties to the side. His wet thumb on your clit makes you gasp and arch into him. You can definitely make this quick.

Javi smirks at you, “You been waiting for this as much as I have? I’m all ready for you, baby, just tell me when you’re ready”. He kisses you and continues to rub circles over your clit as your pussy gets wetter and wetter, and you let out an incoherent string of sounds that’s supposed to let him know you’re ready.

He pulls back from the kiss and gently takes your face in his hand, squishing your lips into a pout, “What was that? You know that’s not enough for me. Need you to properly say it.”

You look up at Javi through your lashes, licking your lips, “Yes, I’m ready, Javi. Please fuck me.”

His face breaks out into a grin, “See, wasn’t that hard, was it? Or are you already too horny to speak?”. All you can focus on is his big fingers that have started fucking you, so you know better than to try and give an intelligible answer that would only come out as gibberish anyway.

Your stomach somersaults when Javi undoes his belt, the clang of metal making your pussy throb. You reach down to pull your panties down your legs, and seeing the wet spot on them makes you even more excited for what’s to come. Javi pushes your legs up against your chest with a hungry groan, and bends down to press a kiss to your pussy. 

He decides to stay between your legs for a bit longer when he hears you sigh as he starts to lick sloppy circles against your clit, the taste of your wet pussy making him want to stay there forever.

“Javi,” you mumble, almost sounding as if you’re tipsy. You could easily cum from his mouth on you, but you know you don’t have much time before he needs to get back to work, and you need him inside you now.

He leans down to quickly kiss you as he unzips his jeans, and you break the kiss to look at his hard cock.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” you repeat before he can ask you to say it again. You lie back but he stands up straighter to scan the area and make sure no one’s there to see and you slump against the backseat, lying down. 

You lean your head to the side impatiently and catch the scent of Javi in the jacket of his that you’re cuddled up in, and it makes you want him even more. He laughs when you reach out your hands to him and he finally puts his hands back on your body, grabbing you to pull you to the edge of the backseat. The space is tight, the car door opened as wide as it can be as he stands next to the car facing you, but he’s making it work.

Javi spreads your legs and stands between them, casting one last glance above the car, “We’re good but we still have to hurry before someone sees us,” he says and you grin, ready for him to finally finally start, but he takes your grin as something else.

He smirks as he puts a hand on your jaw to make you look into his eyes, “You like that, baby? You want someone to walk in on you getting fucked, huh? Maybe Steve… I know he’d like that. What do you think?”

You slap his hand away and fake-gasp; he’s been teasing you about your ‘crush’ on Steve ever since you made an offhand comment about him being attractive.

“Just want you,” you mumble, half wanting him to know he’s the only one you want to be with, and half bashful because, well, Steve is attractive.

Javi grins and leans down to kiss you, simultaneously sneaking a hand up your skirt again, “Don’t worry, I know that. I can feel how wet this pussy is just for me. Could get lost in you forever.”

“Then do,” you say, craning your neck forward as he slaps his cock against your clit. You start to open your mouth a bit. You just want one brief taste before he fucks you. He looks at you and gently pushes you to lie back down, and you pout. 

“That has to wait until tomorrow, baby. You know I won’t be able to stop if you wrap those pretty lips around me,” he says and strokes his thumb across your cheek. You smile, satisfied knowing the effect you have on him.

You spread your knees as wide as you can in the small space, Javi stepping as close to the side of the car as he can.

“You ready?” He asks one final time, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your wet and aching pussy.

“Mmhm, yes,” you moan, your fingers reaching down to spread your lips for him. Javi adjusts his position and pulls one of your ankles over his shoulder and decides to give one last glance to your surroundings to make sure no one will interrupt him fucking you, even though, right now, you couldn’t care less who sees. His hard dick that rests between your legs and pulses against your clit is enough to make you forget about every other thing in the world.

“So needy, baby,” he taunts when you sigh dramatically to get his attention, and you can tell he tries to tease you a bit more but ultimately gives in after a few seconds and pushes his cock into you. It slides in all the way with how wet you are, and you let out a desperate noise that’s muffled by Javi’s mouth slotting over yours. 

He puts one hand on your hip to direct your body better and his other hand holds the side of your face as he caresses it, “Don’t mind you being needy though, baby, so am I. So glad you came, spoiling me with your pussy during my break. I could get used to this, you know?”

His eyes close in pleasure as he starts to fuck you, “Always so tight for me,” he says, voice strained. Every time his hips drive into yours is accentuated by the loud sound of your wet pussy, taking every inch of your boyfriend’s cock as he ruts into you like he hasn’t fucked you in months.

“‘M not gonna last long so you better be quick, baby, yeah? Can you do that?”

You nod quickly, unable to form words and he grins devilishly when only a few sounds of pleasure make their way out of your throat. 

“God, I love when you get like this, all speechless because you‘re too horny for me. Love how you take my cock, you’re so fucking tight”, he roughly taps your cheek three times and you lean into his touch, into the sting, as he fucks you harder. 

He grabs your face more roughly and you moan as he continues praising you, “Always so fucking pretty for me, oh my— god”, he changes his pace and you feel the difference too, heat building up in your lower belly, the pleasure all flowing into the space between your legs that he’s fucking with what feels like all his strength. Javi puts two fingers in your mouth and you eagerly suck them, your mouth full, drool starting to spill from your lips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, and starts hastily rubbing your clit with his other thumb, his wide body keeping your legs apart, “You wanna cum for me, baby? Being such a good girl for me.” 

You moan as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy squeezing tightly around Javi and he fucks you through your waves of pleasure, “That’s it, that’s my girl, my good fucking girl”, he speaks to you through almost gritted teeth, trying desperately not to cum until you’re finished.

He can feel the exact moment it gets too much for you, taking his hand away from your clit but he continues fucking you, his hips relentless against yours.

“Show me your tits, baby,” he asks with a hoarse voice, the wetness of your pussy pooling between you both. You messily pull up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cool air, still feeling weightless and slightly out of your mind from your orgasm. He takes his hand from your mouth and greedily grabs one of your tits. He smirks seeing you bare under your top and starts playing with your nipple, making you arch your back.

Javi pulls out of you and strokes his cock only a few seconds before he’s spurting cum all over your belly and chest. As you greedily strain your neck to see every single drop that he’s cumming you get closer to him and some of his cum lands on your lips and cheek.

“Fuck,” you both moan into the space between you as Javi jerks off until he’s drained, and you quickly push your hand between your legs, rubbing your once again pulsing wet pussy.

Javi sees your hand on your pussy and slaps his still hard cock against your clit a few times. He then gently pulls your hand off yourself and replaces it with his mouth as he bends down to suck on your clit. Incoherent words leaving your lips, you grab Javi’s hair and grind your pussy against his face, your thighs around his head.

It only takes a few more moments of his tongue on your clit until you succumb to the weightlessness of your second orgasm as it shoots through you with a new intensity.

You let your legs fall around Javi's shoulders when you’ve finished and smile at him looking back up at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. He shakes his head, unable to believe you just did this, right here and during his work break. It definitely won’t be the last time.

He stands back up and wipes the cum from your face with the pad of his thumb and you suck it off him until your face is clean again.

“I’m so happy you're mine, baby. Only mine,” he says before attacking your face with wet and sticky kisses. He tucks himself into his pants and gets baby wipes from the pocket of his jacket that you’re lying on. 

“Did so good for me, baby,” he praises as he wipes your belly and tits, leaving kisses there after. He gently wipes over your face again, just to make sure, and cleans you up between your legs.

Afterwards, he pulls your clothes back in place and kisses you as he leans down over you in the backseat. You wrap your legs around his waist and let him just hold you, and you let out giggles as he kisses you all over your face again. You brush your hands through his hair to tame it, and just when you’ve deemed him presentable you hear Steve’s voice from not too far away.

“I’ve been looking for you. Break’s over,” he walks around the corner and sees you in the back of the car.

“No sex in our car,” Steve slaps Javi on the back and moves to the front of the car. He gives you a look when he sees the seat pushed all the way to the front.

“We were just cuddling. I missed him,” you say in an innocent tone and Steve seems to buy it, or at least pretends to, and pushes the seat back and sits down, pulling the door shut.

You give Javi a wide-eyed look at how close that was and he grins back, pulling you to sit upright. There really are worse people to walk in on you than Steve, but you’re still glad that he was a few minutes too late. 

“We’re driving you home,” Javi declares, and makes Steve get in the back and sits you in the front. It’s not until Javi drives away from your little corner with the roof and walls protecting it that you realise it must have been raining for a while.

It’s a lot colder now and the streets are wet, a steady flow of rain pouring from the clouds. You pull Javi’s jacket around you closer and already dread having to give it back to him when you’re back home and he has to leave to work some more. 

Once the car stops in front of your house, Javi walks you to the door. You pout but part with the jacket and Javi puts it back on. 

“Now it smells like you,” he smiles and hugs your waist to pull you in for a kiss. Maybe you don’t mind giving him back his jacket after all. You tell him good luck with the rest of his work night and he doesn’t drive away until he sees the light on your floor turn on. Even if you’ll be asleep, he can’t wait to come back home to a bed warmed by your perfect body. 

“Man, I’ve never seen anyone so in love,” Steve says, pretending to be annoyed, but really Javi knows he’s happy for you two.

Javi just smiles. He’s never seen anyone more in love either, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

☆.｡.:*support a writer and reblog and let me know if you enjoyed this fic, it helps out a lot.｡.:*☆

[wannab-urs]

Title: Something Sweet

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You’re new to the team in Colombia and all alone on your birthday. Your partner, Javier Peña, decides to do something sweet for you. 

Tags: Set vaguely during season 1 before Javi gets extra angsty, canon compliant-ish, reader feeling lonely, sassy!reader, flirty!javi, alcohol (wine), brief mention of a gun bc I feel like a DEA agent wouldn’t just answer the door all willy nilly, kissing, javi asking for consent, but y’all did share a bottle of wine, kissing, fingering f receiving, marking, unprotected PinV, cuddling. I always write angsty Javi, but this is FLUFF, so sorry if it’s OOC, I’m slightly out of my element here. 

WC: 2107

A/N: This fic is a birthday gift for @psychedelic-ink. Sil, you’re a wonderful friend and you do so much for the Pedro Pascal Fandom community on top of being an incredible writer. So, with some help from @pedrorascal with the beautiful gifs, I schemed up a little fic for you. I hope you love it! Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays AHHHH. 

Moving to a new country two weeks before your birthday, which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is not ideal. You moved to Colombia from Miami after a promotion, earning a spot on the elite team working to catch Pablo Escobar. 

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, trying to catch up on all the facts of the case. You have to learn every sicario by sight and all of their names, aliases, and frequent hang outs. You have to learn about everything Escobar has done in Colombia, all the cartels and how they connect, it’s all extremely exhausting and time consuming. 

Which is why you have no friends yet, unless you count your new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. Which you don’t. You barely know them, and from what you’ve seen so far, Peña is an asshole. Steve might be okay, but you just haven’t had time to get to know him yet. 

You take off your windbreaker and hang it on the back of your chair. It’s kind of ridiculous that you have to work on Christmas Eve, but there’s no rest for the wicked and therefore no rest for you either. You sit down and open the first file on your desk, immediately getting down to business without so much as a greeting for your partners. 

A couple hours into the work day, a shadow darkens your desk. “What do you want, Peña?” 

“God damn, hermosa. Touchy today? I brought you a coffee.” Peña sets the cup of lukewarm black slop on your desk and leans further into your space, peeking at the files you’re reading. 

“Yes, actually. Did you need something or did you just come over here to bother me?” 

“I just came over here to compliment your nails, actually,” he takes your hand in his, inspecting your nails, and then looks into your eyes. “I like the color. Suits you.” 

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. Peña is cute. Gorgeous, really, but you don’t make a habit of flirting with your coworkers. “Thanks… They were my birthday gift to myself.” You tug your hand away from him and place it in your lap. 

“It’s your birthday?” He asks, still leaning much too far into your personal space. You nod and look back down at the file. 

“I have to get back to work now,” you almost whisper to him, all your bitter snark from earlier replaced by a sense of melancholy. There’s not a soul in this entire country who knows it’s your birthday today. Aside from Javier, now, you guess. Javier lingers for another moment before pushing off your desk and leaving you to your work. 

You’re starting to pack up for the day when Peña comes up to your desk again, sitting on the corner. 

 “So what are your plans tonight?” he asks. 

“Huh?” You don’t have any plans. A phone call from your friend in Miami and a bottle of Chilean wine maybe. 

“Your plans? For your birthday?” 

“Oh. I don’t have any. Don’t really know anyone yet so…” you trail off. You feel kind of pathetic, even though you know it’s completely reasonable to not have a group of friends yet. 

“Me and Murphy could take you out?” 

“Oh um–”

“Actually, Jav,”  Steve calls out from his desk. “Me and Connie have plans tonight. Christmas Eve and all,” he gives you an apologetic look. 

“It’s fine really. I’m gonna have a nice relaxing night in. Thanks though.” You put on the best smile you can and head for the door. 

You hang up the phone after your short call with your friend. It’s expensive to call long distance, but she stayed on with you as long as she could. She told you all about her new boyfriend and that everyone had wished you a Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays. You’re grateful she didn’t ask about your job or your love life. 

As you pop the cork on a bottle of wine, there’s a knock on your door. You stare at the door questioningly, as if it will tell you who’s there. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 8pm on Christmas Eve? 

You grab your gun and sneak over to the door, peeking through the peephole. Broad shoulders and a dark head of hair are all you can make out through the tiny lens. Javier? You set your gun on the side table and pull open the door. 

“Peña? What are you doing here?” 

He turns around and holds his hands out to you. “Brought you something.” He’s holding a birthday cake, clearly store bought, decorated with a generic “Feliz cumpleaños” scrawled on top. A bright smile lights up your face. 

“Oh Javi, you didn’t have to!” 

“I wanted to. You gonna invite me in for some cake?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Oh! Yeah sure. Come in!” You step to the side to let him through and close and lock the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not fully unpacked yet.” 

“I’ve been here for 7 years and I’m not fully unpacked. It’s fine.” Javi reassures you. He sets the cake down on your kitchen counter and starts rifling around for plates and silverware. 

“I can do that,” you try to move him out of the way, but he’s having none of it. 

“No, it’s your birthday. Let me. You pour yourself a glass of wine and go sit on the couch.” 

“Fine… thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

You grab a couple glasses and the bottle of wine and carry it to the living room with you. You’re kind of shocked he’s here. He’s always flirty in the office, but he’s like that with everyone. He’s not what you’d call friendly otherwise. Maybe he just feels bad for you. 

Javier drops down onto the couch beside you holding two plates with hefty slices of chocolate cake. He hands you one of the plates and a fork. “Happy birthday. I’m not going to make you do the whole candle thing.”

“Thank you, Javier. This is really, really nice.” You feel like you might cry. It’s just cake, but you felt so alone, and it’s like he really saw you. He saw through whatever exterior shell you were wearing and decided to try to make your day better. 

“Just Javi is fine. And it’s not a big deal, really. You deserve something sweet on your birthday,” he says looking down at the cake in his hands.

“It is to me. A big deal, I mean,” you say softly before taking a bite of the cake. It’s nothing special, just a plain chocolate cake, but it means so much to you. 

You and Javier, Javi, chat about where you’re from and how you came to work for the DEA. You tell him about living in Miami, about the promotion that brought you here. You finish the bottle of wine and a couple more pieces of cake and the conversation doesn’t stop for a long time.

Late in the evening, you finish a story about your 6th birthday, one your aunt always told to the whole family every single year at your birthday dinner. He’s sitting close to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite there being plenty of room on the couch to sit without touching. It makes your heart flutter a little. 

You don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but the little crush you have on him is getting pretty hard to ignore. Javi smirks at you, reaches up, and brushes his thumb over the corner of your lip. 

“Got a little icing there, cariño,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than it has been all night. He brings the icing smeared thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. Your eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide. He really is pretty. 

You feel yourself lean in toward him, almost unconsciously chasing that thumb to his mouth. He brings his hand up to your cheek and searches your eyes for a moment. He must see what he was looking for because he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. 

His lips are soft, warm, gentle on yours. You grab his face in your hands, not wanting him to pull away yet. He slips his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them, letting him in. You’re not sure who makes the move, but slowly, your back is lowered to the couch, Javi a comfortable weight on top of you. Your hands explore his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his trim waist, as he plunders your mouth with his tongue. 

“Can I touch you?” He rasps against your lips. 

“You already are,” you giggle. “Sorry. Yes, Javi.” 

He huffs a laugh into your mouth and slips a hand into your lounge pants, fingers finding your dripping seam. “Wet for me already, hermosa?” 

Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, but you nod. You’re soaked just from kissing him. By the feel of him against your thigh, he’s not better off. He pushes two fingers inside you and presses his lips back to yours. You gasp into his mouth, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. 

His fingers immediately find the spongy spot deep in your core. He curls them, dragging the pads of his fingers along your g-spot with every pump of them inside you. You cling tightly to him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Come for me, baby.” 

Your body responds to his command instantly, the tension in your belly releasing into waves of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his fingers and you whine into his neck as he works you through it. You collapse back onto the couch, and he wastes no time dragging your pants off you. 

You hear the clink of his belt opening, the sound of it hitting the floor. You sit up on your elbows to watch him as he strips off the rest of his clothes. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous man before you. 

He takes your hands in his and pulls you to your feet before pulling your tank top off you. “Shit, hermosa,” he whispers almost reverently as he takes one of your tits in his large hand, rolling the nipple between two fingers. “Gorgeous.” 

 He kisses you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pushing his chest flush with yours. “Bedroom, cariño?” 

You walk him back to your room, barely separating your lips from his for the entire journey. You fall back on your bed and he follows, settling between your legs. His lips drag down your jaw line to your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. Javi sucks a mark just below your collarbone as he slowly thrusts inside you. 

You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper into you, whining at the stretch. “Fuck, Javi.” 

“Working on it, cariño,” he teases as he bottoms out inside you. He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares into your eyes as he pulls out and thrusts back in smoothly. Your mouth falls open, a little huff spilling out as he bottoms out again. He feels so fucking good inside you. 

Javi sets a steady pace, thrusting into you hard and slow, eyes never leaving yours. When your eyes flutter shut and your back starts to arch in pleasure, he slips his arm under your back, pulling your hips higher on his thighs. The new angle is everything. You gasp out a moan every time his cock punches deep inside you.

Javi is everything in this moment. Your world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pounding into you at that same maddeningly slow, hard rhythm. You feel yourself tightening around him, feel a coil winding in your belly tighter and tighter. 

Javi’s lips find yours again with a kiss that’s more a clash of teeth and tongues than anything as you come hard on his cock. Javi lets out a low groan into your mouth at the way you squeeze him. He thrusts into you a few more times, fucking you through your high, before he quickly pulls out and spills all over your belly. 

He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you deeply one more time before falling to the bed beside you. Javi pulls you into his arms, not paying any mind to the mess he made on your stomach. He holds you close, kissing the top of your head. 

“Happy Birthday, cariño.”

[toxicanonymity]

hunt and peck

2.7k / javier peña x f!reader

You challenge him, “That’s your next move? To apologize?” He returns his hands to the desk and chair. He leans in close and lowers his voice with a straight face. “Yeah. I'm sorry. It was unprofessional.”

WARNINGS: I8+ Based on my original gif rb blurb (suspend disbelief). Reader is bilingual and can sit on Javi. PiV, defiling Steve's desk. Javi is not dark but gets slightly dominant. MY FIRST JAVI P. THING.

-------------------------------🖤🖤🖤

You’re staying late at the office to finish an intelligence report. Javier is the only other person left, and most of the lights are dim. You’re click-clacking away on your typewriter, and through the glass wall of your office, you can see Javier hunched over his own, typing industriously but slowly. He pauses, looks at his watch, and mutters something.

He leans back in his seat and puts his hands behind his head as he stretches his spine. His obscenely short sleeves put his biceps on full display. Baby blue is a good color on him. The armpits are a little darker with sweat. His shirt stays tucked in, stretching over the light padding above his jeans. While he’s all stretched out, he lifts his hips out of the seat and you get butterflies.

When he sits back down, he shamelessly adjusts himself and you throb. You start typing again, trying to put it out of your mind so you can finish undistracted and go meet a friend.

—-------

When you’re finished with the report, you go to the restroom to change into a dress so you can go straight to meet a friend for a drink. You look at Javi on your way back to your office, and he’s scowling at the page. He only looks up for a second. Then he starts typing again. Slowly hunting and pecking. His effort tugs at your heart.

You put your things down in your office then go to his desk. He stretches again, and you avert your eyes. He relaxes into his chair as though taking a break. After he sits back, his legs are stretched out in front of him, with hands on the arms of the chair.

He shamelessly checks you out and asks, "How do you do it?”

"Do what?"

"Type so fast."

"Practice. I have to do it a lot. Are you close to being done?"

"Not at this rate."

"I could help you finish."

He raises his eyebrows. "I could never turn down that offer." Your face heats up, but you smile. "Not from you," he adds with a wink. It's the cheekiest he's been since your welcome-to-the-team party at the bar a few weeks ago. He's always professional in the office. As soon as he looks at the typewriter again, his face falls and he's back to business.

You ask him, "Do you want to, uh –" you look at the typewriter. "Want me to type and you can dictate?"

He knits his brows and searches your face. "Really?" he says with soft, sincere eyes. You nod and look from him to the typewriter and back and he says, "Right," then stands up. "Thank you."

You take a seat in his warm chair and scoot it forward, then position your hands. "Ok?"

He puts his hands on his hips and you watch him settle into the stance then look back at the paper. He starts talking slowly while you type.

"The subject. . . brandished . . . A firearm. . .”

You catch up faster than he expects, and you look up at him for more.

"Shit, you're fast,” he marvels. "But I can't read from up here.” He puts his hands on his knees and squints. You're shoulder to shoulder and he smells like cigarettes. A whiff of his sweat goes straight to your loins.

You ask, "What, you don't trust me?"

"Can't think if I can't read it," he mutters and glances at your legs. He's so serious about work, but you can tell something else is dying to break through. If only he knew you weren't a snitch. If only there were some way you could let him know . . .

—-----

"I could sit in your lap," you offer, prepared to brush it off as a joke. Your heart races and his brow wrinkles as he looks at you skeptically. His jaw flexes. He looks away contemplatively, then back at you. You wait out the silence.

His voice is deep and soft, and his face doesn’t give anything away. "Stand up.”

He sits down, and for a moment you're afraid he's going to tell you to leave. But he settles into the chair, looks at you, then at his lap, then back at you. Calling your bluff, he gestures casually with one hand toward his lap. “Sirvete” (help yourself).

You stand in front of him then sit down about midway up his thighs. He peers around your right shoulder and says, “good” as he looks at the typewriter. He rests his large, veiny hand on your left hip. He says a few words and you type them.

Then he wraps his arm further around you and pulls you back in his lap. All the way back. “There,” he whispers. You’re not on his cock but so close that if you shift your weight, you feel its warmth. So you shift your weight.

He continues dictating, and you type. Then you feel his cock twitch. You ignore it, but when it begins to harden rapidly, he clears his throat and says, “Gotta stretch my legs,” nudging you up from his lap with a subtle lift of one knee.

He hovers over you with one hand braced on the desk and one on the chair. “We’re almost done.” He continues dictating the report, his voice a little hoarser. You sit up a little in the chair and his arm brushes your back. He doesn’t move his arm, and you don't lean toward the desk again. His cock is all you can think about.

—------

“Are you good?” he asks.

You don’t register the question. When you turn to ask him what he said, your eyes fall on the bulge in his tight jeans. Your gaze lingers. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet and shuffles them back, bringing his pelvis backward, too. Then he matter-of-factly says, "Sorry." He takes his hands off the desk and chair and inhales deeply as he stands up straight. He adjusts himself as he turns away awkwardly, bringing one hand to his hip and the other hand to his brow to wipe his sweat with his thumb and forefinger.

You look at him with your panties soaked and blurt out, “That’s your next move? To apologize?”

He looks at you curiously, then returns his hands to the desk and chair. He leans in close and lowers his voice with a straight face when he looks at you. “I'm sorry. It was unprofessional.”

You scoff. He's a tease. Your face heats up and you avoid eye contact.

His jaw flexes and he raises his eyebrows while looking down at nothing, making his mustache look sinister. Then he lowers his head and looks at his jeans. “Okay,” he concedes softly, then looks at you again. He moves his hand from the back of the chair to the back of your dress and rubs big, slow circles, watching your face. You wet your lips and glance at him, then see him register the severity of your attraction.

He slides the hand up to your far shoulder, then stands up and moves behind the chair. He slowly massages both your shoulders. You put your hands on your lap and close your eyes. As soon as you sigh, he leans down with his head close to yours. He freezes his hands on your shoulders and double-taps both his thumbs at the same time like a command. “Stand up.” He breaks contact and steps back. You do as you're told, and soon as you’re on your feet, you hear the low screech of the chair sliding out of the way.

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to press himself into your back, hard-on and all. His hands rest on your hips, and he draws a long breath through his nose. He looks over your shoulder with his head near yours and surprises you when he says, “Type. Let’s get this done.”

He brings his mouth to your ear and dictates in a deep near-whisper, “Agent Peña. . .” You hesitantly type as his hands slither around to the front of your dress. “then had to. . . ” His palms glide over your lower belly, then come to a rest on your hips and hold you steady as he presses his hard bulge against your dress, making you weak. He presses himself into you again, harder this time: “discharge his weapon.” Your whole body tingles.

-

When you’ve finished typing the sentence, his mouth slowly claims your neck, starting low then dragging his open lips upward on your delicate skin. He teases you with his hot breath as one of his hands drifts up to your breast and the other begins to hike up your dress. He closes his lips on your neck and sucks lightly at first, leaving your skin wet each time he plants a long kiss.

Your head falls back against him and his energy becomes hungrier. He rests your dress above your ass. He palms your breast as his other hand ghosts your throbbing clit over your damp panties. "Mmm," he remarks quietly. Then he trails his fingers up to the top hem of your panties and reaches into them. Looking down at his hands on your panties he releases a breathy moan as he feels you. His other hand slides from one breast over to the other and he lightly kisses your ear.

The massive hand in your panties engulfs your naked, dripping seam. It rests there, cupping your needy cunt, then pulls you back into his engorged jeans with a subtle thrust of his hips and a deep breath in. Your eyes close as you savor the feeling of his body wrapped around yours. He swirls his middle finger around the wetness at your entrance, and his voice deepens. “Tan lista" (so ready). He dips his head down and nudges your jaw. You tilt your head, giving him access to your neck again. He seals his lips and sucks, gently denting your flesh with his teeth before tearing his mouth away. He whispers, “What are you ready for?”

He begins to slowly work your clit while his other hand holds you still with an arm crossing your chest as he palms your breast. “Hmm? Que quieres?” (what do you want) He slowly grinds his stiff package into you.

You moan soflty and say, “Ya sabes.” (you already know)

“How do you want it?”

You already feel your lower belly filling with a tense warmth. You can’t manage to answer.

“Up to me, then,” he concludes, his voice soft and deep. He takes a hand off your breast to urgently unbuckle his belt, leaving his other hand down your panties. It’s such a smooth, fast motion, he must have done it a thousand times. The sound of his zipper goes straight to your cunt and you softly gasp.

He wraps his body fully around yours from behind again. The button of his jeans is cold on your lower back but the shape of his hard cock is warm. He inserts a thick finger into your tight, wet hole and you gasp at the intrusion. He slowly pumps it in and out and you sigh with need, feeling a climax already in sight. He removes his hand from your panties and two sticky fingers tilt your chin toward his face. His lips meet yours thirstily, sucking everything out of you. You push your ass back into him as you kiss passionately.

—-------

He abruptly forces you around to face him, and for the first time, you see the hunger on his face. You heard it in his voice, you felt it in his touch, but to also see it overwhelms you with need. His eyes fall on your chest heaving with desire. He plants his lips on yours again and kisses you deeply, his tongue making itself at home in your mouth. He runs his hands down your sides to your ass. He grabs an asscheek in each hand, pulling you away from the desk and into him. Then, without breaking away, he walks you just a few feet to a clean desk and pins you up against the side of it. He pulls his head back to look at you and holds eye contact as he urgently tugs your panties off, then nudges you so your asscheeks rest on the side of the desk.

He pulls down his jeans enough to free his hard cock and you barely catch a glimpse of its imposing form before he aggressively pulls you against him. You moan at the first contact of your wet, naked sex against his stiff manhood, and your legs wrap around him. He kisses you deeply again as he pulls you against him, rhythmically tilting his hips, sliding his hard cock through your folds, getting himself wet and ready. You’re already close. You tilt your head upward, breaking the kiss.

Javi whispers, “Todavía tan lista, sí?” (still so ready, aren’t you?) and inhales sharply. He drags his lips up your throat while it’s extended, then sucks on the crook of it.

“Aun más” (even more), you respond breathily. “Metemela ahorita” (give it to me right now).

He slows down his movements and locks eyes with you. He wets his lips. “Bueno.” He wraps his hand around your throat with his fingers resting where your jaw meets your ear. Then he gently guides you down onto your back. You stare up at the styrofoam ceiling as he notches the fat head of his cock at your entrance. You close your eyes and wrap your legs around him again, using your lower body strength to beg him into you.

He holds you by the sides of your ass and begins to push in, softly grunting. You moan as his girth spreads you open. Half way in he sighs and wraps his hands around your thighs for leverage. Then he pulls your body into him harder as he plunges his cock to the hilt. He retreats then shoves all the way in again, this time a little easier. He repeats the motion, burying himself inside you, breathing heavily and moaning lowly. He pounds you smooth and slow. God, he feels good.

He leans over you and puts his forearms on the desk as he continues railing you. You look at him. His forehead wrinkles and his thoughtful brown eyes study your face as his cock slams into you, filling you to the brim each time. Then he buries his mouth in your neck. At the new angle, he’s putting pressure on your clit. He can tell you’re about to come. His thrusts are smooth and complete, filling you up just right.

“Javier,” you pant on the edge of bliss. “Oh god, I, I'm gonna-”

“Adelante” (go ahead), he whispers gruffly and rolls his hips, grinding against your clit while he's deep inside you. Your spine arches and as your cunt begins to choke around him, you moan. "Ohhhh,” then, “Ohhh, god, Javi.”

As you clench around him, he repeatedly moans, each one soft and short. “Yeah,” he whispers. Then he holds his breath and you fixate on his neck veins bulging. He gasps then grips your sides under your arms, slowly thrusting through your orgasm.

When your pulsations slow, he pushes you forward on the desk, letting his cock fall out with a shudder. He wraps his hand around it and comes with a ragged sigh spilling his load onto the desk, between your legs. He looks at you and breathes for a few seconds, then pulls up his jeans and zips them without doing his button or belt. You sit up, keeping your legs spread to avoid the cum. He hooks his hands under your knees to pivot you over the cum to face the front of the desk. Then he hugs you into him and puts his hand on your head.

You sit there for a minute and he tells you how good you felt. That he'd been wanting to feel you and thought about it every time he saw you. You look at the time and say you should go. You fix yourself and get off the desk.

"Thanks for helping me finish," he says.

He looks at the cum, grabs a tissue, and haphazardly wipes it off then puts the tissue under the desk in Steve's wastebasket.

-------

Yeah he came on Steve's desk

Yeah I resisted the urge to use the word pecker

Yeah this got a content label early on 🙄

And I get this Q a lot so, when/whether I'll do a dark Javi P. Short answer, eventually.

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Thank you for reading and engaging 🖤🖤🖤 It means a lot! You can subscribe to @toxicfics for notifications.

Joel master list in my profile header has all Pedro character's I've done, but it's overwhelmingly my various versions of Joel Miller.

@pedrostories

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Letterman Jacket

Javier Peña x F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tensions come to a head between you and Javier on the private jet back to Bogotá after a long, frustrating day. Or rather - after six long, frustrating years of bad blood.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: My first PW(much)P, enemies to lovers, arguing, swearing, drinking, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, thigh riding, no use of Y/N, soft!Javier

Notes: After obsessing over this damn jacket forever, I finally pulled the trigger. This is my first ever Javier, and I know he’s not perfect, but my 2023 resolution is to not overthink things, and I had a blast writing this in a couple of days since the idea came to me. I’m so nervous posting this, but excited to have finally made a start with Javier. Please be gentle with me ❤️

P.S. I’m going on my honeymoon the next 2 weeks. I’m sure I’ll be lurking around, and I also have new content all queued up for @fuckyeahpedropascal! See you!

I’m still finding Javier’s voice, but my understanding and interpretation of this man so far is definitely shaped by @the-ginger-hedge-witch character analyses and The Crush (which I’m still catching up on). Thank you Professor Ren for sharing your insight into our favourite DEA agent 🥰

It’s cold.

Why is it cold in fucking Miami?

If only you’d checked the weather report beforehand - oh wait, that’s right. You weren’t exactly given much notice, even less detail, when the phone call came this morning. Not that 4am should count as "morning" in your books.

We found him.

Who?

Jurado. Take the first flight out to Curacao this morning, it’s in two hours. We’re taking him in and flying straight to Miami. Get the papers ready, he’ll be testifying tomorrow.

What the actual fuck, Peña -

You can’t even remember what you stuffed into your weekender bag after he hung up without another word. Mostly legal papers and pens and a change of clothes - all of which are now redundant. The bag hangs heavy in your grip, the taste of failure bitter in your mouth.

Something warm descends onto your shoulders, and you almost jump out of your skin, eyes wide as they snap up. Javier isn’t looking at you though, his unseeing gaze trained on the tips of his brown leather boots, hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans. He trudges across the tarmac, the bravado that is usually so loud in his walk conspicuously absent.

Reaching up, you pull his jacket tighter with your free hand, the stretch of the fabric distorting the bold letters DEA emblazoned on the left lapel. He doesn’t wear it often - he’s in suits mostly these days, which you can tell pisses him off to no end. He almost never does his tie up properly, a subtle middle finger to the establishment, perhaps.

Your lips twitch despite yourself. Peña’s always been happier going on literal wild goose chases.

The jacket easily engulfs you, blocking out the unwelcome evening chill. You breathe in the faint but unmistakable scent of cigarettes and you can feel the weight of a full box swing against your side. He keeps insisting he’s trying to quit, but obviously not very hard.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel any warmer in the plane cabin, and you put your arms through the sleeves of the jacket properly before sinking heavily into one of the plush leather seats with a sigh, relieved to get off your sore feet.

You don’t notice the small plane taking off with just the two of you, sitting silently opposite each other until the flight path levels, at which point Javier promptly heads to the small bar at the end of the cabin and comes back with two generous glasses of whiskey.

Sipping in silence, you let your gaze settle on him, no subtlety left in the tank after your shitty day at twenty hours and counting. Javier, in turn, stares listlessly out of the window, uninterested in your scrutiny. Strands of mussed hair fall over his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath shadowing his entire countenance.

His pink shirt, which was drenched in sweat when he’d finally, finally caught up to Jurado in that square in Curacao, has long dried in the cool Miami air. And of course it’s tight and the neckline unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the poor fabric stretched to an inch of its life by his obnoxiously wide shoulders. It’s tucked into even tighter jeans that seem to struggle to contain all of him.

Honestly, it’s a damn miracle he could do any running at all in this ensemble.

You stare at the little fold-up table between the two of you. It had been covered in papers en route to Miami just hours ago, the Cali moneyman sitting exactly where you are now. Jurado agreed to the lesser charges of money laundering and racketeering in exchange for testifying for the DEA. You had him. He was in that interview room. The lawyers from the Miami county court were ready to take over.

But somehow, that smarmy, rotund excuse of a cartel lawyer got there first.

A heavy sigh catches your ear over the whir of the plane engines, and you watch as Javier drags one heavy hand over his face, the tips of his thick fingers resting above his pursed lips, before he shakes his head.

The words are out of your mouth before your head catches up. ‘Stop it.’

Dark eyes flicker your way, brows drawing into a frown. ‘What?’

Your empty glass clunks loudly when it hits the table. ‘Stop beating yourself up. We both know this is out of our hands. Quit the self-martyrdom bullshit.’

The grin comes quickly and sarcastically. You hate it. He’s never been big on smiles, but you’ve seen how his face can light up with a laugh over a drink, or at a good joke. From a distance, of course, and never in your direction. You’ve only ever had scowls and glares thrown your way.

You’re not alone though - these days, that’s all anyone ever gets from him.

Leaning back in his chair, one big palm cradling the bottom of the crystal tumbler that looks much smaller than it should, and the other resting on his thigh, Javier huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

‘I don’t think it. I know it.’

‘You don’t know me,’ he answers coolly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Peña. You’re not some pouty, brooding mystery to me. I’ve been cleaning up after your mess for six fucking years.’ Shaking your head, you can’t help adding, ‘Not that you’ve ever appreciated any of it.’

He gives you a derisive snort. ‘I wasn’t aware that I should be thanking you for getting in my way at every turn.’

‘Getting in your way?’ you chuckle mirthlessly. ‘I’ve been trying to keep you out of jail, asshole.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be.’

‘Is this what all this is about? Some survivor’s guilt bullshit?’ Unperturbed by his silence, you press on. ‘Well guess what, I don’t work for you. Having the attaché in jail isn’t really a good look for our employer, so bad news, you’re a free man as long as I’m legal counsel for the DEA.’

‘It would make my life a lot fucking easier if you weren’t.’

The words are so quiet, so matter-of-fact, they have no right to hit you as hard as they do. You’re horrified to feel the sting of tears on the seam of your eyelashes, and your lips part wordlessly before you regain your voice. ‘Fuck you, Peña.’

He winces and sits up, setting his glass next to yours on the table. ‘Shit. That came out wrong -’

Nails dig into your palms as hurt threatens to claw its out of the carefully locked compartment where you keep it. ‘No, I think it came out exactly as you meant it. You’ve hated me since day one.’

‘I don’t hate you -’

You glare at him. ‘You think I don’t know what people say behind my back over drinks at the embassy bar, when I’m stuck in the office dealing with whatever legal bullshit you’ve dug yourself into? I bet you like a good laugh at my expense.’

Shifting forward in his seat, Javier reaches out and grabs your left wrist. ‘Stop it. I don’t. You know I wouldn’t.’

You try to pull back but he doesn’t budge, easily holding you in place. You bite out, ‘I’ll quit if that’s what you want. Might as well make both of our lives easier with one resignation letter.’

Javier’s hold on you tightens, and he bares his teeth in frustration. ‘That’s not what I want.’

‘That’s exactly what you said you wanted just now. Why don’t you make up your fucking mind, Peña?’ you snap back.

‘I can’t,’ he snarls, his other hand finding your free wrist, almost jolting you out of your seat. He’s so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. ‘I’ve never been able to with you.’

You go as still as the air around you, the mixed signals scrambling the wires in your already exhausted head. You narrow your eyes and him and hiss, ‘What?’

Javier heaves a sigh, breathing out the words through gritted teeth and eyes screwed shut. ‘You drive me up a fucking wall, woman.’

Anger surges in you, and you manage to yank both of your wrists free. Pushing him away, you spit at him with all the venom you can muster. ‘Fuck you, too!’

He growls, raking one hand through his hair before slamming it onto the fold-up table, making the glasses clink when they knock together from the force. ‘Goddamnit, won’t you just hear me? I can’t decide if I want you to shut the fuck up or if I just - want you.’

You watch his broad chest rise and fall in quick succession as he slumps in his chair, as if the last two words that are still ringing in your ears knocked the wind out of him.

Want you.

His eyes follow from under thick lashes when you reach out for the glasses, relocating them to the carpeted floor on the other side of your chair, before finding the lever underneath the table and folding it down. And you don’t miss the way his stare falls to your legs as you cross them deliberately, skirt hitching higher up, his Adam’s apple bobbing thickly in the column of his neck.

You tilt your head to one side in a challenge. ‘Well? What are you going to do about it, then?’

He’s out of his chair and on you in a beat, his arms caging you in as you pull him close by the collar of his shirt. You murmur against his lips, ‘You’re a fucking asshole, Peña.’

‘I know. Let me make it up to you -’ The words barely make it out of his mouth before he kisses you, lips warm and wet and pressing into yours insistently.

You let out a surprised yelp when Javier tugs you onto your feet, hot hands pushing his jacket off your shoulders but leaving it hanging from the crook of your arms. Goosebumps bloom where his fingers brush your sternum as he unbuttons your sleeveless shirt underneath, tugging it free from where it’s neatly tucked into your skirt.

You retort, ‘You’re going to make up for six years of bad blood on a three-hour flight?’

‘Well, what are you doing tomorrow?’ he asks almost conversationally, and with a casual flick, he undoes the front clasp of your bra. He breathes a raspy fuck as he palms your tits reverently, the contact making you shudder.

‘Actually, I was going to have a sit down with you. A little birdy told me some outrageous story about the DEA attaché endorsing wiretapping,’ you reply teasingly, wrestling with the small buttons on his shirt.

Javier chuckles, clever fingers sliding down your back and undoing the zipper on your pencil skirt, which pools about your now bare feet after kicking off your sensible low heels. ‘Fucking Stoddard. I knew he'd tattle on me.’

‘You better come prepared with a good defence, Peña,’ you quip, letting him spin you around and ease you into his seat, the leather still warm under your bare thighs. His pink shirt hangs open as he looms over you, so broad that he’s the only thing you see.

He hums and kisses down the side of your neck, stopping to suck on your pulse point. ‘How about a bit of incentive to go easy on me instead, hmm?’

You arch an eyebrow while he gets on one knee, then the other, but there’s no denying the wild rabbiting of your pulse despite your banter. ‘Bribery? Just one of the dirty tricks up your sleeves, Agent Peña?’

He peels your panties down the length of your thighs unhurriedly, smirking at the way you bite into your bottom lip as the scrap of fabric makes its descent. He hooks your right leg on his shoulder, then the left one, opening you up to his dark gaze as he smirks, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, cariño.’

It’s been too long. Too fucking long since you’ve been with anyone. Your hips arch clean off the leather seat at the first broad stroke of his tongue, confidently charting its way all the way up your folds. His weathered palms hold your thighs firmly apart as you writhe in his grip because it’s too much.

‘Javier,’ you breathe, meeting his almost cocky gaze as he stares up at you. He suckles wetly at your clit, lips puckering, and you buck hard into his mouth.

Granting you a brief reprieve, he moves off you with a wet smack of his lips and teases, ‘Am I making a good case for myself?’

‘Clearly not good enough if I’m still speaking in complete sentences,’ you somehow manage to counter.

He grins at you - a real one that lifts both corners of his mouth and chases away the shadows of his demons, and it has absolutely no business making your heart lurch the way that it does. ‘Touché, cariño.’

There’s no polite way of putting this. Javier eats you, meticulous and sloppy in turn, until your slick and his spit trail down the inside of your legs, and you feel the leather growing slippery underneath your bare ass. You can hear yourself over the roar of the plane engines, and you babble incoherently when he pushes his tongue into your pussy. ‘Javier, Javi -’

‘Gonna cum for me, cariño?’ He slurs as he sinks one, and then two fingers into you, biting out a filthy groan at how wet you are.

You nod desperately, finding purchase on his broad shoulders. ‘I’m so close, please -’

Pumping his fingers inside you until you squelch around them, he ducks down and laves your clit in earnest, pushing you until there’s nothing left - no air, no sound, no time and space - all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs and your ears pop, and you cum so fucking hard with your hands tangled in his curls and his name on your lips.

‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he murmurs almost absent-mindedly, chasing your skin when you try to push him away. His moustache scrapes your thighs and sends a shudder running through you as you catch your breath. ‘I’m an idiot for waiting this long.’

Gently setting your legs down - not that you can feel them anyway - Javier turns his face to his right shoulder, and you watch in rapture as he smears the slick coating his mouth and chin onto his pink shirt, the wet spot staining the fabric.

Your lip curls in giddy amusement as you think to yourself - you look good on him.

Then he leans up to kiss you, and your head spins at the taste of yourself on his tongue and your scent on his moustache.

Pushing back the loose locks that now curl against his forehead, you sass, ‘That’s one trick. Are you going to show me another, Agent Peña?’

Without warning, his hands slide under your bare buttocks and he lifts you clean off the seat. You laugh and close your grip around his upper arms, feeling his muscles flex under your palms. You know without looking how his biceps must be straining against the short sleeves of his shirt.

He falls heavily into the chair with you straddling him, and you protest, ‘Stop, Javi, I’m going to make a mess of your jeans.’

‘I want you to make a mess,’ he declares in his rich baritone. ‘Want your pussy to soak my jeans, cariño.’

Desire flashes hot and fast up and down your spine. ‘But Javi, I just came -’ you break off as he grasps your hips and settles you onto his right thigh.

‘You can cum again,’ he shrugs with a cocksure definitiveness, coaxing a moan from you when he shifts and your folds drag along the denim. ‘Ride me, cariño.’

‘But what about you?’ You trace one palm down his bare chest and soft stomach to rest on the prominent bulge straining against the front of his tight jeans. He chokes when you give his erection a bold squeeze through the denim, which has you grinning smugly.

Covering your hand with his, he brings it up to kiss it softly. ‘Another time, it’s been a long day. Now - can I get back to making it up to you?’

Winding your arms around his neck, you rock against his thigh, feeling the wet imprint of the slick you leave behind on the coarse fabric as you move back and forth. His palms squeeze the swell of your ass reassuringly but loose enough so that you can find your own rhythm.

Javier patiently mouths his way down your neck and further, sucking hard on one nipple and then the other, making you throw your head back in a gasp.

‘You look so good wearing my jacket with your gorgeous tits out,’ he praises you, letting go of your hips to push your breasts together and laps at the soft flesh with his tongue.

‘Javier,’ you whine, tipping forward to bury your face in the long line of his neck.

The same neck you’ve sometimes wanted to wring in the heat of the moment, but also caught yourself staring at when he cradles the office phone in the crook of his shoulder. You can taste the salt on his skin - sweat and sea breeze and sunshine - and when the breath catches in his throat, your hips stutter, your orgasm so close to the surface.

As if sensing you need a bit of help, he whispers into your ear. ‘I can feel you so wet for me through my jeans, cariño. You’re doing so good for me.’

Feeling his nails dig into you as he guides you over his thigh, you whimper needily, ‘I’m so close.’

‘I know you are. You can do it - cum on my thigh.’

‘Oh fuck,’ you choke, pressing your forehead into his as you begin to shake, and he brushes his nose soothingly against yours. The impending vertigo sends you crashing into him, hands trembling on his shoulders, torn between clinging on and letting go. ‘Javi - I’m cumming, oh my god -’

And then he’s lunging towards you in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as you break again, a moan in his windpipe when he feels your pussy leak into his jeans as it clenches and clenches around nothing. Needing air, you pull back to slump bonelessly against him, panting hard into his neck, his palms drawing circles over your back.

You only realise you’ve drifted off when a sudden drop in altitude wakes you, and the PA system cackles to life with the captain’s ten-minute warning to landing. From the corner of your eye, you catch Javier watching you with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.’

‘Well, you did have a 4am wakeup call,’ he quips.

Sitting back on your haunches, you do up your bra and then the buttons on your now very crumpled shirt. Easing off him on wobbly legs, you pick up your panties and skirt from the floor and dress yourself quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles as best as you can. You smile at Javier, watching him he button up his pink shirt, stopping at the fourth one as always.

Stepping in between his spread legs, hands on his upper thighs, you press a soft kiss to his lips. You smile and drag a finger over the wet spot you left on his jeans. ‘That was fun.’

The corners of his eyes crinkle and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. ‘That might be an understatement of criminal proportions.’

You make to take off his jacket, but Javier shakes his head, tugging on the collar so it sits squarely on your shoulders. ‘Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.’

You can’t tell if it’s actually warmer when you step off the plane or if it’s the afterglow, but you keep the jacket on. Your respective cars are waiting on the airstrip next to each other, and Javier loads your weekender bag into the backseat before opening the door on the driver’s side, shutting it after you climb in.

You palm the steering wheel self-consciously as you stare at each other in a slightly awkward lull, before clearing your throat. ‘So, 9am sharp tomorrow at the 3rd floor conference room, Agent Peña?’

Javier smirks, but his eyes are warm as he shifts on his feet, leaning one elbow on the open window and cocks his head to one side. ‘Depends. Will you be wearing my letterman jacket?’

A bark of laughter escapes you. ‘Your letterman jacket? Should I pick up matching friendship bracelets for us before our meeting?’

With a lighthearted shake of his head, Javier half-turns to leave before stopping abruptly. Tapping two fingers on the window frame, he hesitates briefly, before looking up at you with earnest eyes, his voice quiet and almost solemn in its sincerity. ‘Thank you.’

Watching him go, your chest blooms with warmth at the eight letters and two little words you’ve waited six years to hear.

At twenty-seven minutes to nine the next morning, you’re flinging open the front door of your apartment, car keys jingling and thermos balanced precariously in one hand, when a flash of white on navy catches your attention.

For a long moment, you stand off dramatically with the jacket draped across the back of a kitchen chair, the letters DEA staring back at you - before you reach for it and shrug it on with a silly grin.

What can you say? You’ve always had a thing for letterman jackets.

More notes: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments and reblogs are always encouraged and so appreciated ❤️

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics as always 💕

[loslentesdepedrito]

Feliz Navidad

Javi gif by: Ggyussance My Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking Latina f!reader (No race, skin color, or nationality mentioned. I tried my best to include small parts of each Spanish-speaking Latin American country.)

Word count: 11.3k+

Summary: At every family reunion, the relentless interrogation about your love life becomes a tiring ritual. Fed up with the relentless questions and awkward setups, you turn to Javi, your best friend, and ask him to be your date for the upcoming family Christmas party. He suggests that you take it a step further by pretending to be a couple. Can the two of you play pretend, especially when, in reality, you both harbor secret feelings for each other?

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: slight angst, happy ending, fake dating, friends to lovers, jealous and possessive Javi, reader and Javi are in their 20s, not canon, just a smidge of idiots in love, reader wears a dress, lingerie, makeup, and is shorter than Javi, alcohol consumption, Javi being cheesy with your family, unprotected piv, cowgirl, use of a sex toy, oral (female receiving) reader likes to pull Javi's hair, creampie, slight cum eating, Javi loving his cum inside you.

A/N: I’m on vacation and meant to upload this on the 24th, but didn’t have time to add the translations. Sorry for the delay, tarde pero seguro. Enjoy! 

"Come on, Javi," you plead again, watching him chew thoughtfully. There's a sense of urgency in your voice as you desperately hope he’ll agree to be your date for your family’s Christmas gathering. "Please, I'm practically begging you. I'll get down on my hands and knees if I have to." This finally grabs his attention. Caught off guard while swallowing, he hears your words and can't help but let his imagination run wild. The image of you begging, not just for any favor, but for him – for his cock, fills his mind. With a sudden intensity, he forces the last bite of the torta cubana down his throat, triggering a fit of coughing.

Reacting quickly, you reach for the glass of iced water on the table, extending it toward him without a word. He accepts the offering from your outstretched hand, bringing the cool glass to his lips. In a fluid motion, Javi tilts his head back, the cup cradled by his fingers.

Your attention zeroes in on the man before you: The plushness of his lower lip curves around the rim of the glass; as he takes a sip, droplets of water cascade down, catching the afternoon sun and creating a glistening effect.

Mesmerized, you trace the path of those droplets, leading you to the delicate contours of his pink lips. Descending further with your gaze, you focus on his neck, where the rhythmic bobbing of his Adam's apple accompanies each sip. Involuntarily, you shift in your seat, a futile attempt to dispel the growing sensation stirring between your thighs.

Breaking the spell, he speaks, his voice rough as he clears his throat, "Okay, I'll be your date."

A wave of relief washes over you, and gratitude spills forth, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're so perfect. My family will love you."

A quizzical expression lingers on Javi's face as he asks, "Why don't you get a real date?" Despite knowing you could have your pick of anyone, there's genuine happiness in his eyes—an unspoken relief that you won't be taking another man to meet your family.

You sigh and offer an explanation, “I haven't met anyone, and it's pretty weird to introduce some stranger to your entire family on the first date. "Ya te dije (I already told you), my family keeps pestering me about getting a boyfriend. It's the same thing every Christmas, '¿nena y el novio? (baby girl and the boyfriend?)’ 'Mami, quiero que conozcas al sobrino de la vecina de mi comadre. (Mami, I want you to meet my friend’s neighbor's nephew.)’ '¿Mija, ya tienes novio? ('Mija, do you already have a boyfriend?)’ I love them, and they mean well, but I can't take any more of it. Hopefully, when I show up and say that we're just getting to know each other, it will shut them up until New Year's. But by then, I'll tell them we work better as friends, and they'll pity me, so I'll be off the hook for maybe two years."

A knowing look crosses Javi's face as he probes, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that Caleb will be there?"

You groan at the mention of your ex-boyfriend's name. "A little bit," you mumble, slumping in your chair as thoughts of him flood your mind. "He's probably going to bring some girl, and if I show up alone," you pause, giving Javi a sweet smile, "without my best friend, my family will find out I had a boyfriend and I kept it from them."

You didn't mean to keep your relationship with Caleb hidden. You just didn't want to tell your family you had a boyfriend, in case the relationship failed—and guess what, it did. Two months into your relationship, you found out he was still talking to his ex, and you dumped him before shit got worse. Fortunately, your decision to keep your family in the dark spared you from telling them about Caleb, so you didn't have to share the news about the breakup, which, unfortunately for you, meant you had to see him at parties since his parents were friends with your uncle.

"Why don't we tell them we're in a relationship? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend," Javi suggests, attempting to sound confident, though inwardly, he's praying you won't freak out and shoot down the idea.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard and unsure of how to respond. Javier panics at your silence and rushes to add, "I mean, they already know who I am, and we know everything about each other. It would be more believable."

Chewing on your lip, you contemplate what he's proposed. It would be convincing, you think.

“Are there any embarrassing moments that your family will bring up that I should be aware of, my beautiful girlfriend?” Javi teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

In response, you roll up a napkin, forming a makeshift ball, and throw it at him, the projectile hitting him directly on the forehead. Javi grumbles good-naturedly, a blend of irritation and laughter, and you purposely ignore the flutter in your heart. "No, you’ll never hear those."

“Okay fine,” Javi huffs, a mock pout on his face. “What’s the story then?”

"Story? For what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Javi looks at you as if you're not making the slightest bit of sense. “The story we’ll tell your family. You know they'll ask us so many questions.”

He's right. Your family will undoubtedly bombard you both with questions, seeing as they only know him as your friend and not the guy you've been secretly harboring feelings for.

"I mean, in movies, they always seem to have background stor-" Javi abruptly stops, hoping you don't make the connection about the kind of movies he's referring to.

But, of course, you catch it. “¿Aww, te gustan los romcoms, Javi? (Aww, do you like romcoms, Javi?)”

"¡No!" He blurts out, his face turning a shade of red that extends from his face to the tips of his ears. "We've just- we need to establish a timeline."

Watching him stumble through the sentence, you decide to spare him further embarrassment. "Mmm... we can say we've been dating for a month. It's enough that they won't scold me for not telling them about the relationship earlier, right?"

"We can say I asked you out right after Thanksgiving, so that gives us a little over a month since Thanksgiving was on the 22nd."

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good. And are you okay with staying over at my aunt's house since we'll be drinking? Or do you want to drive back to your apartment after we say our goodbyes?"

"Wait, your aunt with the big-ass house is hosting Christmas for your family this year?" He asks, sitting straighter in his chair. Javi's excitement is palpable as you nod. "Yeah, I'm staying over," he declares.

“Trae dos mudas de ropa (bring two changes of clothes)," you instruct him.

“¿Pjs y algo para la recalentada? (Pjs and something for the afterparty?)” Javi guesses but needs confirmation, not wanting to make a fool of himself. In fact, he's determined to make a good impression on your family.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement and then ask him about his previous plans. "You said you weren't going to spend Christmas with your family. Are you sure?"

"My dad's going to Monterrey, and I didn't get my passport renewed, and it's too late now. It's fine; I like spending time with your family." I like spending time with you.

"You just want to get fed," you tease.

"How'd you know," he goes along with your teasing tone.

“Ya te conozco (I already know you),” you tell him, and Javi feels butterflies in his stomach.

Your phone vibrates on top of the white and blue plaid tablecloth. You pick it up and see a notification that your Christmas dress is ready for pickup. "Oh shit, I've gotta go pick up my dress." You scramble to get up and collect your trash.

Javi gently grabs your wrist and tells you, “Ve. Te tiro tu basura. (Go. I'll throw your trash away.)"

Your breath hitches at his touch, and you thank him. You drop your Coke can and take a few steps until you reach him. "You're the best. I love you." You lower yourself a bit to give him a kiss on the cheek. His heart races, and he's scared you'll see him turn beet red, so he stands up and envelops you in a hug. He's hit with your smell, and a groan nearly falls from his lips.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8," he says in a shaky voice, whispering into your ear. Grateful for the long-sleeve shirt you decided to wear that morning, your skin breaks into goosebumps around his body. "That's still early, you know?" you object into his chest.

Feeling the lower half of his body respond to having you so close, he pulls away, not wanting to scare you or make you uncomfortable. “¿Entonces a las ocho y media? (So at eight-thirty?)” he asks, now standing a couple of steps away from you.

"See you then," you nod. Glancing at your watch, you realize you really have to get going.

"What color will your dress be?" he asks before you leave.

"Red," you smile, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

Javi gulps; red is his favorite color. He wonders if he'll be able to handle seeing you in it while pretending to be your boyfriend.

"Bye, te veo mañana (see you tomorrow),” you say goodbye one last time.

"Bye," he waves and watches you walk off. As soon as you're out of his view, he's left standing there, hands on his face, and he groans into his palms. Yeah, he doesn't know how he'll get through tomorrow night pretending he's in love with you because he is in love with you but can't show it.

Just as you apply the last coat of lipstick in your foyer mirror, you hear a knock on your door. Palms slightly damp, you start second-guessing taking Javi to your family party. You hear him say your name through the locked door and quickly tell him you're coming. With a slightly trembling hand, you turn the doorknob, your heart thudding in your chest at the sight of Javi. He's wearing a black leather jacket over a red cable-knit sweater, and God, he smells amazing—tones of sage, wood, and maybe some bergamot. All you know is that you want to push him against the door and put your mouth all over him—mouth, neck, chest, cock—you don't have a preference.

While you're busy ogling him, Javi is staring at you with his jaw near the floor. You're in a burgundy dress with black flowers all over, accentuating your beautiful figure. He makes a mistake when his gaze moves up, landing on your lips. Javi has to bite his tongue to suppress a groan at the sight of your luscious red-stained lips. They look so plush and enticing, and he twitches in his pants.

"Hi, Jav," you greet him in your sweet voice, making him look into your eyes.

The way your eyes sparkle, almost makes him lose his composure and profess his feelings for you. "¿Estas lista? (Are you ready?)" He says instead. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag you have set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa since it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to grab your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes from you until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa, as it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to gather your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes away until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales, trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first.

As you brush past him, he's hit with the aroma of your perfume, and the sweetheart line of your dress offers a perfect view of your cleavage. He has to close his eyes to focus on anything else. After you lock up, he leads you to his car, takes the bag from you, and uses his free hand to help you down the steps. He opens the passenger door, puts your bag in the back seat, and goes to his seat to start the truck. You watch as he reverses, placing a hand behind your seat's headrest. His single hand moves the steering wheel, and you have to physically stop a whine from slipping past your mouth by biting your lip. You feel the wetness accumulate between your thighs, and you don't know how you'll get through the night.

The car ride over was hell on earth for both of you. Javi had to resist the urge to reach over and place his hand on your perfect thighs and move it further up. And you had to watch as Javi handled the gear stick with his big hands and thick fingers. You're both relieved to make it to your aunt's house. Javi insists on opening the door for you, and when he helps you get out of his truck, he gives you his hand to guide you. Next thing you know, he's taking the items from the back seat. Javi swings a backpack filled with his stuff, including clothes, and the bag where you have your gifts. You take it from him without him noticing, and he takes out a chocoflan.

You hear the house door open, and people beckon you over. Javi closes the door and takes your hand in his. He leads you up to the entrance, and you hear gasps and mutters coming from your family.

“¡Ay, mi sobrinita! (Oh, my little niece!)" one of your uncles yells as you're inches away from the door.

“¡Tío!” you exclaim, happy to see him. Before you can say anything else, he gives you a bear hug. You slowly push off to turn to Javi, who is still holding your hand. “Tío, this is Javier, my boyfriend." Your uncle's eyes widen a little, but it's quickly replaced with joy.

“Javi, él es mi tío Nicolás, es el tío de mi papá (Javi, this is my uncle, Nicolás, he's my dad's uncle)," you explain to your boyfriend for the night.

Javi gently untangles your laced hands and extends his hand to your uncle. “Buenas noches. ¿Cómo está? (Good evening! How are you?)"

“Hola, Chavalo. Bien gracias (Hey, kid. Fine, thanks)," your uncle replies and shakes Javi's hand. "And you?"

Their handshake ends and Javi pulls you into his side. "Me alegra. Estoy muy bien ya que estoy con ella (I'm glad to hear that. I'm very well now that I'm with her),” Javi tells your uncle, giving him a dashing smile while he gives you a lovey-dovey look.

You don't know who is happier at Javi's response—your uncle or you. "Oh, here, I brought dessert," Javier hands your uncle Nicolás the custard dessert with a chocolate cake base.

“Come in, come in,” the older man ushers you inside the house.

“Miren quien llegó (Look who arrived),” your uncle's voice rumbles throughout the house. Footsteps make their way to you three, and your family's faces light up. Voices overlap, greeting you, but they seem confused over the man beside you.

“¡Hola!” you smile. "This is Javi, he's my boyfriend," you introduce, rubbing his arm.

Javi doesn't get a word in because your cousin slaps his back and says, “¡Habla, pe causa!” Javi smiles and tells him good evening.

Once your cousin goes away, you whisper to Javi, "That was César, and he said, 'What's up, man.'"

"I knew that," Javi lies, running his tongue over his cheek.

“¡Como que ya tienes novio! (What do you mean you have a boyfriend!)" a familiar voice screeches from the living room.

You cringe as you hear your mom's angry voice and your dad telling her to calm down. Fuck, I forgot I have to tell my parents about Javi, you think.

When your parents see Javi, they physically relax. "Javi!" She gasps. “¿Él es tu novio? (He's your boyfriend?)” Your mom asks.

“Él es mi novio,” you confirm. Javi's heart leaps because somehow in Spanish, you calling him your boyfriend sounds a million times better.

"¡Ay, qué alegría! (Oh, what joy!)" She says and clasps her hands. For a long time, she's asked you if you two are anything more than friends, and she's always disappointed when you say no.

"I'm happy for you, mija," your dad tells you, hugging you.

"Thank you, Dad," you say relieved at their quick acceptance of Javi.

"Tu mamá está muy feliz (Your mom is very happy). It's just that you told your aunt first, and she was blindsided," your dad fills you in, and you hear your name being called. You whip your head to the kitchen and see your aunt coming to you with her arms extended.

“Titi Yalissa," you muffle into her curly hair. Your aunt jumps up and down with you in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much," she says and lets go of you once she remembers what you told her. "Where's your boyfriend?"

You grab Javi's hand and bring him closer to your aunt. "Javi, this is my aunt Yalissa."

“Titi, this is the guy I told you about. His name is Javier."

"Es un placer conocer al hombre que tiene a mi niña tan feliz (It's a pleasure to meet the man who has my little girl so happy)."

Javier smiles at your aunt's happiness and decides to comment on her house and thank her for the invitation. "It's my pleasure. Tiene una casa hermosa (you have a beautiful house)," he pauses to look over at you, “como su sobrina (like your niece). Thank you for inviting me." Your heart thuds in your chest at Javi's words.

Everyone around you coos and awws, and you feel your ears burn.

"Let me show you your rooms, so you can set your things."

You and Javi follow your aunt up the stairs and into the hallway. She comments on how good you two look together and how it's adorable that you're matching. Her observation catches you off guard, and you look at both of your outfits. Oh my God! Is that why he asked me what color my dress was? Did he want to match? While you're lost in thought, you miss Javi's charming words about how perfect you look.

"Javi, this will be your room," your aunt points at a room on the left side. She says your name and then points at the room at the end of the hall, "Your room is still untouched, and you have your clothes there if you need anything."

Someone calls her from the kitchen, and she apologizes, telling you to come downstairs when you're ready for some food.

When Javier hears her descend the stairs, he asks you, "We're not sharing a room?"

"No. She's kinda against pre-marital sex."

Javi shoots you a look that says he knows you haven't made a vow of chastity.

"Okay, she doesn't know that," you say.

Javi sets his backpack in his room, and you make your way to the small dining room.

"Nena (babygirl), how are you?”

“Tía Mercedes!” you scream once another one of your aunts comes into view.

“Every day you get more and more beautiful!” she says to you. “Oh, and where is that boyfriend of yours? Tu tío Beto me dijo que vos ya tenés uno (Your uncle Beto told me you already have one.)”

For what feels like the hundredth time, you introduce Javi. Your aunt gushes over him and is scandalized when she hears he hasn’t eaten yet.

“No puedo creer que no les han dado nada de comer (I can't believe they haven't given you anything to eat). Come here.” She leads you to where the food is laid out, and to say it’s a lot is an understatement.

"Okay, so we’ve got croquetas, empanadas, ceviche, tamales, pasteles, chuchitos, pan con pollo, carne asada, hallacas, chimichurri, tostones, hornado de chancho, pavo al horno, chipa, pan dulce, y no se qué más." Your aunt lists off the myriad of food, whether it’s side dishes or main courses.

“And to drink, there’s coquito, champurrado, atol, ponche, arroz con leche, café con queso, chocolate caliente. If you want something else, you can ask Beto. It’s probably in the kitchen.”

You and Javi grab whatever you crave and add it to your plate before heading to the larger dining room. Everything had been going well until you saw your ex. Javi noticed you tense up, and he followed your line of sight, landing on your ex-boyfriend, Caleb. With food and drinks in his hands, Javi couldn’t physically comfort you. A soft whisper from him, a simple “Hey,” was enough to unfreeze you, and you both walked to your seats, strategically far away from Caleb and his girlfriend.

Dinner went by smoothly. Your family was eager to learn about the new man in your life, and you explained that before becoming your boyfriend, he had been your best friend and someone you trusted with your life. One of your little cousins was curious about how he asked you to be his girlfriend. To your surprise, Javi spun an elaborate story about taking you stargazing and making it official under the night sky. He described the story with such vivid detail that it brought tears to your eyes, and your family found it incredibly heartwarming. Little did they know, part of those tears were tinged with sorrow, knowing that after this night, the charade of this "relationship" would come to an end. The other part of you felt pure love for Javi, appreciating the effort he was putting into making your family believe in your fake romance.

After clearing the plates and sharing the story, Javi couldn’t help but notice Caleb shooting daggers his way. Frankly, he didn’t care about Caleb's feelings, but when he saw him staring at you, Javi couldn’t suppress the desire to leap across the table and strangle him. Thankfully, one of your cousins interrupted and announced that a game of lotería would be played outside if anyone wanted to join.

You take your cup of ponche, and Javi grabs his cup of atol as you both make your way to the backyard, where a table is already set up for the game. Soon, the table of 25 is full, and some have to wait for the next round. With beans in hand, you eagerly listen for the first card to be called.

“Ahí les va la primera tarjeta (Here comes the first card),” Uriel, your favorite cousin's husband, warns. He shuffles the cards in the deck and flips the first one over.

“La Sirena (the siren).”

You squeal and instantly put your bean on top of the square where a siren is underwater. You hear groans from the people who didn’t have the siren on their cards. Javi, not having much luck, simply watched you with the biggest smile, reveling in your excitement over the lead.

Uriel flips the next card and announces, “La Luna (the moon).”

This time, neither you nor Javi has luck. Displeased, you watch as Caleb places a bean on his card.

“¡El soldado! (The soldier!)”

You look at your card—nothing. You look at Javi’s card—still nothing. A feeling of being watched makes your head turn to Caleb, and he’s smirking at Javi because he got another bean on his table. “Not good at lotería,” Caleb tuts, “is there something you’re actually good at?” he says condescendingly. 

You have half a mind to tell him all the ways Javi is perfect, even throwing in a few lies about your fake intimate life, but Javi rests his right hand on your thigh, and just like that, all your hatred bubbles away.

“Before I call the next one, does anyone have all three characters?” Whoops and cheers come from a few uncles, cousins, and family friends. “Okay, does anyone have a line nearly filled?” Uriel asks another question, and this time is met with silence.

“Bueno (Oh well),” he moves on and pulls from the deck, “La maceta (flowerpot).” You wish you had one of those to throw at Caleb’s head. Your wish is answered when someone yells, “¡Aguas!” You and Javi instantly duck, and much to your dismay (not), Caleb doesn’t, and the flying rag hits him right between his eyes. He groans in pain and starts to pick a fight with Marta, one of your cousins. Marta's fiancé stands up for your cousin, “Sos un hijo de remil putas. He told you to watch out. It's your fault you didn't listen." Everyone agrees with Flavia, and they tell Caleb he should've ducked. Your ex finally shuts up, and your family urges Uriel to draw the next card.

“El cotorro (the parrot)." Javi moves quickly and places the bean he's had in his hand for a while. You're so happy for him; that you nearly spill your drink onto the table.

A few more cards are drawn, and you haven't made as much progress, but Javi, on the other hand, has his card nearly full of beans. He needs four consecutive beans in a straight line, but he's missing two beans to win.

“La mano (The hand)." 

“Concha-tu-madre,” an uncle seethes in frustration as he doesn't have the hand on his card, but you know who does—Javi. 

“Ya me agüitaron (Ya’ll bummed me out). I'm going to put on music," your cousin, Darío, says, abandoning the game and hooking up his phone to the speaker. 

“El árbol (the tree.)” You sigh in disappointment as the last character Javi needs isn't called.

Music and various curse words fill the air, including but not limited to coño, jueputa, mamaguevo, japiro. 

"We have four potential winners," Uriel announces, "Y ahora... el gorrito (and now... the little hat)." 

“Mierda,” Javi's voice falls into a whisper because he doesn't have that card. By this point, he's memorized the entirety of his table, and when the hat was called, he knew it wouldn't be on his card.

You look around the table and see that Javi is among three people who need one more bean to win. 

"Let's see," Uriel says as he shuffles the cards. “El valiente (the brave man)” is yelled, and before you can react, Javi screams, "Lotería!" 

Everyone whips their head to your 'boyfriend,' and Uriel rushes to check Javi's card. You're filled with joy and practically bouncing in your seat. 

"We have a winner!" Uriel whoops, patting Javi's shoulder. 

"Beso, beso, beso (kiss, kiss, kiss)" your family chants, wanting you to celebrate with your boyfriend. Your breathing labors, and you don't know how to get out of it. Luckily, you get called to the kitchen, and Javi looks relieved. Your heart drops. He didn't want to kiss me. You excuse yourself and hurriedly make your way to the kitchen.

Javi's left in his seat trying to regulate his heartbeat. He didn't want to kiss you. Not because he didn't want to. God, he wanted to taste your lips, but he's scared that if he kisses you, he'll never stop.

In the kitchen, you scoop food into Tupperware for you and Javi, when you hear a man say, "You said he was just a friend,” the voice accuses. 

"Caleb," you spit with venom.

"You're with him now?" he asks hands in his pant pockets.

"I am. And I'm very happy with Javi," you say simply, adding rice to your blue Tupperware container.

"Come on, we were so good together. Don't you remember? We could be great again. Don't you want that?"

"No is the answer to every single thing you just said."

"What's so special about him? You didn't want to tell your family about us, but you bring him around?" Your ex is furious. When he saw you walk in with that dress and with Javi, hands intertwined and looking up at him like he was the best prize, he nearly lost it.

You turn around with your back to the entrance of the second dining room and point the spatula at your ex. "What isn't special about Javi is the better question. He's sweet, kind, determined, funny, and everything you're not. That's not all I love about him though; he makes me feel loved and heard, and he's my best friend. Javi is everyone's dream."

Caleb scoffs, and his only defense is, "What kind of name is Javi?"

You feel a possessive hand on your stomach, and it moves you back towards the owner's body. No, no, I can take care of this myself, you think, and then his cologne hits your nose, and you feel the warmth of his body, and your mantra of standing up by yourself evaporates.

"What kind of name is Caleb? Why don't you go back to your ex and leave my girlfriend alone?" Javier says, voice deeper than usual, making the rat of your ex retreat with his tail between his legs.

"Want me to kick his ass?" Javi questions.

"Nah, I have a feeling it'll ruin the holiday spirit. Thank you for that though."

You realize he could've heard your conversation with Caleb and ask, "How much of that did you hear?"

"When he made fun of my name, which is fantastic, by the way," he responds.

"Javi is a fantastic name," you assure him, "Javi," you say his name, testing it like it's the first time saying his name.

Javi nearly facepalms himself because hearing his name falling from your lips is making him harden again. Not to mention how you defended him to your ex. He's never heard kinder words about himself until you. Lately, Javi has felt like a failure. He failed to get into the DEA academy, and it was terrifying to think he would feel like that for the rest of his life. But when he's in your presence, everything else just melts away.

"How was my family while I left you unsupervised?" You ask, resting your head on his chest.

"Great. One of your cousins talked about the fact that the Christmas celebration was a pagan holiday and another about companies making a fortune based on Christmas. Your uncle, Ramon, I think started talking about los terrenos y le quitaron la corona (inherited land and they took away his corona beer.)”

"Oh god," you sound horrified, "I'm sorry about my family."

Javi slides his hands up and down your arms, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Mi familia también es así o peor (my family is like that or worse)." He knows he shouldn't say the words but can't help himself, "Our kids will have the biggest family."

Your mouth drops in surprise, and your mind flashes with images of you having a family with Javi, and your heart feels like it can explode.

"Your cousin was behind you," Javi says, looking past you.

A wave of disappointment washes over you. "Oh."

Javi lied. He didn't say that to convince your family about your relationship; he said it because he meant it.

The clock strikes 12 AM, beginning the 25th of December, and you all have to give out hugs to every single person at the party. Thankfully, it won't be awkward since Caleb and his plus-one left an hour ago. You get hugs from your entire family, and they each tell you how much they love you and how proud they are of you. When you reach Javi, you go for a side hug, but he pulls your face into his chest, and you exchange ‘feliz navidads.’ His smell is so comforting you want to stay there forever. You don’t pull away until someone announces it’s time to open gifts.

You take out the large wrapped box inside the bag you brought and give the gift to your little cousin, Gio. You bought him plenty of Hot Wheels and a racetrack that will take up a significant amount of space in his living room. Gio leaps into your arms and tells you you’re the ‘bestest cousin in the world.’ Your older cousin tells you she’ll give you her gift before going upstairs to the balcony to see the fireworks.

When Sandra leaves, Javi calls your attention. "Amor ven," the nickname falls easily from his beautiful lips; it makes you swoon. He pats the seat next to him, and in a few seconds, you’re next to him.

“I got you something,” Javi says nervously reaching into his pants pocket. He retrieves a square box and hands it to you gently like he’s scared you’ll move your hand and drop it.

You take the box fully into your hand. You lift the top, and your eyes begin to water. You scold yourself internally that this shouldn’t make you cry, but the beautiful necklace makes it impossible not to. It’s not because it’s a pretty necklace but you’re tearing up because of the letter attached to the gold chain – a J for Javier.

Javi misconstrues your tears for hatred. “I can exchange it for something else,” he’s quick to spit out."

“I love it, Javi,” you promise, words dripping with sincerity. “¿Me lo pones? (Can you put it on me?)” you ask him, getting ready for him to clasp the necklace.

His fingertips make contact with your nape, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You briefly wonder if that will happen every time you make the slightest contact tonight. Javi adjusts the necklace and clasps it, ensuring he doesn’t accidentally get some of your skin, which he was afraid he’d do because his hands were developing a thin layer of sweat.

“Done,” he tells you breathlessly, and you turn around to show him.

He feels ridiculous that seeing his initial on your chest makes him go crazy. Yes, part of him feels beyond happy that you liked your gift. When he was shopping, trying to find you a gift, he stumbled upon a jewelry store, and he knew he had to get it for you. He didn’t buy it to ‘brand you’. Javi genuinely wanted you to carry a part of him, just like he always carries you everywhere he goes.

You hear the first fireworks go off, and Javi says, “Ya es hora para los cuetes (it’s time for the fireworks).” He helps you get up, and everyone makes their way up the mahogany stairway. You meet Sandra on the 2nd floor, and she gives you a white and red striped metallic-wrapped box. That childhood excitement of opening presents is still there. You feel giddy and tug at the taped ends to rip the paper. Once you’re able to see a sliver of the actual gift, you hold it to your chest.

“Sandra! You did not just gift me a sex toy!” You whisper-yell, the shock and embarrassment evident in your tone.

Sandra was known for being direct; she was your older cousin but more of a big sister. She had been a reliable source of guidance, especially when it came to your body, relationships, and intimacy. In fact, you had learned more from her than from your mandatory sixth-grade sex Ed class. You'd often sought her advice, grateful for her non-judgmental attitude. Sandra was always there to help, whether it was explaining innuendos or first-period crises. You remember when you got your first period, you ran to her after your mom called her for moral support. So, in a way, you shouldn't have been surprised by the gift when you complained to her about your trusty wand giving up on you.

“I recall getting a phone call telling me one of your favorites was no longer working. But with that boyfriend of yours, I don’t think you’ll be needing this, so I can take it back,” she smirks, enjoying making you flustered and sputtering on your words.

“A gift is a gift. You can’t take it back,” you argue, hugging it further into your chest. With the night you’ve had, you’re 100% certain the toy will have its grand premiere.

“Ooo using it with your man tonight to spice things up, I like that.”

You turn around and see Javi standing there with his hands by his side. His pretty lips are parted in an ‘o,’ and you can’t believe he just saw your cousin gifting you a sex toy for Christmas.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Sandra gives you a peck on the cheek and slips past you to go to the stairs and up another floor.

“Woah. That’s certainly a gift,” Javi states.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. Here you are hugging a fucking sex toy in the middle of the hallway with the man you love staring at the gift.

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you say robotically and make a run for your room. Oh my god, oh my god, he did not just see that. With the box still in your arms, hoping you don’t run into anyone, you open the door to your room just enough to slip inside and shut the door. Your heart is beating erratically, and you consider staying in your room for the rest of the night, but you know they’ll be calling for you soon. You finally unlock your arms and take the gift into your hands. There’s still wrapping paper covering the gift, so you take it off and take in the toy for the first time. You mistook the handle for a dildo. It wasn’t a plastic dick you thought you received; it was a clit stimulator. Color? Red.

After you placed your new gift on top of your bed and covered it with a sweater, you found the courage to face Javi. You opened your door and found Javi with his fist raised as if he was a second away from knocking.

“Let’s go,” you croak, hoping he won’t ever bring up what happened a few minutes ago.

Javi wordlessly agrees, and you both walk to the stairs in silence to go to the balcony. As you approach the final stairs, you hear more fireworks go off, but their timing isn’t consecutive, so you know the big event is yet to come. Once you’re outside, near the entrance, there’s a table with drinks that range from alcohol to traditional beverages to a mix. You take a Corona, and Javi picks up a glass of coquito. The balcony is packed, but it's big enough that you don’t feel like packed sardines. Music is blasting on the speakers; some of your family is off dancing, and some men are huddled around talking about work, while your younger cousins are playing with their new toys in a corner. You still haven’t talked to Javi, and it’s slowly killing him. He didn’t mean to embarrass you by walking in on Sandra giving you your gift, but when he overheard the term 'sex toy,' it was as if an invisible force nailed him to the floor. Javi racks his brain for how to start a conversation with you. He knows the firework show will commence any minute now, and he won’t be able to get a word in.

"You look beautiful," he blurts out before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Okay, not what he wanted to start off with, but it’s definitely not a lie.

“Thank you,” you say sheepishly as the fireworks start going off one after another.

“I mean, you look beautiful every day,” Javi says in the midst of a chrysanthemum exploding in the sky.

"What?" you reply, struggling to make out his words over the resounding explosions.

Once the sounds die down, your aunt Odilia passes by, catching sight of you and Javi standing closer, facing each other. “¿Como están los enamorados? (How are the lovebirds?),” she says with adoration before moving on. Her statement prompts a few head turns from your family, who go on to comment about how cute you look with your boyfriend.

"I said," Javi begins, lowering himself to your ear, "You look beautiful. You always do, but tonight..." He stands up straight, locking eyes with you. Javi delicately strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Es como si me hubieras puesto bajo tu hechizo (It’s like you’ve put me under your spell),” he confesses softly, his voice filled with adoration.

You find yourself unable to conjure a reply. Your entire focus is consumed by him—the way he smiles, the dimple on full display, the stray curls tousled from dancing, and the warmth of his fingers against your cheek. His nails graze your skin ever so slightly, leaving you questioning if it's a figment of your imagination. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, wondering what it would be like to feel his nails embedded into your hips as he guides you in rhythmic movement. Taking a deep breath to regain composure, you inhale his scent, causing your head to spin. In the midst of your reverie, Javi's voice pulls you back.

"Your family is expecting a kiss. May I?" he asks, breaking the spell.

"What?" you respond, dumbfounded. While you heard him, the question leaves you in disbelief.

“¿Te puedo besar?” he repeats, his heart seemingly pounding out of his chest, laying his intentions bare.

As you nod and rasp out a breathless "yes,", Javi cups your cheeks with a gentle urgency, bringing his lips to yours in a passionate collision. It feels like heaven with his mouth molding seamlessly with yours. His taste is a delightful concoction of coconut, Don Q rum, cinnamon, and condensed milk—remnants of the coquito he had earlier. In the intoxicating embrace, you clutch his shirt, pulling him closer, savoring every fleeting second because it could be the first and last kiss you'll ever share.

Opening your mouth wider, you send a silent invitation, and he responds, his tongue tangling with yours, the passionate sounds blending harmoniously with the distant fireworks. Amid the explosive bursts in the night sky, the sounds of your fervent kiss are almost lost, and worked up and lost in the moment, you can't help but whimper into his mouth. When the sound of your own desire reaches Javi's ear, he knows he should pull away before the intensity escalates. Reluctantly, Javi breaks the kiss, mindful of the familial audience surrounding you. Both your chests rise and fall in tandem, the shared breathlessness lingering in the air. The post-kiss silence is punctuated by the distant echoes of the ongoing fireworks.

Separated but still entwined in the magic of the moment, you catch your breath. You admire the way Javi's brown eyes reflect the vibrant colors bursting in the sky. Javi gazes back into your eyes, marveling at the way they brighten with each explosion in the sky. It's a parallel to his own feelings as if miniature fireworks detonate in his heart whenever he looks at you. His earlier realization holds true; having kissed you, he never wants to stop.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed," you say, gesturing toward the door, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“Buenas noches,” he replies, a tinge of sadness coloring his voice.

You steal one last glance at him and urge yourself to get to your room before you throw your friendship down the drain for another kiss. So that’s what you do; you open the door, whisper one last goodbye, and shut the door. Javi closes his eyes, scolding himself for making things awkward. As he goes to his room, he focuses on thinking about what to do to fix your friendship. One thing he knows is that he can’t lose you.

Inside your room, you press against the wooden door. You have no idea how you’ll get through tomorrow, much less through the rest of your life. our eyes wander around, taking in the familiar walls of the room. You’ve had your own room at your aunt's house since you were a little girl, and there are some things that have remained the same. There's a shelf against a wall that contains a few of your stuffed animals from your childhood. You took down your posters from when you were a teen but kept the same paint color of dark red because you knew you couldn’t have your room all black. 

Realizing you still wear Javi's jacket, you gently remove it, placing it on your bed. You hate that it looks like it belongs in your room. You sigh and go to your bathroom to get ready to toss and turn in your bed.

In the midst of removing your makeup, having already brushed your teeth, a soft knock interrupts the quiet solitude of your room. Confused, you quickly dry your face and rush to open the door, wondering who it could be. It’s Javi. He's outside your door, his hair a mess like he ran his hands through it repeatedly.

"Can I come in?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

"Javi! They'll kill me if they see you in my room," you whisper.

"Please, cariño?" 

His tone is filled with a vulnerability that softens your resolve. You take a quick glance down the hallway and find it deserted, so you quickly pull him into your room and shut the door quietly. As you assess him, clad in grey sweats and a black long-sleeve compression shirt, a rush of desire floods your body. Thoughts of peeling off his clothes and kissing him all over stir a wetness between your legs, leaving you certain your underwear is ruined after spending the day with Javi. 

"I'm sorry," he interrupts your dirty thoughts, and confusion crosses your face.

Sorry? Why is he sorry?

He sees the confusion written all over your face and continues, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

What?

“If I knew it would make you uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have done it. Your friendship means the world to me. I’m sorry I ruined it. Cariño, what do I need to do to make us go back to normal? I’ll do anything,” Javi pleads with you.

You shake your head furiously. “No, Javi, you didn’t ruin anything. It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise.

He breathes out a sigh of relief after you tell him he didn’t mess up the best thing that’s happened to him. “Why did you shut down after… after we kissed?”

“I don’t know, Jav,” you shrug, looking away. You feel your eyes sting at the tone of his voice. He sounds hurt. You've hurt the person you love, and you want to take him into your arms and apologize.

“Please don’t do that,” he implores, reaching for your hand. “Dime (tell me).”

A wave of apprehension washes over you; confessing your feelings is a leap into the unknown. You worry about the potential shift in dynamics, but you sense that Javi believes your withdrawal stems from him. “If I tell you, and you don’t like what I say, promise me we’ll forget this conversation,” you request, your lip caught between your teeth.

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” 

“Promise me, Jav,” you repeat, aware of the simplicity but needing that ounce of reassurance.

He nods solemnly. “Te lo prometo (I promise you).”

“Javi, I like you. So much,” your voice falls to a whisper. The ball is now in his court, freeing you from the weight of what-ifs.

Javi's reaction is priceless. The tension that once knitted his eyebrows together dissipates, giving way to a radiant smile that stretches from ear to ear. Leaning in, he cradles your chin in his hand and kisses you, a taste of mint lingering on his lips. This time, the kiss is tender, and gentle—a dance of shared feelings that leaves him dizzy and his stomach aflutter. As he withdraws, his forehead presses against yours.

“I like you too. For a long time now,” he confesses, the words clear and resolute.

“Really?” you ask incredulously, feeling like you're walking on air. This moment, a culmination of countless fantasies, was the very last scenario you expected to become reality.

“Yeah,” he affirms with a nod. The truth lingers on the tip of his tongue. “De hecho, te amo (In fact, I love you).”

“I love you too,” you reply with a smile, your hands slowly tracing up his chest. One hand passes his broad shoulders and reaches his nape. A gentle brush of your hands against his skin sends a surge of warmth through him. Your fingers run through his hair, eliciting a low groan from Javi, and you yearn to hear more.

“Javi, te necesito (Javi, I need you),” you murmur with half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't want to risk embarrassing himself with words, so he gently takes your hand off his hair and guides you towards your bed.

Walking with playful curiosity, he asks, "Am I the first guy you've sneaked into your room?"

"Mmm... I plead the fifth," you decide to answer coyly.

He narrows his eyes, "That's a yes then."

"¿Si te pones celoso, porque me preguntas? (If you get jealous, why would you ask me?)" you question him playfully as you hit the bed.

Javi's jaw ticks, and he says, "I'll make you forget about them."

His tone stirs a needy feeling in you, and you reply, " Sigue de perico, y no vamos hacer todo lo que quiero (Keep talking, and we won't be able to do everything I want)."

Tugging down on his shirt, you give him the signal. He promptly takes it off, treating you to your very own private show.

"Oh my god," you groan appreciatively when you see him shirtless—tan skin, toned stomach, and freckles on display. The grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, showcasing the V line and a dark patch of hair.

Javi revels in the effect he has on you. ”Turn around," he commands with dark eyes.

You instantly comply, spinning around so he can reach your zipper. Instead of tearing your dress off, he hugs you from behind.

“I don’t know if I told you before, but I really love this dress,” Javi says, running his hands over the velvet material. “Do you know how many times you made me hard tonight?” He confesses to having excused himself to the restroom multiple times to handle his hard-on discreetly.

"Javi," you whine impatiently, the revelation only intensifying the sticky mess between your thighs.

He pulls your zipper down, but you turn around, reaching your shoulders to slip the dress off, letting it pool on the hardwood floor.

"Dios mío (My God)," he exhales with a shaky breath.

"¿Te gusta? (Do you like it?)" you ask, referring to your lingerie that matches your dress. You're wearing a burgundy thong and a matching bra with lace material, revealing pebbled nipples. His fingers twitch, and he pulls you by the waist.

"Me encanta (I love it)," Javi whispers in your ear. His voice makes you slump against him as he unclasps your bra. “Why did you wear this?” he asks, his kisses trailing down your bare shoulder, devoid of judgment or ill will, just curiosity.

"You know what they say, 'to hope for the best, plan for the best.'"

"I don't think that's how it goes, baby," Javi chuckles into your shoulder and then presses his lips on your neck.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, savoring his kisses.

"Thank you for the outfit, my beautiful girl," he says, instructing you to get on the bed. As you settle on the mattress, you watch as Javi begins to remove his pants.

You watch in awe as his swollen cock presses against his stomach, and an undeniable desire to have it in your mouth engulfs you. Can a dick be pretty? God, his is so beautiful, you think to yourself. Javi gracefully crawls onto the bed, his hand reaching for your unclothed breasts.

“Mmm… so beautiful,” he hums, popping one of your tits into his mouth.

“Oh!” you exclaim, a mix of shock and pleasure coursing through you. Your arms extend onto the bed, and in the throes of passion, you accidentally hit something. The noise prompts Javi to lift his mouth from you and remove the blue sweater that conceals whatever your hands came in contact with. To his surprise, he discovers the present your cousin gifted you earlier.

“Clit and nipple stimulator,” he reads off the box.

Embarrassment washes over you, even though he just had your nipple in his mouth. Before you can say anything, Javi tears the box open and retrieves the toy. He presses the 'on' button, and it comes to life with a soft hum.

“Mi color favorito,” he says with a smirk.

Your brain struggles to form a coherent sentence. Javi sets the suction toy beside you and resumes attending to your nipples with his mouth. Lost in the sensation, your head falls back onto the bed. Suddenly, you feel a vibration around your other nipple. Lifting your head, you see Javi using the red wand on your right nipple.

“Oh God, Javi, I need you inside me,” you moan.

His response is muffled by your soft breasts. Gripping his hair, you lift him off you with a bit of force.

“I need to taste your pussy first,” he says with blown-out eyes.

“No,” you protest, craving him desperately.

It's not what he wanted to hear. “Please?” he insists. “I know I’ll cum embarrassingly fast, and I need to give you something before that happens.”

No. I want you now, you beautiful man. “Just a little bit,” you compromise. Normally, you'd eagerly jump at the prospect of him expressing a desire to eat your pussy, but you're so unbelievably turned on.

He toys with the band of your thong, and you lift your hips to let him remove it. Soon, they're in his hands, tossed aside on the floor. Laid bare for him, you're naked except for your jewelry. The gold 'J' nestles between your breasts, the left one still wet from his saliva, while your pussy glistens with slick accumulated throughout the night.

“Eres tan hermosa. Nunca he visto nada como tú y nada se compara (You're so beautiful. I've never seen anything like you, and nothing compares),” he confesses sincerely. Seeing you laid out before him, looking at him like he hangs the stars, leaves him breathless. He kneels on the floor, gently pulling your legs to be on either side of his face. Javi wastes no time as he begins to lick your cunt.

You gasp, placing one leg on his shoulder for added support. Responding to your silent request, Javi lifts your other leg onto his opposite shoulder.

“Ahh!” you cry out when his mouth presses closer onto your pussy, and he begins to devour you. His tongue explores, collecting all of your wetness into his mouth. Fuck, she tastes so good. I've been waiting to have her in my mouth for so long.

“So sweet, baby girl,” he murmurs between your thighs, causing vibrations that intensify the pleasure. You're already sweating and out of breath, unable to believe how quickly his mouth is bringing you to the edge.

He momentarily stops licking your folds and wraps his lips around your pearl. Your legs jerk, and you can't help but scream out his name. Javi quickly shushes you, urging you to be quiet, though his own noises betray the arousal he feels. He promises himself that once he can take you to his place, he'll never ask you to quiet down.

Opening your eyes, you're captivated by a sinful sight. Javi's intense and piercing gaze meets yours, the obsidian of his eyes seamlessly bleeding into the rich brown of his irises. Simultaneously, his tongue delves into your entrance, a sensation so electrifying that you can no longer endure the sweet torture.

“You’ve made me wetter, Javi, please fuck me.”

“No,” he objects.

“Javi por favor. Mañana podemos hacer de todo, pero te necesito ahora mismo (Javi, please. Tomorrow we can do everything, but I need you now.)”

He chides, “terca (stubborn girl),” but relents, releasing your legs. Taking matters into your own hands, quite literally, you guide him onto your bed, pushing him to lie back as you straddle him.

He believes he's died and gone to heaven, with you on top of him—a dream come true. “Condom?” he rasps out.

“I’m clean and on Nexplanon,” you nod toward your arm. “Are you okay with that?”

Feeling his cock pulse at the thought of being with you without a barrier, Javi nods vigorously and says, “Me matas bebita (you kill me, baby girl).”

His words draw a smile from you as you reach behind, feeling the velvety skin of his arousal in your hand. With deliberate slowness, you stroke him up and down.

“Uhh… fuck!” Javi groans, tossing his head back onto your pillow. The raw, guttural sounds escaping him become music to your ears, encouraging you to keep stroking him. Precome coats your hand, and you use it to slickly spread the moisture over him as makeshift lube. Javi continues panting, and you decide it's enough.

Rising on your knees, you guide him to your entrance. His head breaches you, and an involuntary whine escapes your lips.

“Oh,” you gasp, squirming on his lap. 

“Mmm!” Javi’s jaw drops, unable to believe that you're creating such intensity with just his tip inside

You ride him to open up, moving yourself on his head. “God, Javi!” your body burns as you straddle him. 

“Told you…” he pauses, gritting his teeth. “I should've s-tretched you.” 

You shake your head. “I can take you. I just- uh! I just need some time.” Javi is big and thick, prolonging the process, but you'd rather struggle than have him prep you.

As you keep bouncing on his tip, Javi thrusts up into you, causing both of you to moan. He places both hands, previously gripping your sheets, on either side of your waist, helping him fit more of his cock inside you. You rock back, feeling yourself open up, and you lower yourself down.

Your mouth hangs open, and you wail as the thickest part of him is embraced by your walls. Javi groans heavily and embeds his nails on your waist. You moan at the small ripple of pain and work yourself to sink down some more.

“I-I thought- ah! que me querías calladita, (that you wanted me to quiet down) and look at you…uhh louder than me.”

“You feel s-oh!” Javi can’t finish his response because you fully sit on his cock. Your hips are flush with his, and he swears he can cum this instant. 

“Hold on,” he tells you, breathing heavily, eyelids closed, and stilling you.

Once he feels he’s regained some composure, he lifts you off him. You slowly start to rock back and forth, chewing your lip to keep from screaming out. 

“Does it feel good?” Javi asks, eyes open once more.

You meet his dark eyes and moan, “Mhm, s-so good… Oh! Javi," you whine, "So big… you’re so big.”

He pulsates inside you, a low groan escaping his lips. "You can't say that," he mutters, shaking his head, not to express disagreement but to calm himself. Not yet, not yet, he chants. 

“Why not? It’s true.” You argue, throwing your head back at the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep going. Then I won’t earn first place for the best sex this room’s ever seen,” he laughs lightly to mask his mortification because he knows he’ll be cumming soon.

"You're so much better than anyone else,” you assure him, seeing through the self-deprecating comment he made.

He lights up at your praise. "Yeah?”

"Yes! You make me so full,” you sigh, bouncing on him a little faster. Your hand movement transitions from his hips to both hands sprawled on his abdomen. Pressing your body closer to him at an angle, both of you shake with pleasure. You keep rocking against him, and all he can do is watch. Javi takes in the way your breasts bounce and the way your necklace shines. Overcome with desire and possessiveness, he sits up suddenly, making you whine when you feel his sweaty and hot body against yours.

Javi seeks your mouth, and you eagerly comply. Your mouths crash, and it's all tongue and teeth. He's moving you slowly against him, but it's still a delicious sensation, and you can't help but moan into his mouth. The air in your lungs is slowly decreasing, so you pull away, and your head falls onto his shoulder. With your mouth away from him, he's able to wrap his arms around you and rock up, up, up with intensity. His pace ignites something within you, and you bite his wet tan skin to muffle your cries. Javi feels you tighten on him, and he pants out, “How are you so perfect? No entiendo (I don’t understand.)”

You can't answer him; you just bounce on him, feeling the telltale sensation of your lower stomach nearing the finish line.

“Amor,” he groans. The word sounds like sweet honey coming from Javi's lips, and it makes you gasp. Javi catches on and asks you, “¿Te gusta cuando te digo así? (Do you like it when I call you like that?)”

“Sí,” you confirm. He adjusts the angle of your legs, causing the wind to knock out of you, and the only words you're capable of saying are, “Amor, amor, amor…” This is the first time you've ever called Javi ‘amor’, and it does something to him. He knows he’s got a minute max before he blows his load.

Frantically, he takes one hand off your body and scrambles to find something on the bed. Lost in ecstasy, you don't notice, but then you feel a vibration on your pearled nub, and you jump from surprise. In an instant, you look down and see Javi has the red toy and is using it against your clit. Your eyes begin to water as you reel in the feeling of the man you love inside you and the delicious sucking of the toy.

You don't warn him; you don't even process the thought yourself, but you begin to shake on top of Javi. You feel every nerve in your body— all seven trillion of them—explode. You come in silence with your mouth into a perfect ‘o’. 

Javi doesn’t let up his ministrations; he keeps thrusting his hips upwards and using the red wand, prolonging your high. “That’s it, amor, you look so pretty cumming for me,” he whispers full of adoration. “Good girl, good girl,” he chants as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

Javi bites his lower lip, determined to make this moment last longer; he never wants it to end. Once your vocal cords start functioning again, you cup his face with one hand and, with desperation, you tell him, "Ven, amor, relléname (Come, my love, cum in me).”

Javi feels like fireworks are going off in his body. He keens at your words filled with love and desire for him; he has no choice but to obey. The dam in his abdomen breaks, and “Ahh!” he groans, voice broken and raspy, letting go of the toy. You feel his hips stutter as they lose their steady rhythm, and he pulsates and spasms, the warmth of his seed fills you as he climaxes in ropes. Your body is overworked and sensitive, but you keep bouncing on him to milk every drop. You can't look away from him. His eyelids are heavy, his mouth is parted and panting as he moans and growls hoarsely, his neck is extended showing all the veins, and his skin is flushed in a beautiful red hue. Javi repeats your name over and over as his high washes over him. You caress his nape and run your fingers through his hair as he comes down from it. His spend and yours drip out of you and onto Javi.

"Holy fuck, that was amazing," Javi laughs, and you feel the rumble in his chest.

"Yeah?" you ask coyly.

“Best of my life," he sighs and rolls you over so you're underneath him.

You laugh and crane your neck to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. God, that sound, Javi thinks. "I love you," he says, knowing he'll never stop telling you those three words.

"I love you," you echo. "Come on, let's sleep," you tell him.

"I've got to clean you up first," he says, climbing off and pulling out of you. You whine at the loss and miss him inside of you already.

His expression looks pained as he looks between your parted thighs, seeing his seed seeping out of your puffy cunt. Javi fights with himself as he debates leaving you with his cum inside. His index and middle fingers are taken by you and guided to your opening.

"Push it all inside," you command, knowing he doesn't really want to wipe it away.

"But your bed and—"

“Me vale (I don’t care)," you interrupt. Javi has always been concerned about how his actions affect you, and you find it sweet. However, you want this. You know he won’t give in to his desires if he thinks you don’t want this. So, you have to convince him you do. “Please,” and just like that, he’s collecting the creamy liquid around your labia and pressing it back inside you. 

You're oversensitive, but you melt at the feeling of his thick and long fingers inside you. Gripping onto his bicep, you savor the sensation as he makes sure most of the sticky substance goes back inside you. Whatever remnants are on his fingers, he sucks them and closes his eyes at the taste. You stare up at him and swear you could go another round if he didn’t fuck the energy out of you. 

“Should I go back to my room?” Javi asks. He doesn’t want to, but maybe you’d rather sleep alone.

“Please stay,” you tell him, gripping his arm tighter.

He nods. “Okay, baby, I’ll stay.” You sit up on your bed and undo your covers. Javi walks across the room to turn off the light, and when he comes back, you’re underneath your quilt. He climbs in next to you and extends his left arm so you can snuggle to his side. 

“Buenas noches, amor,” he whispers.

“Good night, amor. I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” you tell Javi before you drift to sleep.

In the silence, he admires your features and says, “I can’t wait to make you my wife and wake up next to you for the rest of our lives. Feliz Navidad, mi vida”

Extended A/N: I wrote this when Frankie didn’t exist yet; I promise I just don’t write for Javi! 

The last chapter of IYW should be out next week if I’m able to recolor the gifs I need. Thank you for reading!

[trulybetty]

10 x cards - javi peña x reader

prompt: cards pairing: javi peña x reader word count: 337 notes: fluff, grump peña with a side of maybe a little hint of romantic peña? no y/n & no physical descriptions of reader summary: javi has his moments, sometimes

A/N: this was one of the first ideas when I saw the prompts list, so this was from my original notes when I was debating if I wanted to do this challenge

x. masterlist

You stared at the white envelope that had been unceremoniously dropped in front of you from above. The chicken scratch of your name on the front gave it away who it was from before you even looked up from your coffee to see who was there.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he practically grunted back as he pulled out a chair to sit opposite you.

Amused, you placed down your coffee cup and reached out for the stark white envelope, the smile on your face wide when you realised it actually was what you had guessed.

He tried to take it back, “If you’re going to mock me, I’ll just take it back!” but you were quicker and clutched the card to your chest.

“I'm not mocking you,” you chuckled, holding the envelope out of his reach. “I'm genuinely touched, really. I can't believe you actually got me a card.”

He scoffed and looked away, trying to hide the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, don't make a big deal out of it. It's just a dumb Valentines card. They're a dime a dozen.”

He looked slightly flustered, averting his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. His tough exterior seemed to soften just for a fraction as he watched anxiously.

You chuckled at his attempt to hide his true intentions. With anticipation, you carefully tore open the envelope and unfolded the card inside. The sound of his heavy sigh filled the air as you read the heartfelt message written in his distinctive handwriting.

With the card pressed against your chest, a genuine smile spread across your face. “Thank you Javi,” you said, your voice full of affection, “you old romantic you,” you added with a wink.

You could see the redness creeping up his cheeks as he responded with a small laugh, “I'm serious, don't expect this to happen again.” But despite his words, his smile gave away his true feelings.

[undercoverpena]

in my room

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)

warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.

an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.

It begins swarmed in grief.

A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.

He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.

Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.

He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.

And then he comes across you.

Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.

The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.

Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.

You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.

Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.

The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.

Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—

It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.

Then, he’d laid eyes on you.

You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.

In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.

It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.

It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.

It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.

Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.

There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.

Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.

“¿Cómo?”

Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”

“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”

Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.

But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”

He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”

Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”

“But not you?”

Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”

That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.

Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.

Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.

And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.

A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.

A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.

“You should go inside your room.”

But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.

“Do you want me to, Peña?”

It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.

“You want me to walk away from you?”

No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.

So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”

It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.

You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.

“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.

“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.

And it does.

Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.

“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”

Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”

And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.

Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.

“Last chance.”

He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.

Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.

It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.

Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.

“Last chance,” you echo.

Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.

“This how you pictured it at your desk?”

He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.

And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.

It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.

He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.

Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.

“You like that, princesa?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“Take me so well. Y’know that?”

Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.

“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.

“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.

Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.

A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.

Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.

“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”

It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.

He’s hard to avoid.

More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.

All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.

There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.

Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.

But he comes back. Again, and again.

And you can't understand why.

You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—

Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.

A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.

It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.

Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.

It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.

It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.

Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.

On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.

It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.

Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.

You reckon he sees you.

Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.

You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.

While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.

From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.

It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.

Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.

The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.

As it makes you feel less alone.

Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.

It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.

It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.

Now, though, it’s different.

The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.

A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—

That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.

And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.

So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.

And then he finds you instead.

Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.

As though he’s seeking something out.

Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.

He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.

“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”

Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.

Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.

To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.

But it never is.

Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—

Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.

It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.

Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.

You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.

“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”

“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”

His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.

Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.

Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.

But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.

“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”

You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.

Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.

“I don’t like you.”

Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”

His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.

The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.

“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”

Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”

It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.

And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.

Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—

“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”

His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.

If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.

“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”

Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.

In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.

So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.

He knows.

You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.

Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—

“Fuck, I love making you come.”

His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.

You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.

Him and you. You and him.

A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.

You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.

It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.

“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”

A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.

Because you know him as much as he understands you.

It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.

He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.

Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.

Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.

If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.

“Javier…”

I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.

He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.

Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.

The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.

It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.

“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”

He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.

And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.

Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.

Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.

He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.

Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.

Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.

Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.

He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.

A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.

Javi reflects—thinks.

But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.

“Need your cock, Javi.”

He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.

The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.

He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.

It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.

Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.

So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”

No question, no ask.

Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.

Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:

“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”

And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.

It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.

It’s more than that.

And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.

Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.

But he doesn’t.

There’s always next time, though.

an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.

[milla-frenchy]

Neat

2k0 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3

Summary: Javi broke up with you, convinced that you were too different. He regrets it and comes to your apartment one night, drunk. You "take advantage" of him. 

Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon (somnophilia), oral (f/m), face riding, spitting, very light rimming/anal play, piv, creampie. Javi’s pov

No age specified

a/n: thank you @iamasaddie for your writing challenge 2.0 😍

Genre : pwp / Prompt: “I still hate you, by the way” I LOVED IT 💛

thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta reading 💕

Mood board by @aurorawritestoescape 💕💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

****************

“I hate you Javi”, were the last words he heard from you, before you slammed the door of his apartment several months ago.

Before that day, you were “his sunshine”, as he used to say. He called you ‘bebita’ (baby girl), and he had never called anyone like that before. “You’re too sweet for me”, he kept repeating. You used to think it was cute, until you understood what he meant.

Javi was a night owl, and you were not. He liked to lose himself in alcohol and smoked way too much. He told you he was dark and would eventually extinguish your flame. That he would break your heart.  And that's exactly what he did.

Since then, you were no longer in his life. Steve kept telling him that he had spared you a shitty life, but he wasn't sure anymore.

So he thought about the past. The way you too fucked. How your lips rounded around his cock as he slid into your mouth and then your throat. How your hips or your waist accepted his fingers digging into the flesh as he thrust into you, kneeled behind you, jaw clenched. How you came on his tongue, his fingers or his cock, whispering his name.

Javi.

How your pussy used to take his length, and how he loved watching where your bodies joined, his cock all creamy with your weakness. How each time he held back because he didn’t want to come yet. Wanting to feel you more. Deeper, longer. So he used to make you look down there too, while he was focused on your face so he could keep fucking you a little longer.

He thought about it in the shower every morning, while he was jerking his length.

He thought about it every night, when he spurted his load on the sheets.

The girls of the brothel couldn't help him forget you. Their hips, their asses, their hands weren’t yours. Their cunts weren’t yours.

So he drank every night, more than before. To trick his brain. To forget that if you were suffering, it was because he had broken up with you.

One night, he couldn’t resist any longer. Alcohol made him forget his principles, gave him the liquid courage, so he knocked on your door in the middle of the night and when you opened, he staggered into your apartment.

“Javi, what the fuck?” 

You raised your hands before dropping them in annoyance, and by the time you turned around, he had already collapsed on your couch.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled and went back to bed.

When Javi woke up two hours later, it was still dark and he didn't remember why he was on a couch that wasn't his. And when his foggy mind realized that a part of him was warm, the headache hit him. The whiskey hadn’t worn off and he didn’t understand immediately where this heat came from. He straightened up slightly and looked down, his eyes now slightly accustomed to the darkness, and he couldn't believe that you were blowing him.

He called your name in a low voice but you didn’t stop, your fist slightly tight on his shaft, just above his balls. Your other hand was on his hip, your thumb rubbing his skin.

“What are you doing?” he added, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled him out of your mouth, making him whimper. You licked his tip and slit, and replied “you came here to fuck me, right? What’s your problem then?”

He frowned and you took him back into your mouth. Your lips rounded around his crown before your head started bobbing up and down, your saliva running down his shaft. He rested his head on the couch, surrendering to you objectifying him like that, even if the courage that alcohol had given him the day before had already evaporated. He missed your mouth too much. The way you sucked his cock like it was the best you have ever had, like you worshiped it. Your fist, accompanying your mouth, was still around his shaft, jerking him lazily then firmly, alternating rhythms perfectly.

When you pulled him out of your mouth again, he couldn't help but moan at the loss of your warmth. He knew it made you smile. He just knew.

You ran your tongue all over his length, from his balls to his tip. Your tongue then traveled down, to his balls. His moans became grunts, when you made them roll under your tongue, lapping one then the other and licking off the light sweat under them.

“Fuck, Hermosa…” he managed to say.

So you focused there, on that thin skin beneath his balls, and you slid your finger up to his ring, rubbing the surface gently. You had taken his cock back into your mouth, and your lips and finger were starting to make him see stars. His headache was forgotten.

“Wait…you’re gonna make me come, wait”, he said almost painfully.

You sat up, sliding your tongue over his whole length, to make him moan one last time.

“Make me come,” you told him as you crawled up his body, until your pussy leveled with his face. He looked up at you, your glistening pussy, your hips, your breasts just inches from him. Your face lowered towards him. You brushed your clit against his nose and whined. Your hips moving back and forth, you were fucking yourself on his face, from your folds to your clit.

“Fuck”, you whimpered.

He let you be in charge. Let you use him however you wanted, while your scent and taste drove him crazy. He darted out his tongue and slid it between your folds just when you lingered for a few moments with your clit on his nose. Your wetness flowed down to him. He kept thinking about how much he missed it. Your taste, your pussy. You.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you against him, his impatience taking over. He pushed his tongue inside you, eager to taste you fully. He growled into your folds and you moaned louder. He rocked your hips to reach your clit, placing his lips around it and sucking on it. His tongue swirled over it, and he felt the way your body reacted, the way your thighs squeezed his temples. The way you undulated on top of him, speeding up then slowing down to play with your orgasm and it made him smile, just like before. He tightened his hands on your thighs when you came, to keep you against him a little more. He didn’t release you immediately when your spasms stopped. He pushed his tongue into your core one last time, to lap up all the wetness that hadn’t yet dripped down his chin.

He released his grip and you crawled back until you looked at each other, and he wondered if you were going to kiss him. You caressed his cheek, and said “open”. His gaze darkened and you grabbed his chin between your fingers. You let your saliva fall from your mouth to his and whispered “swallow, Javi”. And it was one of the most sensual things anyone had ever done to him in his life. “Again”, he asked and you did. Then you kissed him, tangling your tongue with his. Tasting your saliva in his mouth.

You grabbed his hands, pinning them above his head, and said “I’m gonna fuck myself on your cock. And you’re gonna let me do it.” He nodded. Of course he was much stronger than you and could have gotten away. But that didn't occur to him. When you grabbed his cock to impale yourself on it, he closed his eyes for two seconds, time to assimilate this sensation that was in his fantasies every day, that he finally was about to feel again. He opened his eyes when your pussy swallowed him entirely. You didn't move, keeping him buried in you for a few moments as if you too were getting used to that feeling again. He was struggling not to cum already. Your tight pussy was squeezing his cock so hard. 

“Not yet, Javi”, you told him. He nodded and tried to  think about something else, even though he didn't take his eyes off you. Anything that could make him forget the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock. You started to move, and god he loved it. Your cunt. Feeling her warmth around his cock. The way your folds were slowly getting used to his size. His hands were still trapped in yours, and he loved the view of your face above him, approaching then moving away from him at regular, sensual and slow rhythms.

“God, you’re such an asshole…but I love your cock.”

He knew that you didn’t mean it, that it was your bruised heart that was speaking, not you. He was afraid to answer, to confess he missed your cunt, that he missed you.

“Spit in my mouth”, he finally said. You smirked and did it again. You knew him. You knew why he asked you that. 

“Shit Javi, I’m gonna come.” You were rubbing your clit against his lower stomach for several minutes and he knew your climax was approaching. You buried your face in his neck when you came for the second time, continuing to rub him gently, at a slower pace. He felt your pussy pulsing on his shaft and he clenched his fists.

You looked at him and said “you’re gonna fuck me now.”

“How do you want it?” he asked.

You took his hand and led him to your bedroom. 

He followed you, staring at your ass. You got on all fours on your bed, without looking at him. “Spread it for me,” he said. He wanted to see you, all of you, in the dim light. You spread your buttocks, your cheek resting on the pillow, and remained offered to him until he knelt behind, caressing the roundness of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful, Hermosa”, he said, like a million times before.

He let his saliva fall, slide from your ring to your pussy, following the curves of your body. He leaned down and licked in one stroke from your folds to your ass then positioned his cock at your entrance. He wanted to feel you again, to sink into you like a beast. He thrust and bottomed out in one go, leaving you breathless. 

But he didn't stop, he knew you didn't want him to, that you wanted to feel him roughly. He held onto your hips, fucking you hard and fast, teeth gritted. Yet it still wasn’t enough for him, and he grabbed your neck, pressing your cheek further into the pillow, thrusting ever faster and harder. He heard the headboard banging against the wall. Every time he thrust his cock in your core he told himself that he missed it. This feral fuck with you. And each thrust he became a little more angry with himself. He looked at your hips, your back, your neck. Your cheek. Your mouth. He heard your moans, louder and louder as he fucked you ever faster.  He hesitated to slow down, to keep you a little longer. But it was too late. So he kept chasing his orgasm, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come”, he growled. A little desperately. And then he thrust one last time, staying deep inside you, showering your walls with his white spurts. He felt like it was never going to end. His hands holding your waist firmly, keeping you close to him. “Fuck”, he said. He pulled back, seeing his cock and balls covered by your wetness.

Then he lay down next to you and lit a cigarette. You took it from his fingers and took a drag. “You’re a pain in the ass with your cigarettes, Javi”, you said. He smiled.

When you opened the door for him to leave later, the sun was rising.

“I still hate you, by the way.”

“I know”, he said, before you closed the door behind him.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[tightjeansjavi]

suave

A/N: the Javier Peña brain rot is in full swing! Mans just deserves all the simple pleasures in life including face masks, a bath with his lover, and fresh fruit 🤍 thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for betaing and translating! You already know how much I adore you, cariño ;)

~word count: 1.3k~

Summary: a glimpse of a self care evening with your boyfriend Javier Peña

Pairing | Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: domestic fluff, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, no age gap, intimacy, implied smut, Javier is in love, both the reader and Javier speak fluent Spanish, grumpy!javi, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Espero que tengas razón, querida - I hope you’re right, darling

Bésame, Javier - Kiss me, Javier

Te quiero, mi corazón - I love you, my heart.

Te quiero, Jav - I love you, Jav

¿De verdad tengo elección, hermosa? - Do I really have a choice, hermosa?

¿Te metes en la bañera conmigo, querida? - Are you going to join me in the tub, darling?

Mmm, paciencia, mi amor - Mhm. Patience, my love

¿Confías en mí, no? - You trust me, don’t you?

Pues claro que confío en ti, querida - Of course I trust you, darling

Relájate - Relax

¡Joder! Esto está más frío de lo que me esperava - Fuck! That is colder than I was expecting

Sí lo es, pero es un frío resfrecante, ¿no? - It is, but it’s a refreshing cold, no?

Eres tan preciosa, cariño. Pero esto huele raro, y hace cosquillas - You’re so beautiful, baby. But this stuff smells funny, and it tickles

Muy guapo, Javi - Very handsome, Jav

Muy americano - Very American

Juguetona - Tease

Te necesito, hermosa. Por favor. - Need you, gorgeous. Please

¿Me puedes leer un poco, amor - Will you read to me, lover?

Pero estás tan guapo con las gafas puestas, Jav - But you look so handsome in them, Jav

Y me los pongo sólo para ti, querida - And I wear them just for you, darling

Javier Peña almost never finds the time to relax. That is until you have something to say about it. Your boyfriend believes that self care comes in the shape of a bottle, lighter, and cigarette pack. Your definition of self care is vastly different, but Javier is always a good sport, even if he’s reluctant at first.

“Hermosa, I’m failing to understand how this shit that you wanna put on my face is supposed to be relaxing.” He grumbles and drags his hand through water being filled in the tub. He’s careful to not accidentally light himself on fire due to the surrounding candles that were lit for an added ambience.

“Javier, this ‘shit’ is relaxation in a jar, guapo.” You sit along the edge of the tub with the homemade face mask resting in your lap.

He looks over at you, a few wispy strands of hair fall over his face and you reach over to gently brush them away. He catches your hand gently and pressed his plush lips to the underside of your fingertips. The trimmed hairs on his mustache lightly tickles your skin. He chuckles, eyes meeting yours.

“Espero que tengas razón, querida.”

You smile softly at him as he affectionately kisses your fingertips. You lean in close, nose brushing against his and whisper, “Bésame, Javier.”

He gently guides your fingers to rest along his sharp jawline before he closes the short gap between you and kisses you sweetly. If Javier Peña didn’t have such a demanding job, he would spend all day kissing you like this.

When he pulls away you bring your finger to the tip of his nose and lightly boop it. His face scrunches inwards at your affection.

“Te quiero, mi corazón.”

He always makes a point to tell you that he loves you. It’s important to him, and everything that he believes in. You’re special to him, and if that means he has to put up with a bit of pampering just to see you smile? So be it.

“Te quiero, Jav.” You peck his lips once more before pulling away. “Ready for some self care?”

“¿De verdad tengo elección, hermosa?”

“No.” You grin.

Soon after your dashing DEA agent is stripped down and relaxing comfortably in the tub with his arms resting on either side of the smooth porcelain. The decor in your shared bathroom reflects both of your personalities. Bright, bold, yet comforting. You and Javier both share a deep love for houseplants so it comes as no surprise that your shared bathroom is like a mini version of the Colombian rainforest.

“¿Te metes en la bañera conmigo, querida?” He asks while watching you pull the hem of your shirt over your head.

“Mmm, paciencia, mi amor.”

He huffs at this and settles deeper into the warm water and surrounding bubbles.

Once you’re undressed, you gather up yours and Javi’s clothes and fold them in a neat pile on the closed toilet seat.

He lets out a relaxed hum when he’s finally graced by your familiar presence in the tub while you situate yourself between his strong thighs. You wrap your legs around his torso, your stomach lightly pressed against his as his arms loop around your waist, hands splayed against your lower back. His thumbs gently tracing patterns along your spine as you unscrew the cap on the face mask jar.

“It’s going to feel a bit cold at first, Jav. But I promise you that it’s nice and relaxing. “¿Confías en mí, no?”

“Pues claro que confío en ti, querida.”He nods with a smile tugging against his lips.

You kiss the corner of his mouth before dipping your fingers into the jar collecting a bit of the paste. “Good boy. Close your eyes, okay? Relájate.” You whisper.

Javi’s lashes flutter shut just as you begin to apply the mask to his skin. He makes a grumbled sound from how cold it feels. It’s refreshing, in a sense. But the DEA agent isn’t quite ready to admit that yet.

“¡Joder! Esto está más frío de lo que me esperava.” He hissed between his clenched teeth.

“Sí lo es, pero es un frío resfrecante, ¿no?”

He begrudgingly agrees.

You’re careful to make sure that none of the product accidentally gets into his mustache. He peeks an eye open to see just how focused you are on applying this mask, and his heart swells.

“Javier.” You playfully chide.“No mires.”

He chuckles and slowly lets his hands rest along your hips now and pulls you in closer.

“Eres tan preciosa,cariño. Pero esto huele raro, y hace cosquillas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his playful complaining and finish applying the mask. “Muy guapo, Javi.”

“Now it’s your turn to relax, hermosa.” He releases you from his gentle grip and takes the jar from your hands. He brings it up to his nose and takes a quick sniff, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

“Strawberries? Muy americano.” He teases.

“Says the man who sometimes uses my strawberry scented body wash.” You tease back.

He huffs at this, shaking his head as he looks at you. It’s in that moment that you wish you had a camera just so you could take a picture of him.

“Because it smells like you, querida.” He whispers and begins to gently apply the face mask. His touch is gentle, delicate and even though he tells you to close your eyes, you keep them open just so you can stare at his beautiful face.

While the face masks dry, you find yourself feeding Javier pieces of fruit that you cut up earlier. He makes a suggestive comment of wanting to eat you instead, but you decline and place another sliver of ripe mango between his perfect kissable lips. A bit of juice rolls down the corner of his lips and chin and before he can wipe it away, you lean in and playfully lick up the stray drops.

“Juguetona.” He mutters.

By the time Javier has gotten his fill of fruit, the masks are completely dry and you both gently begin to wash them off. Once your skin is bare, he wastes no time with molding his lips against yours while your arms drape around his neck, fingers sliding through the back of his hair.

“Te necesito, hermosa. Por favor.” He pants softly against your lips.

So, you let him have you.

You don’t think you’ve ever loved a man more than you love Javier Peña when he insists on getting out of the tub first just so he can wrap you up in a towel. He even lets you apply moisturizer to his face before you find yourselves in bed at last.

He’s having his bedtime cigarette while you’re reading your book with your head resting comfortably against his chest.

“Jav?” You ask softly.

“Yes, querida?” He tilts his chin down so he can look at you and blows the smoke off to the side.

“¿Me puedes leer un poco, amor?”

He’s already reaching for your book and gently plucking it from your hands. He knows how much you love his voice, and he’s happy to oblige. He however, hates his reading glasses with a passion, and thinks he looks silly in them. But for you, he’ll do anything to make you happy.

“Hate the way these silly things look on my face.” He huffs as he adjusts his reading glasses on his face.

“Pero estás tan guapo con las gafas puestas, Jav.”

He finishes off his cigarette and douses it in the bedside ashtray before his attention focuses on you once more. His freehand drops down to your face, cupping your jaw gently as he leans down. He kisses you sweetly as his thumb brushes across your cheekbone.

“Y me los pongo sólo para ti, querida.”

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[whatsnewalycat]

Burn It Down - One Shot

Javier Peña x Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: Javier's POV, Angst, Established Secret Relationship, Infidelity, Drunk Driving (DON'T DO THAT!), Leg Grinding, Dirty Talk, Orgasm, Possessive Javier, Angst With A Happy Ending

A/N: Story inspiration from "The Ideal Husband" by Father John Misty. This was originally a scene I had in mind when I started writing Just Dumb Enough to Try (can you tell I was listening to a lot of FJM??), but it didn't work with those characters or their relationship.

I revisited it and fleshed it out and changed some stuff, and, voilà!

[ Masterlist ] [ Taglist ] [ AO3 ]

He should leave. 

Just turn the car around and go back home. 

But the pragmatic part of his brain is riding in the backseat. Whiskey has the wheel now. 

The digital clock on the dash reads 7:00 AM. He shakes his head in disbelief when he realizes it's been just 24 hours since he woke up in your bed and everything was fine. 

What he wouldn't give to go back in time and be there again. Heat of your body clinging to him. Buried under your white bedsheet. Watching your fingertips dance across his torso. 

Sometimes he closes his eyes and tries to trace the path your touch takes. Other times he watches inquisitively. Always trying to decode the invisible messages you draw onto his skin in these quiet moments. When he asks you what you're writing, the answer is always the same. 

"It's a secret," you teased, amusement at his curiosity drawing your gaze to his. Humor crinkled the delicate skin at the corners of your eyes. 

You and your goddamn secrets. 

If he could go back in time to 7:00 AM yesterday, this could have all been avoided. He'd tell himself to get the fuck out as soon as you suggested breakfast. Before he could have a chance to wander around your kitchen and study the artifacts of your life with the man who lives there. He wouldn't have seen the calendar on the wall. 

"I have to go. Shit to do on the ranch," he could have lied. He could have gotten dressed and gone home. 

He wouldn’t have spent the whole day drinking himself into a stupor, trying to get rid of your voice in his head. Trying to make your bright smile, your infectious laugh, disappear from his memory. Trying to erase the penciled-in note on your calendar. 

This all could have all been avoided. 

Despite all the things that could have been, though, he's here. Turning down your street. Coming to a stop and shifting the gear into park. Watching the closed curtains for any sign of movement. 

He pries open the center console and pulls out a shiny aluminum flask, then slouches down in the driver's seat and starts to empty its contents into his belly, one pull at a time. Taking a drink every time the deep ache of yearning tightens around his heart. 

No, see, despite all the things that could have been, you're in this house and he's out here. You're in there, probably still tucked into the bed and sleeping soundly, and you can never unhear the things he said to you. 

Yesterday will never happen again. No do-overs in this life, unfortunately, regardless of how many times Javi has wished there would be. Yesterday will always be the day you were greasing a frying pan, and he snuck up behind you, circling his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You reached back and blindly ran your fingers through his hair as you melted against him. 

He mumbled against your skin, "Wish we could do this every day."

Now that he thinks about it, maybe those words were the catalyst, not the calendar. His admission of wanting anything more. Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. 

Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship. 

The way your body reacted to his confession told him that you know this, too. 

It was subtle, the way you tensed ever-so-slightly, pulse jumping against his lips. It was so slight, he thought he might have imagined it. But now, looking back, he has decided it was another one of your secrets. Always trying to hide pieces of yourself away, as if you want it to be impossible for any single person to see all of you at one time. 

It's been occurring to him, more and more lately, that he desperately wants to be the person you'll hand all your broken pieces to. He wants to splay you out on his dining room table like a 1000-piece puzzle that's halfway completed. 

Fuck, more than anything on this Earth, he wants to hover above you, studying each intricate, jigsawed fraction of you until he's memorized them all. Then maybe, you can both figure out how it all fits together. Then maybe, he can see all of you at one time. 

Then maybe, he can trust you with his own broken pieces. 

"I do, too, Javi," you whispered. 

Your voice wasn't hopeful. Instead, it was thick with sorrow that settled heavy in his chest like pneumonia. His hands fell away from your sides and he stepped back, giving you space to cook. You started to crack eggs into a stainless steel bowl while he casually studied the kitchen. The metallic ting-crack of eggshells giving way to the lip of the bowl was background music to his exploration. 

When he closes his eyes and recounts these events, that ting-crack echoes loudly. 

He examined the shelf of cookbooks, wondering if any of them were hand-me-downs from your mom or grandma. As he continued to stroll, he saw trinkets and contemplated their significance, too. Filed them away as potential pieces of the puzzle. Always looking for clues. 

And then he found one. 

His eyes fell on a bird calendar hanging from the wall next to your corded home phone. November 1998 was represented by the kingfisher. Its teal and rust feathers contrast and compliment each other in a striking way that he found himself admiring. Then he noticed a penciled-in note for this coming Tuesday, handwriting unmistakably yours: Wedding Cake Testing 6:00. 

You were whisking the eggs together, head down, and didn't see his face when he shattered. It was obvious to him at that moment that the two of you were just playing house for the weekend. He was just filling in as Daddy while your fiancé was away on a business trip. The unspoken truth, glaring right in the eyes. 

And it ruined him. 

Of all the complicated emotions fighting over control of his brain, rage was the victor. The edges of his vision tinged red and hot. He clenched his teeth together and leaned back against the countertop, watching you with indignation as you cluelessly went about making breakfast. 

"Do you really or are you just saying that so I'll keep fucking you?" he heard the rage say. 

You were about to pour the eggs into the pan, but lowered the bowl and turned around to face him, chuckling with confusion, "Wh- what?"

He knows now that there was no way for you to see this coming. You couldn't have foreseen the blinding rage that overrode him. But your confusion fueled the flame anyway. 

All he could think is: It's all a goddamn act.   An illusion. You and your fucking secrets. This other life you lead when he’s not there. 

It burned hot in his veins. 

He didn’t take the evidence into account. The way you look at him like he's the only person who exists. The few broken pieces you allow him to see. Your claims to misery, a whispered confession the night before: "I feel trapped when I'm with him, and when I'm with you I'm free."

Because there you were, standing in a kitchen that your fiancé owns, scrambling eggs that your fiancé bought, drowning in your fiancé's t-shirt, wearing that fucking diamond ring on your left hand, and Javier was certain you had no intention of leaving. 

You opened your mouth, but just blinked frantically, rendered silent by this part of him you had never seen before. 

He pushed off the countertop and started pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You agreed that you wish we could do this every day,” losing control of himself, he crowded you against the kitchen counter, pressing his nose into your cheek, craning your head to the side, “If that’s true, why haven’t you left him? Hmm? Why him and not me, cariño?” 

You gave no response. Just short, panicked puffs of air against his cheek. 

"What does he have that I don’t? Is it because you don’t want to be seen with someone like me?”  

“Someone like you? I- I don’t-” 

“Don't play dumb, you know what I mean," he sneered, palms pressing down on either side of your waist, cornering you there like his prey, "What is it, baby? What does he have that I don't? Hmm?" 

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. A soft gasp expanded your lungs when he husked, “Does he pay attention to you like I do?"

"No," you whimpered and shook your head. 

He shifted his hips and wedged a knee between your legs, "Does he touch you like I do?"

When you shook your head this time, his teeth caught your earlobe and a little moan escaped your throat. The warmth of your sex found his thigh and you arched into the contact. He pulled back enough to meet your eyes, all confusion and blown-out pupils as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

"Does he fuck you like I do? Hmm, baby?" his heart was thudding loud in his chest, searching your eyes for the truth. 

You bit down on your bottom lip and held back a moan, shaking your head as you began rubbing yourself against his leg. 

“I didn’t fucking think so," he growled, grabbed your face and captured your lips in his. The kiss was possessive and heated. 

Simultaneously, he wanted to destroy you and make you whole. He wanted his touch to haunt your body long after you married this fucking prick. He wanted to spoil your appetite for other men so completely that the thought of anyone else touching you would bring on bouts of nausea. 

He wanted to fucking ruin you. 

Breaking the kiss, he placed his hands on your rolling hips and pressed you down harder. Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the friction. When your gaze snapped back to his, your face was flushed, soft moans falling from your lips as you humped his leg. 

You weren't wearing any underwear and he could feel the heat of your cunt through the thick denim of his jeans. When he looked down at the place your bodies met, the dampened fabric as proved that you fucking loved this. 

"I wish he'd walk in and see you just like this," he growled, digging his fingers into your hips, making you gasp. 

You grabbed onto the sides of his shirt and used him as leverage, gaining more momentum.

"See you rubbing that sweet pussy all over my leg," he purred, meeting your hot gaze with his own as he uttered the words, "See that you're mine." 

Your mouth gaped open and you started to whimper frantically. Grinding down against his thigh. He could tell you were close. Your eyelids started to flutter. 

"You sit here and placate me, tell me that you want this, and then what? You continue to plan your sham fucking wedding while you fuck me on the side?" he asked through gritted teeth. 

You whimpered and shook your head frantically in denial, "No, baby, that's not true."

"Such a fucking liar, cariño." 

His lips formed an O and he spurred your pace, rocking you back and forth so fast you started taking big, deep, swallows of air and released a choked sob. 

"That's ok, baby, you can use me. Use me to make yourself feel fucking good," he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, rocking you faster now, fueled by the moans slurring together from your throat, "Come on baby, I want you to cum all over my fucking leg. Show me how much you like being my little slut." 

"Oh my god-" you gasped, "Yes yes yes, I like it."

"Like being a little fucking slut, baby, hmm?"

You nodded, whimpering and gasping, rubbing your cunt all over his drenched, hot leg, reaching a fever pitch. And then your face twisted up with pleasure and you shuddered, "H-holy fuck-”   legs tightening around his as you twitched against him. 

His lips curled into a smile at your sexual satisfaction. He kissed your sweaty forehead, your cheek, your lips through panting breaths. You hummed and closed your eyes, releasing his shirt to link your hands behind his head. 

He wasn't done with you yet, though. 

The inflamed, red part of him was still throbbing. So fucking sure that he had you figured out. So convinced he didn't need to see all the broken pieces to know that you were just toying with him. 

“I can't keep playing boyfriend with you, hoping that one day you'll actually pull the trigger and leave him."

Your chest still heaving, you pulled back and narrowed your eyes in confusion. He stepped away and returned your stare with a piercing gaze. You averted your eyes and closed in on yourself, arms folding in front of your chest. He mistook it as a sign that he was on the right track. 

“Why, cariño? Why are you so fucking content to stay? So you can be miserable? But hey, at least it’s comfortable. Isn't that right? Hmm?"

When you turned to look up at him, meeting his gaze with disbelief and fury, he should have known that you were setting your phasers to kill. 

"Is that what you think, Javier?" you bit off, glaring as you searched his face, “That I want this? Do you think this is fucking fun for me?" 

It was his turn to be rendered silent and unmoving. He watched you carefully. 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do? I have fucking nothing ,” the last word was spoken through gritted teeth. The rage overrode you, too. 

The unspoken truth spoken. It was too much for either of you to handle. 

He cut you off with a lie, “That’s not true.”

“Well, what, are you gonna save me? Let me live with you? You won’t even let me come over when your dad is home,” you scoffed, then stared off into the distance and awaited a reply he couldn't give you. 

The weight of the truth started to settle on your shoulders. He could see them slump. Your face crumpled, folding under the pressure of sorrow that welled up in the corners of your eyes, “Can’t you see that I’m in love with you, Javi? Of course I want you.”

Desperately, you searched his face for a reaction. He couldn’t process this information. So sure that he had you pegged as something much more insidious, so committed to his rage, the question gave him emotional whiplash. 

You could see it then. The panic building in his chest, creeping into the features of his face, widening his eyes. He opened his mouth to form words but nothing came out. He just shook his head. Your confession met with complete and utter terror. 

Your nostrils flared. 

“Get out,” you spat, jabbing a finger against his chest, “Fucking hypocrite.” 

It’s been bubbling between the layers of his skin since. Your confession. Your anger. Your pain. 

Fucking hypocrite. 

You were right. He did as you asked. He left. 

Went home and hit the bottle. Thought long and hard about everything. The broken pieces he can see spread out before him. Waking up next to you. Your secret notes on his skin. How your body tensed up when he tipped his hand. The calendar. Your penciled in note. The rage it evoked. His accusations. Your confession of love. 

Can’t you see that I’m in love with you? 

Now he can. He put it all together. And now he can see it. Even clearer yet, he can see… that he’s in love with you, too. 

He drops the flask back in the center console and slams it shut. Gets out of the vehicle and lets his heavy feet carry him to your front door, where he rings the doorbell. Pounds his fist against the door. 

It swings open, and you’re wrapped up in a plush black robe, hair mussed from tossing and turning in your sleep, squinting puffy eyes at the intrusion. When you register that it’s Javier standing there, swaying unsteadily on your doorstep, you sigh and cross your arms, “What do you want?”

“I needta talk to you,” he slurs, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

Your eyes blink open wider and you study him, then ask, “Are you fucking drunk?” 

He neither confirms nor denies, just shrugs. Which is like a confirmation but at least he doesn’t have to say it out loud. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Javier, get in here,” you groan and turn around into the house. He follows and closes the door behind him, then tries to bend over to take his shoes off, but stumbles forward. 

“Come on,” you pull him upright and wrap an arm around his back, guiding him towards the bedroom, “You need to sleep.” 

“Nnnno- Gotta tell you-” he mumbles, but lets you continue to guide him down the hallway, into your bedroom, where he plops down onto the bed that’s still warm from your body heat. 

You untie his shoes and yank them off. They thud on the hardwood floor, one at a time. He hums once they’re off and tries to sit up to look at you, but you press your fingers against his chest and guide him back against the bed, “He’s not gonna be back 'til tomorrow, you can sleep it off here.” 

His eyes close and he feels the room start to spin and fade as you take his pants off, then start unbuttoning his shirt. While you methodically strip him down into comfort so he can sleep, he tries time and time again to touch you, to pull you into an embrace, to make it like it was at this time yesterday. But you swat him away, muttering to yourself in annoyance. Or maybe you’re asking him questions. He’s not sure anymore. 

He hears you ask, “Why did you even come here, Javi? Can’t believe you drove in this condition.” 

This triggers his memory. He recalls the purpose of this trip. 

“I love you too,” he blurts out. You freeze. His eyes blink open and meet yours. 

Your eyebrows are pressed together, lips parted in shock. He lets it sink in. When you respond, your eyes are brimming with tears and your voice is quivering, “Don’t fuck with me right now, Javier.” 

“Mmmnot fucking with you, cariño,” he swears. His hand finds yours, and this time you let him take it, but it’s limp in response. He rubs his thumb against your skin and doesn’t part his gaze, tries his hardest not to slur his words, “I’m tired of running. Don’t wanna hide. I’m in love with you.”

Big, fat tears start to roll hot down your cheeks. You sniffle and wipe them away, avert your gaze, “You’re just saying that because you’re shitfaced.” 

“Nope,” a drunk smile stretches across his face, “Figured it out. I- I wanna marry you, have babies with you, all that. I wan' everything with you.” 

Your gaze meets his, and he can tell you’re trying to determine whether or not this is the booze talking. And, in a way, it is. He probably wouldn’t have said that last part if whiskey hadn’t destroyed his brain-to-mouth filter. He pulls your hand to his lips and plants a kiss on the back of it, then presses it to his cheek and tells you, “I mean it, cariño.” 

“Javi,” you whimper, lips forming a pout as more tears fall, “Can we talk about this when you wake up?” 

“Do you love me?” he asks, searching your face, nuzzling against the heat of your hand. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, “I do love you. Now please get some sleep, drunky pants.” 

“I don’t even have pants on,” he scoffs playfully. 

“I know, baby, I took them off,” you snort, then pull your hand away and tuck him into bed. As soon as the warmth of the blankets surrounds him, he passes out. 

When he wakes, the clock on your bedside table reads 1:35 PM. There’s music playing from a stereo in your kitchen. His head starts to pound as he sits up and puts his clothes back on, then gets out of bed. He vaguely recalls the things he said to you before passing out. 

The floor creaks under his feet when he enters the kitchen, alerting you to his presence. He peers around the room. The bird calendar is still open to November 1998, kingfisher still puffing out its impressive plumage, Wedding Cake Testing 6:00 still penciled in for this Tuesday. 

It’s funny how some things remain static although everything around it has changed. 

“Hey,” you greet him, flashing a hesitant smile as you lean back against the counter and cross your arms. 

Your body language confuses him. Hadn’t he told you? Hadn’t he confessed his love? 

Suddenly, anxiety vibrates his bones and leaves him feeling insecure. He approaches you cautiously, “Hey.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

Your voice is warm and filled with concern. He takes another step towards you and shrugs, “Grateful that you didn’t murder me in my sleep.” 

A grin plays on your lips. He comes closer to you, beckoned by the hopefulness brightening your face. You meet his gaze as he brings his hands to your hips. He slides them around you and your crossed arms that quickly respond, wrapping around his back, pulling him closer. 

The heat of your body in his embrace pulls a content sigh from his chest and he melts into it. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales the scent of you, and he knows. 

“I meant it,” he mumbles against you, closing his eyes and squeezing you tight, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Your fingers dig into his skin, like you’re trying to prevent him from escaping. Like if you hook your barbs into him he can’t leave you here to rot in a lie. But he’s not running. Neither are you. 

“What are we gonna do?” you ask him. 

He knows that this won’t be simple. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. 

“Are you ready to leave him?” he loosens his grasp on you to meet your eyes. Searching for clues. For secrets that might be lingering in the background. 

Your gaze is unflinching as you nod. You’re studying him, too. Both so timid as you tiptoe out from behind the curtains and reveal more of yourselves.

His heart is pounding in his chest, fingers tingling, vulnerability peeling away at his layers until he’s just raw, exposed nerves. 

“Do you wanna come home with me?”

The question leaves a thick residue in his throat, and he swallows hard. 

“Right now? To live?” 

He nods, ignoring the knot of insecurity twisting in his stomach that tries to make him doubt you. 

It’s like the further you both step into the bright light of truth, the more puzzle pieces you each give and receive, and it starts to fall into place. He sees more than those little jigsawed fragments of you now. He starts to see the bigger picture. 

“Yes, Javi,” you nod, eyebrows pressing together as your face crumples into tears of relief. He cups your cheeks with his palms and meets your gaze with a smile that takes up his whole face, folding his eyes into crescent moons. 

You pull him into a kiss that ignites his soul, then melt against him. 

Illuminated by the hot, glowing flames of your lives burning down, he sees you, and he knows that you see him. And he knows the two of you will dance on the ashes and welcome new growth.

[wannab-urs]

Title: Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: After some particularly awful shit goes down, Javi distances himself from you. But he always comes crawling back. 

Tags: Angst, smut, more angst, reference to s2e3 events w Carillo, Javi sleeps with Gabriela (that’s the one from S2E3 y’all), sad!Javi, self hating!Javi, references to blood, wounds, rot, etc, all metaphorical, drinking/alcohol, as always: excessive cursing, me trying to speak spanish (translations provided), arguing, manhandling, dry humping, fingering, oral f receiving, face riding but while lying down, hair pulling, actual riding, Javi very briefly picks you up, that one position from s1e2, unprotected PiV, creampie, Javi crying, Javi yelling, reader yelling, did I mention angst? WC: 2130

A/N: I'm sorry? And thanks to the HBH for beta reading &lt;3

Series Masterlist | Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Crawling back to you Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Javi has avoided you for two weeks now. He got himself involved in some truly fucked up shit with Carillo and couldn’t bear to face you after that. He couldn’t let you see him like that – completely ashamed of himself, broken. He went to Gabriela instead. He knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions, that she would let him take out his anger and helplessness and shame on her. 

When he got home that night he still almost called you, just to hear your voice. You calm something inside him, something dark and violent. But it feels like a sin to expose you to it in the first place. He’s terrified of letting you in. Sure, he’s afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of giving his heart to you and possibly watching you crush it in your hands. But what he’s really scared of is letting you get close enough to see the blood in his teeth, to smell the rot in his chest. Afraid his darkness will infect you, ruin the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. He is a bad man and you are so so good. You deserve better than him.

And yet he can’t truly let you go. Just another reason he doesn’t deserve you. He’s selfish enough to keep going back to you, to keep knocking on your apartment door and burying his pain in your body, only to tuck tail and run the second you push him for more. Most selfish of all is how much he wants more with you. Wants to come home to you every day. To cook dinner with you, to share a bed with you, to share his life with you. He wants everything you want and more and he’s terrified and horrified at the prospect. 

You haven’t called him. Maybe you finally listened to him. Finally accepted he’s not what you want or need. Do you think about calling him? Maybe after a bottle of wine, listening to your maudlin records and relaxing on your couch. Do you drink yourself into a stupor before you can make that mistake like he does? 

He dreams about you, about your body wrapped tightly around his, your nails dragging down his back so sharply it snaps him awake. He finds his whiskey glass turned over and spilled on his couch. His back aches from falling asleep sitting up. He eyes the phone. 

Fuck calling. 

Javi stares at the brass numbers on your apartment door. What the fuck is he doing here? He just can’t leave well enough alone. He pounds on the door until you answer. 

“No.” You slam the door closed. 

He bangs on the door again, fist pausing mid-air as the door swings open. 

“You can’t just come crawling back to me when you get tired of your whores, Javi.” You look beautiful. Standing in your doorway in one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. Righteous anger puts a fire in your eyes, gives a hard set to your jaw.  

“No es así y tú lo sabes.” (It’s not like that and you know it).” Javi steps closer to you, you don’t step back. “Me haces falta. (I miss you). Let me in.” 

“Oh you fucking miss me? It’s been two weeks. Y no llamaste. (and you didn’t call).” You didn’t call him either, but that’s not the point. You didn’t show up at his apartment.

“Sé, lo siento. (I know, I’m sorry).”

“No. No lo eres. Déjame en paz.” (No. You’re not. Leave me alone.).  

“No puedo. You know I can’t.” Javi looks defeated, run down. You know he needs you. Despite the advice of everyone you know and your own better judgment, you step aside and let him in. “Gracias, cariño.” And he sounds so relieved, you almost feel bad for keeping him out, for not calling him. Almost. 

He closes the door behind him and you stalk off to the kitchen, still not quite ready to face him. You pour yourself a glass of whiskey and shoot it, wincing a little at the burn, before grabbing another glass and pouring one for each of you. You set both on the coffee table and sit on the couch, folding your legs beneath you. 

“Why are you here, Javi?” He’d asked himself as much.

He picks his glass up off the table and sits on the couch next to you. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I need you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” 

“Start with why you disappeared.”

“Classified.”

“Bullshit.”

Javi sets his glass down and manhandles you into his lap. He crashes his mouth into yours and at first you don’t even respond to his touch, but it doesn’t take long to fall into him. You can’t deny that you’ve been miserable without him. Craving his touch, missing him so much it hurts. He’s like an itch you can never scratch enough to satisfy. A festering wound that won’t ever heal. So you may as well pick at the scab. 

Javi pulls your crotch flush with his. He’s already hard against you. You bury your hands in his too-long hair where it curls at the nape and lose yourself in him. You grind down on him and he thrusts up against you, the denim of his jeans and hard line of his cock creating delicious friction even through your panties. 

He breaks the kiss, dragging his lips up your jaw, and whispers in your ear, “Can you come for me like this?” You don’t answer him, simply grind down on him harder, faster, nearly rubbing your thighs raw on his jeans. He peels his t-shirt off your body, throws it behind the couch, and immediately sucks a nipple between his plush lips. He bites down and it sends a jolt straight through your core. 

“Fuck, Javi. More, baby. More,” you whine. He grabs your hips and drags you along his clothed length hard and fast. You feel your core tighten around nothing, and a keening moan falls from your lips as you come. 

You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s thrown you onto the couch. He drags your ruined underwear down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, and buries his face between your thighs. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pushes two fingers inside you, pumping slowly and rolling your clit gently between his teeth. 

You arch up into him, and instead of pinning you down like he often does, he lets you grind your pussy on his face. The hard ridge of his nose, the rough drag of his mustache, the plush softness of his lips, so many different sensations hitting you as his fingers plunge into your cunt, curling into your g-spot over and over. It’s completely and utterly overwhelming. You fist his hair and hold him tight to you as you ride his face, and he moans into your cunt. He fucking loves it when you let go like this, unabashed moans filling the room, probably filling the whole apartment complex. 

You fall apart again, like this, hips stuttering to a stop as you squeeze his fingers so hard it almost hurts. Javi peers up at your blissed out face, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, takes in just how beautiful you are. He drags his tongue through your slick one more time before hovering over you and licking into your mouth. 

You suck your own slick off his tongue, licking into his mouth as you feel him shove his jeans down enough to free his cock. He pulls back, sits on the couch and drags you into his lap. You straddle him and he helps you line up before grabbing your hips and pulling you down on him. 

You collapse forward, the feeling of him inside you is like being split apart and it would probably hurt if you weren’t so wet. He grabs your hair and pulls backward until your back is arched. “Montarme, cariño.” (Ride me, baby). You start moving your hips, slowly picking up in speed until you’re bouncing on his cock so hard and fast you can barely catch your breath.

He hitches your thighs around his waist and wraps his arm around your back, dropping you on the couch. He shoves his jeans down, stepping out of them, and drops one knee to the couch. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his hips. You cling to his shoulders with your left arm and drop your other one behind you for leverage, rolling your hips into his. He meets you with his own thrusts, holding your body to his and burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

He’s so close, you’re so tangled up in each other, he’s so fucking deep inside you, barely even pulling out before rolling back up into you. You fall back onto the couch and he follows, still holding you in his arms as he fucks you. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling over your body and giving you chills as your cunt flutters around his cock. 

He comes with you, fully collapsing down onto you. You should feel crushed under his weight, but it’s comforting. He holds you so tightly it’s like he’s afraid to let go of you. Afraid that when this moment is over you’ll kick him out and he’ll be alone again. Afraid this is the last time he’ll ever get to touch you. 

You pet his hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. It’s late. You’re so fucked out you feel high and maybe the whiskey is loosening your tongue a little.  

“I don’t understand, Javi. If it feels like this, why won’t you love me? What more could you want from me? What am I missing that you need?” This is going to ruin everything.

Javi pushes up on his elbows to look you in the eye. “Cariño. It’s not you–” 

“I swear to God, Javi, if you use that line on me I will burn your apartment down with you in it.” 

“You don’t understand. You won’t understand. I’m not good. I’m only going to get you hurt or killed.” 

“You already are hurting me, Javi,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back down to you. 

He’s silent for a long time before he half whispers into your shoulder, “I’m just so afraid.” His voice breaks and you feel a tear land on your skin. You stroke his hair, drag your fingers along his heated skin. 

“I know you, Javi. I know who you are and I don’t care. I think about you all the time. All the fucking time. I can’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard I fucking try. It’s torture.” 

Javi shoves himself away from you, standing and grabbing his jeans off the floor.“That’s my fucking point!” You flinch at his volume. He pulls his jeans on, grabs his boots and crams his feet into them, already heading to the door. He turns around. “I am only ever going to hurt you. I am a bad fucking person. I hurt people on purpose and you are not immune from that just because I care about you or because I love you.”  

You stand and try to take his face in your hands but he grabs your arms and holds you away from him. “I’d let you crack open my chest, rib by rib, while I watched if it meant I could have you. If it meant you’d be mine. Stop running away from me! I’m begging you!” You’re sobbing, yelling, pleading with him to just listen. 

Javi looks at you, brow furrowed, big brown eyes shiny and bloodshot with tears. He lets go of you and steps away slowly, putting distance between the two of you. His mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He drops his head and closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and walks out the door.

He knows he will come crawling back to you, tomorrow or a week from now, he can’t ever stay away. But maybe this time the wound will be too raw. He will have hurt you too much, and you will shut him out. He fucking hates it, hates the thought of being without you, hates the way it feels like he’s clawing out his own organs hurting you like this. But this hurt is so much less than what he would do to you given enough time. This wound will scab over, form an angry scar, he will have left his mark on you. But you will heal. 

dividers by @saradika

[chaotic-iguana]

Deafening Silences

Summary: based on a request from @sunfloweryellow19 - Javi gets busy with work and pulls away. reader deals with the aftermath.

Pairing: (fictional) Javier Peña x f! reader 

Wordcount: 1.5 k

Warnings: angst angst angst. descriptions of an unhappy marriage, hints of depression, anxiety.

A/N: im trying new things guys, really really leaving my comfort zone with this one (i know i say this every time) but yeah. just let me know what you think. 

masterlist

You blinked awake, stretching your head to the side with a pained groan. The couch seemed to have had a vengeance to remind you of the discomfort it provided, leaving you with a dull pain lancing down your back with every breath. 

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on it, though. No, you’d been waiting with bottles of beer that had long seeped condensation all over the coffee table, beads of moisture trickling in their wake. 

A glance at the clock made it clear it was well past midnight. Resignation lacing itself into your body, you shuffled into the bedroom to lie down. 

Your tears had long dried up, now. No longer did they burrow into your lashline when the prickling feeling in your chest spread to your limbs, a jarring ache settling over you. The ache still came, every night. You’d just steeled your resolve against the spiteful monologues playing in your head. 

Growing up in the same town, you’d known Javi as the quiet boy with soft, gentle hands and kind reassurances when he caught you crying with a scraped knee when others had pushed you. The one who offered you his lunchbox when he saw you’d forgotten yours, lent you his jumper when he watched you shivering. The boy with the most breathtaking smile you had ever seen. 

Before you knew it, time had caught up with you, and he went from the shy, stuttering boy he had been to the cocky, lucky one engaged to the prom queen. 

You planned to burn the dress you wore to his wedding. 

With bated breath and trembling hands you had waited for your heart to break. Your palms, tightly clasped, had shook in desperate prayer in the stuffy, dimly lit church aisle when hushed panic had taken over the crowd. He hadn’t come at all. How ironic, for God to listen to you then when he had so brutally discarded you now. 

The memories of his fleeting touches, crooked grins, and brown eyes had lingered in your mind like a spot of blood staining pure cloth. Refusing to wash away, no matter how long it had been scrubbed at. In truth, however, you never tried. Tainted memories suited you best. 

Perhaps it had been God, again, who had intervened on the Sunday your mother dragged you to mass for the first time in years. Perhaps it had been God, again, who let you wear your best dress as you stumbled over it at the sight of him in front of you. In all his glory, however, God failed to warn you. Fallen angels look much like their long-gone forms at first. A broken halo still continues to glow for those that seek it. 

Javi was leaner than when you had last seen him. His cheeks were hollower, hair more matted than before. Eyes sunken and red shot, with shadows of memories you knew wouldn’t wash away. A frown had etched itself on his face, and that smile you had yearned after for years seemed incongruent with what he had become.

Atlas, rose a name in your mind. He looks like he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

The urge to ease it off him overwhelmed you just as quickly. To shoulder the burden with him, to bring him back. And so this time around, you were the one with the soft smiles and gentle gazes. The one whose hands accidentally brushed his., the one who blushed and stumbled. And like a man starved, he devoured it all, just as you did. Gorged yourself on the way he looked at you. The glimpses you got of his outline, half-illuminated by the street lamps behind him as he leaned forward to pull a long dart out of his pocket and clamped his teeth down on it. He’d give you that smile when no one else was around. You never stood a chance. 

He even offered to you, one night, the story of all he had endured. Captivated, you had listened to each word heedfully, as if you could absorb the pain in his words just by hearing them. And like a child with no comprehension of the world beyond a juvenile fascination, you had reached your hands out to grip the shadows under his eyes - the ones that sat on his slumped shoulders, and put them on yours.

When he walked into the apartment a week after your quiet wedding and told you he’d gotten a call from Colombia, you’d laughed. Who would go crawling back to the hell they had finally gotten reprieve from? 

Atlas was condemned to have the world on his shoulders for all eternity, too. 

He hadn’t wanted to bring you. But your fear - the broken, cruel part of your mind - had taken over. You’d refused to be left behind again. Grumbling, begrudgingly, he had packed with you. Muttering the whole way about how difficult it would be, all the adjustments you would have to get used to. But gullibility was your downfall, and ignorance your bliss. How bad could it really be?

What is it they say about tragic heroes? Their tragic flaws inevitably doom them in the end. 

Six months into it now, Laredo felt like a memory so distant you might have thought it a dream if you hadn’t grown up there. Jolted out of the lap of your childhood, Colombia had instead wrapped its callous fist around you - snatched the air from your lungs, drained the life from your eyes. If the man who slid into your bed in the early hours of dawn was no longer the one you had married, you were no longer the woman grinning ear-to-ear in the wedding pictures on your bedside table, either. 

The new job had been a difficult adjustment, even without the agents Javier insisted would accompany you. The new marriage had been even worse. Laughter had long abandoned you both, leaving a roaring silence in its stead. He’d stopped looking at you, stopped talking, stopped smiling. You’d stopped, too. Stopped greeting him when he came through the door, with tired eyes and a scowl imprinted on his face. Stopped talking, stopped eating. You had become exactly what he had reduced you to. A ghost within your own home. 

It must be a thing about Sundays. You had woken up earlier today, made his coffee, a lunch you knew he wouldn’t so much as look at, and left for work before you had to, telling him to come home earlier. You missed him. You just wanted Javi back again. So you’d sat on the couch you hated with beers that always tasted stale, waiting for him with an olive branch to call a truce for a war you hadn’t even anticipated. Truly, Sundays must have a sense of sardonicism laced within them. Your hands were shaking with the same nervousness you had years ago when he had failed to show up to his altar; your knee bouncing with the same anticipation when you’d seen him at that church when he was back. Only, unlike those times, tonight had been fruitless. A reckoning of another sort. Tonight was the one which fractured your heart and made you curl into yourself as you lay alone in your perpetually cold bed. It was the one that made you call your mother before shutting your eyes, begging her to buy you a ticket to back home without asking for an explanation. How ironic, for you to beg again. Only this time, churches and prayers felt as empty as they used to in your childhood. 

You heard him come in. The wet thump of his keys, gun, badge, being slammed on the table. The one slick with the moisture that the bottles left behind. The ache multiplied. He was sneaking into your room now, trying not to wake you. As if you could sleep without his warmth. 

His breath hitched from over your shaking shoulders when he walked in. Treacherous sobs ripped out of your throat before you could stop them, before you could convince yourself that the tears were dry. Footsteps, faster now, around your bed as he came to face you. Eyes that had flit over your form dismissively for months suddenly found yours, wide and panicked as he reached hand to cradle your cheek, making you sob harder. Feverish against your skin, he gripped your shoulder to make you sit up as he looked you over for injuries. You wanted to roll your eyes, to scream at him. How can you not know the only pain I’ve felt here has been your fault? 

Javier’s hands started quivering against you, lips pursed tight and a frown on his face. Silently, he shuffled himself between you and the headboard to cradle you against his chest, fingers stroking your scalp. You lay there until your limbs went slack, molten in his arms as he traced your spine. Burrowing tighter in his embrace, you let his jagged edges soothe you to sleep again. 

Neither of you spoke, though, even now. There wasn’t much left to say. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee (any of u can dm me to get off the taglist, no hard feelings). dividers by @reveriesources

cover by the AMAZING @nostalxgic